Velocity (Karen Vail #3)(48)

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. “Roxx, 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.

Thirty. Twenty-nine.

She put her ear to the crack in the weather seal, down below the window line. Listened. One, perhaps two, female voices whimpering. Maybe Roxx was right. Going in now before he killed someone else made sense. Didn’t it?

Seventeen. Sixteen.

Vail tightened her grip on the Glock. She would kick in the door, then go in low. It was always risky when you did not know the floor plan of the house you were infiltrating. Where was your target? Would you be immediately visible to him upon entry? And most disconcerting . . . did he have a weapon? In close quarters combat like this, a knife was often more dangerous than a handgun.

Infiltrate, rapidly assess: Was your immediate environment safe? Were your hostages in imminent danger? Had your appearance placed them in imminent danger?

Five. Four.

Vail stepped back—she was now in view of the home’s occupants should they choose to look—and brought her right leg up and then thrust it forward, just below the knob.

The jamb cracked and splintered, and the door flew open. Vail dropped to the floor and clambered into the room—it was the kitchen—and brought her back up against the wood cabinets. Listened.