Velocity (Karen Vail #3)(51)

“Necessary force to bring down the suspect,” Dixon said. “And self-defense.”

Owens seemed to notice the bruises on Dixon’s face for the first time. “I don’t think there’ll be a problem with that. But before Rancelli takes off, have him snap some photos of you. CYA.”

“Also,” Nash said, “Cannon wanted me to deliver a message to Agent Vail.” He turned to her and said, “Before he lost consciousness, he mumbled a name.”

Brix nearly shouted, “What name?”

Nash scratched at his temple. “I don’t know if this makes any sense, but sounded like he said, ‘Sissy Guava.’”





32


César Guevara?” Vail asked.

Nash lifted his hat and brushed back his hair. “Yeah, could be. But that’s all he said. Mean something to you?”

Brix grunted. “You could say that.”

“Why would he say Guevara’s name?” Owens asked.

The doors to the ambulance slammed shut and its light bar began swirling as it pulled away from the house, James Cannon tucked into its rear compartment.

Vail watched another piece to the puzzle being whisked away down the road, evaporating into the dark fog, the siren remaining long after visual contact had been lost. “I showed Robby’s—Detective Hernandez’s—photo to Cannon, and he said he’d seen him but couldn’t remember where. I guess he’s saying he saw him somewhere that’s associated with Guevara.”

Dixon began to gently massage her inflamed hand. “We’re missing the bigger picture. Why would James Cannon know César Guevara?”

“Obvious answer,” Brix said, “is that Cannon is a manager at a start-up winery, and they were talking with Superior Mobile Bottling about contracting for their services.”

“That’s one explanation,” Vail said, stifling a yawn. “Another might be that there’s a connection somehow between John Mayfield, James Cannon, and César Guevara. A connection we haven’t figured out yet.”

Dixon stretched her arms above her head. “We know there’s a connection between Cannon and Mayfield. Mentor and student. And Ray said on the DVD that he thought there was some kind of connection between Mayfield and Guevara.”

“So what does all this mean?” Owens asked.

Dixon looked up at the black sky. The air was calmer now, without the beating rotors of the helicopter whipping at the treetops. “It means we don’t know enough to figure it out yet.”

Brix pulled his phone. “I’ll get Mann over to Valley Med, so he’s there when Cannon arrives. If he regains consciousness, maybe we can get some clarification. And I’ll talk with Cap Krandle at Herndon in the morning, see if they’d had any discussions with Guevara about using Superior.”

“Nothing left for us to do here,” Dixon said. While Brix was waiting for the line to connect, she said, “We’ll pick up Karen’s stuff at my place, then head over to the hospital until she leaves for the airport.”

“Yeah, Austin, it’s Brix.” He nodded at Dixon, and Dixon and Vail said good-bye to Owens, then climbed into their vehicle.

Vail snapped her seatbelt then let her head fall back against the seat. Yawned wide and loud. “I’m so damn tired. And we’ve got so little to show for all our time and effort. I’m out of here in—” she checked the dashboard clock—“about an hour fifteen.”

Dixon turned over the engine and brought the Ford around to head back the way they had come. “For the moment, you’re still here. The fat lady ain’t singing just yet.”

“You’ll let me know when, right?”

Dixon managed a grin. “Yeah. I’ll let you know when.”





33


They arrived at Dixon’s house twenty minutes later. Vail scooped up her measly belongings—her clothing and personal effects greatly reduced in number and volume by the fire Scott Fuller and his conspirators had set a few days earlier. As she gathered everything into a pile, her thoughts shifted to a few nights ago, when John Mayfield had injected Vail with BetaSomnol, a powerful sedative, then used her Glock to kill Fuller. It set off a major confrontation with Sheriff Owens, which Robby squelched by tossing Owens onto his rump.

Scott Fuller vanished from her thoughts when she felt a nudge on her forearm. She turned to see Margot looking at her, wanting attention. Vail sat down on the floor and Margot jumped into her lap. Quinn came running over, and having lost the “prime real estate” to Margot, took up the next best location—alongside Vail’s thigh.

With a hand on each dog, Vail felt soothed by their curly fur. She got as much comfort from stroking them as Margot and Quinn seemed to be getting from the human contact.

Dixon walked into the room and gathered Vail’s soiled towel and bedsheets.

“Maybe I need one of these,” Vail said as Margot reached back and gave Vail a lick on the cheek.

“Standards are terrific dogs. Extremely smart, very athletic and physical, and they live for the human connection. Great companions—and excellent watchdogs. A lot of upkeep, though. Trimming their coats, keeping their fur free of tangles—”

“Seems like it’s worth it.”

“I don’t regret it for a minute.”