Velocity kv-3 Page 14

  “So after all we’ve been through these past seven or eight days, working in close quarters and dealing with all the shit we’ve dealt with, all you can say is that you know me and that I’m going to do something stupid?”

  Dixon extended the fingers of her right hand, which remained on the steering wheel. “That didn’t come out right. I’m sorry. I just think, well, I think you’re reacting emotionally. I’m sure I’d be the same way if this had happened to me, with Eddie. If I could’ve prevented his death, had I known he was in danger . . . ” She curled her hand around the wheel. “So let’s cut through all the shit. Can you do that for me?”

  Vail sat there a long moment. “Drop me at Guevara’s house, a couple blocks away—”

  “See? That’s what I mean!”

  “What do you expect me to do, Roxx? Guevara’s the only one who knows what the hell is going on.”

  “And you’ve already tried prying information out of him.”

  Vail turned and looked out the black side window at the quiet countryside. “So I’ll try again. And this time I won’t be so nice.”

  “You weren’t very nice the last time around, either. Yesterday, when we stopped at Superior.”

  “You mean when I shoved my Glock against his head?”

  “I think that qualifies, yeah. But look at it logically. He’s got bodyguards. Even if you can neutralize them, they’re witnesses. So when his high-priced attorney files a complaint—which he will—there’ll be corroboration of his story. And the worst part is, he’ll be on the right side of the law. And you’ll be on the wrong side.”

  “Just take me there. Let me worry about it.”

  Dixon pulled the Ford hard right onto the shoulder. Gravel flew up and kicked around the wheel wells.

  “What are you doing?”

  “It’s goddamn obvious, Karen. I’m not going to let you throw away your career. You’re not thinking clearly.”

  Vail turned away and again peered out the window. Rolled it down. The cool air blew against her face. Stole a glance in all directions. Pin-pricks of light here and there. But it was dark, too dark for her to figure out where she was. She grabbed the handle, opened the door, and swung out her legs.

  “Where do you think you’re going?”

  Vail did not reply. She flung the door closed and trudged off, ahead of Dixon’s vehicle, the headlights cutting through the damp air and slicing around her body, throwing it into silhouette.

  At this time of year, it was still nippy at 12:30 or 1:00—or whatever time it was now. She wasn’t going to stop to look.

  But what was she going to do? It wasn’t like she could hail a cab—not in the middle of the Napa countryside. She didn’t even know where she was. She stopped walking, put both hands on her head, and leaned her neck back. Her body swayed—the wine was still in her bloodstream. How did this happen? How did I get to this place?

  She heard Dixon’s door open. She turned and saw that Dixon was talking to her through the windshield. No, not to her—to her Bluetooth visor.

  Dixon stuck her head out the door and rose from her seat in one motion. “Get in the car!”

  “What is it?”

  “We got a twenty on Cannon.”

  29

  Vail ran back to the Ford but nearly flew out of the seat when Dixon floored the accelerator. The tires spun in the gravel, then squealed as they gripped asphalt.

  Vail settled herself in and then snapped the seat belt closed. But the blood was pounding in her temples. The wine? The sudden dump of adrenalin? “What’s the deal?”

  “Our chopper got an infrared hit in the area about three miles from where Cannon disappeared. They were tracking him at a high altitude through the mountains, and then he stopped moving. Based on the restrained motion within a confined space and the IR signatures of other bodies in the structure, it looks as though he entered a secluded house in the woods and might have hostages.”

  “So what’s the plan?”

  The speedometer needle effortlessly slipped past 72. Dixon, two hands on the wheel, said, “SWAT’s en route. We’re closer. Chopper’s surveillance only, it won’t be dropping anyone or landing.”

  Vail rubbed her face and tried to excise the mounting pressure from her thoughts. She closed her eyes and audibly blew air through her lips.

  “You okay?”

  “Actually, pretty shitty. Thanks for asking.”

  Dixon drove in silence, deftly negotiating the winding mountain roads—and Vail, remembering the challenging landscape from their last visit out this way, was not about to distract her with interruptions.

