Velocity (Karen Vail #3)(88)

And now, still engaged in that war, just a different theater. Like Iraq and Afghanistan.

Vail grabbed breakfast with Jonathan and Faye, then sent her son off to school while Faye went to visit Vail’s mother at the assisted care facility.

“I saw her before I left for California,” Vail said as she cleared the table. “She seemed to be doing well.” She stopped in front of the sink, a plate in each hand, lost in thought. “As well as someone can be with advancing Alzheimer’s.”

“I’ll tell her you send your love,” Faye said.

Vail shook the funk from her thoughts, then set the dishes down. “Give her a kiss for me, will you?”

Faye’s grin conveyed empathy mixed with pity. She gave the back of Vail’s head a thoughtful stroke. “Of course.”

Vail spent the next hour in her den jotting down all she knew about Robby’s disappearance. It was not much help, but it passed the time until DeSantos picked her up. She slid into his Corvette, which looked no worse for its trip to the impound lot.

DeSantos had summoned two cabs last night, one to take Vail home and the other to bring him to the tow yard.

“Your Vette looks fine,” Vail said as he eased it onto the interstate. “I assume you got it all straightened out.”

“Can we not talk about it?

Vail suppressed a grin. And then her belt vibrated. A text from Dixon.



can u get to a pc with internet?



She wrote back:



yes in about 15 min. K?



“What’s the deal?” DeSantos asked.

“We need a PC with a broadband connection.”

“We can do that. When? For what?”

“Got a text from Roxxann Dixon. Don’t know what it’s about.” Her BlackBerry buzzed again.

dea bringing us on board. u and ur partner need to be plugged in. welcome to the dea



She replied and told Dixon they would be ready. “I think we’re being added to a DEA task force.” Another text, this one from Gifford: expect a call. they’ve set up a jtf. pulled strings. u owe me. dont fu.





Vail chuckled.

DeSantos tossed her a sideways glance. “What’s so funny?”

Vail shoved her phone into its holster. “Gifford. He pulled strings, got DEA to set up a joint task force. We’re apparently on it. He told me not to fuck it up.”

“Give me a break,” DeSantos said. “With you on the case, does your boss really think things are going to go smoothly?”





61


A dark-skinned black man who fit the mold of a starting middle line-backer walked into the room. Sporting a shoulder slung beat-up leather messenger bag, unmoving confidence, and three day’s growth of stubble on his face, he dumped his satchel on the table. “I’m the DEA task force coordinator from the San Diego field division.” The man had the type of Brooklyn-specific accent that had faded somewhat with time and place, but still poked through on certain words. He stepped forward, found Dixon first, and extended a hand. “Guido Turino.”

Dixon unsuccessfully suppressed a laugh.

Turino had just clasped her hand. He tightened his grip. Narrowed his eyes. “You got a problem with something?”

Dixon looked down at their conjoined hands, then at Turino. She squeezed back, matching his strength. “Just wondering. Is Guido your real name?”

“My unit calls me Guy.”

“Seriously. Guido? I mean, that was a joke we had growing up. You know, somebody screwed you over, you’d threaten to send Guido after him.”

Turino cocked his head. “What are we in, junior high?”

Dixon pulled her hand away, then dipped her chin. “You’re right. I apologize. I haven’t had a whole lot of sleep. It’s been a tough couple of weeks. I’m a little giddy.”

Turino eyed her a moment, then nodded. “Then I suggest you find an empty room and get some rest.” He turned to the others. “We got a lot of work to do. Best we get down to it. First, I need to know who all of you are so I can match names in my file with faces.” He nodded at Dixon. “The tired, ditsy blonde. You are?”

Dixon clenched her jaw. What the hell, she deserved that. “Roxxann—”

“Dixon. Yeah, got it. And who’s Redmond Brix?”

“Redd is fine,” Brix said. “And that’s Burt Gordon and Austin Mann.” He indicated each with a quick nod.

Turino folded his arms across his thick chest. “I’ve been briefed on everything that’s gone down. The Mayfield thing, the Georges Valley AVA board stuff, Superior Mobile Bottling, and Guevara. You people’ve done a good fucking job on all that.” He frowned a moment at Dixon, still registering his disappointment with her, and said, “You should all be commended. And it makes me feel good that I’ll be working with all of you. Gets under my goddamn skin when I have to work with a bunch of rooks.” He threw back the flap of his bag, reached in, and extracted a thick file folder. Held it up and said, “I’ve got all your reports here, and some classified reports from our deep cover op.”

“You got copies for us?” Dixon asked.

“No. It’s deep cover. You got questions, I may be able to answer them. If something’s relevant, I’ll let you know. And that’s where I’m gonna start, if that’s okay with you.”