Velocity (Karen Vail #3)(31)

Dixon patted her side, where her sidearm was affixed. “Yeah. Go in with Karen. I’ll keep watch. He shows his face, he won’t get far.”

Leaving Dixon positioned thirty yards back of the front entrance, giving her a view of the entire facility, Brix and Vail headed across newly laid sandstone tiles, toward oak barrel plank wood doors.

The building was a recently constructed stone structure—sporting workmanship that took substantial time, and money, to complete. Inside, boxes were stacked high atop one another. Carpenters were huddled around half-built bare wood counters. Sawdust coated every surface, and floated freely in the air. The whine of a drill rose and fell.

Looking though the front window, Vail took in as much as she could, as rapidly as she could. How many people were there, and where. Her right hand hovered near her holster, poised for quick access to her Glock 23.

“I don’t see Cannon.”

“Me either,” Brix said. “I’ll go in, let you know.” He pulled open the wood door and entered.

Vail watched as he surveyed the interior, tapped a worker on the shoulder, and exchanged a few words. He then faced the window and motioned Vail inside.

As she entered, a man with rolled-up sleeves walked into the lobby, holding blueprints. A pencil was tucked between his lips.

“Excuse me,” Brix said. “We need to talk with someone in charge.” He flashed his badge, then slipped it back into his pocket.

The man studied Brix’s face, then Vail’s. He pulled the pencil from his mouth and stuck it behind his ear. “I’m one of the managing partners. Cap. Cap Krandle.”

Vail said, “We’ve got some questions about the TTB application you submitted. Is your wine maker here?”

“Should be in the back. Haven’t seen him in a while.”

Vail’s gaze continued to roam the shadowed crevices of the room. “We’re going to need to know how long ‘a while’ is.”

“I don’t know. He was out in the vineyard this morning—”

“Did he tell you he was out in the vineyard,” Brix asked, “or did you observe that?”

The man tucked his chin back. “Is there a problem?”

Vail rested her hands on her hips. “Would we be here asking these questions if there wasn’t ‘a problem’?”

Krandle chewed on that a moment. Then he glanced over his shoulder, turned back to Brix and Vail and said, “He told me. I got here, I was busy with the guys here, working with the carpenters to make sure we had the day’s work laid out before us. We’re expecting a delivery and they need to make sure things are cleared out of the loading dock before the truck comes.” He shrugged. “I went back down into the barrel room and he was there. He told me he’d been out in the vineyards all morning.”

Brix and Vail stared at each other. Their faces were firm, but they each knew the impact of the man’s statement.

“Anyone else here who might’ve seen Mr. Cannon?”

Krandle scanned both their faces. “Cannon. Jimmy Cannon?”

Vail tilted her head. “Yeah. That’s who we’re talking about, right?”

“I thought you asked about our wine maker. Eugene Hannity.”

“Hann—so what does James—Jimmy Cannon do here?”

“Jimmy’s our inventory manager. He applied for the wine maker position, but he had no experience and we wanted someone who’d been there, done that.” Krandle chuckled. “We told Jimmy, ‘Maybe someday. Learn the trade, then maybe we’ll talk. But that’s years down the road.’”

The muscles in Brix’s jaw shifted. “Then let’s back up and start the fuck over. Where’s James Cannon been all day?”

“No idea,” Krandle said. “But I did see him about fifteen minutes ago.”

“Where?” Vail asked, her fingers inching closer to the Glock’s handle.

Krandle thumbed an area over his shoulder. Just then, the whites of two eyes appeared in the distant darkness. And then they vanished.

Vail saw them, threw her left hand back, and slapped Brix in the shoulder. And then she took off, shoving Cap Krandle into the wall and heading past him, down the hallway into the shadows. She yanked out the Glock, keeping her back against the rough stone of the corridor as she sidled into the darkness.

Brix was behind her, presumably with his SIG drawn.

They moved quickly through the sawdust-fogged air, toward a larger area lit by a single compact fluorescent bulb. They both cleared the room, eyes scanning the walls, looking for an exit.



DIXON STOOD IN THE COOL AIR, looking out at the mountains a few miles away, thinking how serene and scenic the landscape was up here.

She swiveled back toward the stone structure and blew some air out her lips. Was this a waste of time, or was James Cannon really a killer? The deer blood Gordon and Mann found may or may not be significant; Cannon could merely be a hunter.

Dixon thought back to the conversation at the gym. He was cocky and seemed to bully Mayfield—not what she would expect if Mayfield was Cannon’s mentor. It came off as playful banter between two friends, but was there something going on beneath the surface? Or were they playacting?

As she mulled her previous exchange with Mayfield and Cannon, her phone vibrated. She pulled the handset from her pocket without taking her eyes off the building. “Yeah.”