Sheehan had loosened his tie and sat down at one of the tables with his Macbook. He had disregarded his chores for the day to try and make sense of it all, find out anything he could about this sudden and unwelcome new presence in his life. 

His research wasn't getting him very far. Looking for a Gabriel Cohen from Israel was like looking for a guy named Dave Smith from the US. Narrowing his search parameters with the addition of "Branson", "winery", or "vintner" wasn't finding him anything before the previous year and opening of the winery. Dead end.

There was more out there on Manhunter MC, including a poorly spellchecked website. Founded in 1972 in Jonesboro, chapters in Arkansas, Tennessee, and southern Missouri. Low-rent punks and rowdies, associated with a few small-time rackets. Protection and hijacking by the look of it. So how did any of this involve them? 

He sighed and leaned back in his chair, then stiffened as he heard the door open again. Sheehan briefly contemplated diving behind the bar, but scolded himself for being overdramatic. Sheehan stood and curiously walked over to the foyer to get a better look at his guest.

"Beth?" he said incredulously. She stood before him, bloodstained bandage on her arm and shirt with more than a few reddish stains on it. "Jesus, honey, what the hell happened to you?"