  Dixon pointed skyward. “See if you can find the chopper. I think I know where this road is, but if we can use the chopper’s spotlight as a beacon to pinpoint the house’s location, it may keep us from driving off the side of the mountain.”

  Vail craned her neck back, forth, and side to side—but couldn’t make out what looked like a helicopter. She rolled down her window— and within three minutes, in the distance, she saw blinking lights hovering against the inky blackness. “There she is, two o’clock. No beacon.”

  “Probably best if Cannon doesn’t know we’re on to him. Grab the radio,” she said, tossing a nod at the glove box. “Primary channel. See if you can raise the pilot.”

  Vail found the secure radio—it was only three days ago she’d handled this very device while they were in pursuit of John Mayfield. That had turned out well; if they replicated those results, it would be a hell of a send-off back east.

  She glanced at the dashboard clock. Running out of time. Two and a half hours. Nothing’s ever easy, Karen, is it?

  “What’s their call sign?”

  “H-30. Flown by CHP.”

  “CHP H-30, this is FBI Special Agent Karen Vail and Investigator Roxxann Dixon with the major crimes task force. We have you in sight. Do you have us? Over.”

  “That’s affirmative, Agent Vail. This is Ken Orent commanding H-30. SWAT is en route. ETA eighteen minutes.”

  Vail managed a chuckle. “A lot of shit can happen in eighteen minutes.” She thought back to a time many years ago when she had uttered a similar comment over an open radio channel, then sweated the likely ridicule from colleagues. Here and now, she didn’t give it a second thought.

  “Pull over, Roxx. I need your full attention.”

  Dixon stopped the car.

  “What’s your procedure out here?”

  Dixon shoved the gear into park. “H-30 will circle the area until ground units set up a perimeter. The patrol sergeant has already requested that SWAT respond. The SWAT team’s made up of officers from the Napa sheriff and the Napa city police. But because we’re an unincorporated county, the Sheriff’s Department runs the show. They’ll draw up a tactical plan, which’ll probably include setting up a perimeter closer to the house. We’d bring in our hostage negotiating team to attempt phone contact with the suspect.”

  “Doesn’t sound like eighteen minutes to me. It’ll take them at least as long to get themselves set up and plugged in. Besides, James Cannon doesn’t want to talk to us, Roxx. Right now, he’s tired and freaked out and hungry and on the run. The people in there with him are in extreme danger.”

  “No argument there. Your point?”

  “What do you want to do?” Vail asked.

  Dixon stole a look at Vail. It was fast, but it said, “Are you fucking kidding me?”

  Vail brought the radio to her mouth. “Commander Orent, how many heat signatures do you have?”

  “We count five. Four are stationary, one is mobile. Judging by their movements, we assume Mr. Mobile is our suspect. He seemed to clear all the rooms and herd the occupants into a main area in the center of the house.”

  Vail swung her gaze over to Dixon. “You think Robby’s one of those hostages?”

  Dixon shook her head. “No idea. Either way, no matter who he’s got—”

  Vail keyed the radio. “What’s he doing now? Over.”

  “He appears t
o be pacing back and forth. Over.”

  “We’re going in. Copy?”

  There was a long pause. Vail was ready to rekey the mike to repeat when suddenly Orent said, “You are instructed to wait for SWAT. Over.”

  Vail let the radio fall back to her lap. “Do we need them?”

  “I don’t want to go in with drawn guns and start a shootout because of a mistake. We don’t even have the street address. And these people who live in the mountains . . . who knows what kind of rifles they might have?”

  “How would you normally handle something like this?”

  “Assuming they’d run it the same way they take down pot farms, the H-30 will use GPS to give us the coordinates, and the ground units would plug them into their portable GPS devices. That’s how.”

  “You have a GPS?”

  Dixon started to shake her head, then stopped. “Let me check.”

  She jumped out of the car and rummaged around the trunk. A moment later, she returned with a small canvas kit. “I usually don’t have one, but I borrowed one a couple weeks ago from a buddy in the department and forgot to return it. Fire it up.”

  Vail did so, then keyed the mike. “Commander, we’re concerned about the wait. That’s a very violent offender in there. But my purpose is not to debate this with you. We understand you will not assist. Thing is, we’re going in and we need the GPS coordinates. We don’t have the address. It’s dark out and these houses don’t have neon signs out front that say ‘suspect’s in here.’” She paused, waited, then said, “Of course, I’d totally understand if you refuse.”

  As the seconds passed, Vail and Dixon stared out the windshield before finally turning to each other. “Maybe he’s thinking about it,” Dixon said. “Or calling for approval.”

  “Unable to comply, Agent Vail,” Orent said. “Over.”

  Dixon shrugged. “It was worth a shot.”

  “May’ve been worth a shot, but it didn’t get us anywhere.” A second later, Vail said, “There!” and jabbed a finger at the windshield, indicating a house about a hundred yards away. Moving slowly across the roof tiles was a pinpoint green laser beam.

  Dixon was about to jam the gear into drive, but Vail grabbed her arm. “Leave it here,” Vail said. “We’re too close. Let’s go it on foot. If Cannon hears the car, we’re cooked and so are those hostages. Unless he’s aware of the chopper tracking him—which is possible but not likely. That ATV is a loud son of a bitch, and the chopper was purposely flying at a high altitude. We’re probably okay.”

  “So why’d Cannon stop?”

  Vail checked the dome light to ensure it was off, then quietly opened her door. “He’s been riding for hours. Probably hungry, tired. And his ass and balls hurt, I’m sure.”

  “You sure you want to go in? SWAT will be here in ten minutes.”

  “We both know we should wait,” Vail said.

  Dixon sat there with her door ajar—but didn’t move. “Right.”

  A crackle from the radio. “Agent Vail, we’ve got activity. Two individuals moved toward the rear of the structure and it appears that one exited the premises.”

  “Copy,” Vail said. She leaned forward and shoved the radio in her back pocket. “Well, that solves that.” And off they went.

  30

  Traversing the steep mountainside in the dark made moving along the hilly terrain at Herndon Vineyards seem like child’s play. Vail slipped and slid on the damp forest floor, pine needles and low-lying ferns serving as snow discs that propelled her down and forward.

  This would do wonders for her knee. At the moment, it didn’t matter.

  They were moving reasonably well as they approached the house, which sat below street level in a large gulley carved out of the mountain. The rear of the home was suspended on pilings, leveling out the structure. A muted dimness from within suggested it emanated from one of the inner rooms, where light had a tough time escaping the confines of walls and doors.

  Vail had moved thirty feet ahead while Dixon moved more deliberately. As Vail evaluated the area behind the house, Dixon lost her footing on the incline and slammed against a narrow eucalyptus stalk, chest first.

  “Shit,” she said between clenched teeth.

  Vail pulled her gun from its holster. “You okay?”

  “Fine. I’ve got another boob on the other side.” Dixon pointed. “There’s the rear of the house. You see any movement?”

  Vail shook her head. “Without night vision, we’re not gonna see much. I can’t even make out how many fingers you’re holding up.”

  “I’m not holding any up.”

  “My point exactly.” Vail moved forward, then stopped. “Hang back, cover me. Just in case Cannon sees me before I see him. No sense in giving him a shot at both of us.”

  “You think he’s armed?”

  “I wasn’t speaking literally, but then again, who the hell knows? It wouldn’t be his style—he killed his last vic up close and personal, which means he gets off on that, just like Mayfield. But does he have a gun? We know so little about him, it’s impossible to say.” Vail bent over. “Cover me.”

  She scurried ahead, scampering as fast as she could without slipping and going down on the slick terrain. As she approached, what she saw made her pull up, which sent her into a slide—right into the slumped body of a male. In a leather jacket.

  Vail felt a lump the size of a baseball blocking her throat. Robby? In the dark, it was hard to say. His body was folded and crumpled, almost fetal in its curve. She steadied herself, leaned over the man, then felt for a pulse. Not only did she not feel anything, but her fingers slipped on the unmistakable thick and slick liquid she knew as only one thing: blood.

  She grabbed the jacket lapel and yanked—nearly slipping down the incline—and shined her BlackBerry light on the man’s face. Around the same age. Smaller. Not Robby. Actually, the guy’s face shared a resemblance with Dixon’s former boyfriend, Detective Eddie Agbayani, a victim of John Mayfield’s violence a couple of days ago. Vail hoped Dixon wouldn’t notice.

  Dixon was now by her side. Vail looked up at and caught the whites of her partner’s eyes.

  “It’s not Robby,” Dixon said.

  “No.”

  “Dead?”

  “Dead. Trachea crushed. Wrists slit. My guess,” Vail said, “is that this is the man of the house, the father. The only true threat to Cannon. Take out your threat, then you can do whatever the hell you want. Common tactic among disorganized offenders who enter a house or apartment and find a boyfriend or spouse. Blitz attack, get ’em out of the way.” Vail reached into her back pocket and pulled the radio. Lowered the volume, then keyed the mike. “H-30,” she said in a soft voice. “This is Agent Vail. That heat signature you picked up exiting the building’s rear is a dead body. Early thirties male Caucasian. Looks like Cannon killed his only threat, to get him out of the way. Over.”

  “Copy that. Relaying same to SWAT. Over.”

  Vail leaned over to Dixon’s ear. “He could kill the others. And soon.”

  “Why?” Dixon asked. “I thought he only killed this guy to get him out of the way.”

  “Point of getting the male out of the way is so he can have his way with the women. On the other hand, if he knows the chopper’s located him, he’s under extreme duress.”

  “Then in a matter of minutes, he’s going to be knuckling down, waiting for the police assault. And the chances of getting the hostages out alive will plummet like a bear market.”

  Vail looked at the backdoor. “A bear out in the woods. Nice analogy. But SWAT’s less than ten minutes away now. At this point, I think we should let them handle it.”

  Dixon looked at the man lying on the ground at their feet. Vail saw the way she appraised at the victim’s face, the way her lips tightened.

  “It’s not Eddie,” Vail said.

  “Fucking looks like him.”

  Vail glanced at the house, her eyes checking things out. Then she leaned down to catch Dixon’s gaze. “R
oxx, listen to me.”

  “What’s his reaction going to be to an armed assault?”

  “He won’t surrender, if that’s what you’re asking.”

  “That is what I’m asking,” Dixon said. “Those hostages inside are in a heap of trouble. We have a window, before this escalates. I don’t think he knows we’re here. This is the best shot we’re gonna have. Right?”

  Vail bit down on her lip. “Probably. Yes.”

  Dixon rose from her crouch. “Then I’m going in. We approach from opposite angles, we’ve got him. He doesn’t have a gun.”

  “How do we know that?”

  “Because he didn’t shoot this guy. Looks like he did what Mayfield did: crushed his trachea, slit his wrists. That’s the way he kills.”

  “We think that’s the way he kills. We don’t know enough about him to reach definitive conclusions about his behaviors, about his identity as a killer.”

  “I’ve got all I need right here.”

  “Roxx, don’t—”

  Dixon started climbing the slick hill. “I’m going in the front. If you’re gonna help me out, count to sixty, then go in the back.” She stopped and turned. “You with me?”

  Vail rubbed her forehead with the back of her hand, the one holding the Glock. I hate situations like this. You know it’s the wrong thing to do, but you have no choice. “Don’t get me killed, Roxx. I still have to find Robby. And I’ve got a kid, remember?”

  “Then we’d better be careful. Sixty seconds. Fifty-nine Mississippi, fifty-eight Mississippi, and so on. On my mark. Ready?”

  Vail nodded.

  “Mark.” Dixon turned and scurried away. Into the darkness.

  31

  Vail made her way up the slippery wooden steps onto the deck that led to the backdoor. At least with wet wood there was less chance of a board squeaking under her weight.

  Counting. Forty-five. Forty-four.

  There were two windows, one on either side of the door, which was partially constructed of glass. She crept along, keeping herself low. Inspected the jamb and considered where she would need to strike the door to blast it inward. Because of its construction, she knew she could do it—using her good leg.