Crush - Alan Jacobson [0]
ALSO BY ALAN JACOBSON
Title Page
Dedication
Praise
PROLOGUE
ONE
TWO
THREE
FOUR
FIVE
SIX
SEVEN
EIGHT
NINE
TEN
ELEVEN
TWELVE
THIRTEEN
FOURTEEN
FIFTEEN
SIXTEEN
SEVENTEEN
EIGHTEEN
NINETEEN
TWENTY
TWENTY-ONE
TWENTY-TWO
TWENTY-THREE
TWENTY-FOUR
TWENTY-FIVE
TWENTY-SIX
TWENTY-SEVEN
TWENTY-EIGHT
TWENTY-NINE
THIRTY
THIRTY-ONE
THIRTY-TWO
THIRTY-THREE
THIRTY-FOUR
THIRTY-FIVE
THIRTY-SIX
THIRTY-SEVEN
THIRTY-EIGHT
THIRTY-NINE
FORTY
FORTY-ONE
FORTY-TWO
FORTY-THREE
FORTY-FOUR
FORTY-FIVE
FORTY-SIX
FORTY-SEVEN
FORTY-EIGHT
FORTY-NINE
FIFTY
FIFTY-ONE
FIFTY-TWO
FIFTY-THREE
FIFTY-FOUR
FIFTY-FIVE
FIFTY-SIX
FIFTY-SEVEN
FIFTY-EIGHT
FIFTY-NINE
SIXTY
SIXTY-ONE
SIXTY-TWO
SIXTY-THREE
SIXTY-FOUR
A NOTE FROM ALAN JACOBSON
Acknowledgements
Copyright Page
ALSO BY ALAN JACOBSON
False Accusations
The Hunted
The 7th Victim
For Corey, Matthew, and Danielle:
You are the branches on my tree that keep on giving.
And I’m the old stump.
I love you all, to the moon and back.
“It is a capital mistake to theorize before one has data.”
—SIR ARTHUR CONAN DOYLE, WRITING AS SHERLOCK HOLMES
“You see, but you do not observe.”
—SIR ARTHUR CONAN DOYLE, WRITING AS SHERLOCK HOLMES
“In wine there is truth.”
—ROMAN PROVERB
“O thou invisible spirit of wine, if thou hast no name to be known by, let us call thee devil.”
—WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE
PROLOGUE
675 15th Street NW
Washington, DC
“So the dick says to the woman, ‘I got nothing.’” Karen Vail burst out laughing. Here she was, out on the town with Detective Mandisa Manette—just about the unlikeliest of acquaintances she’d socialize with—and she was guffawing at another of Manette’s crass jokes. But she noticed Manette was not enjoying her own punch line. In fact, Manette’s face was hard, her gaze fixed. And her hand was slowly reaching inside her jacket. For her weapon.
“Don’t wanna ruin your evening,” Manette said, “but there’s a guy packing, and he looks real nervous. Over your left shoulder.”
Vail turned slowly and casually snatched a glimpse of the man. Six foot, broad, and as Manette noted, under duress. Sweating, eyes darting around the street. In a minute, his gaze would land on Vail and Manette. The guy looks familiar. Why? She watched his mannerisms and then, as his head turned three quarters toward them, she got a better look at him and—
Oh, crap. I know who he is. In a few seconds, he’d probably make them as cops, and then the shit would hit the fan. The image conjured up a mess—and that’s what would no doubt result.
Vail quickly turned away. “Don’t look at him. Definitely bad news, and stressed as hell. With good reason. That’s Danny Michael Yates.”
Manette’s eyes widened. “No way. The goddamn cop killer? You sure?”
Vail slid her hand down to her Velcro pouch. “Damn sure. What do you want to do?”
Manette moved her hand behind her back, no doubt resting it on her pistol. “Make a call, DC Metro, let ’em know what we got here. I’m gonna circle around behind him.”
Vail pulled out her phone and made the call. With her back to Yates, she watched him in the reflection of the Old Ebbitt Grill storefront. Meantime, she assessed the situation. The sidewalk was knotted with people waiting for tables, enjoying a drink with friends, spouses, and business associates. She wished she could yell, “Everyone down!” so they wouldn’t get hurt. Because she had an intense feeling that this was going to get very ugly, very fast.
Vail ended the call and slipped the BlackBerry into her pocket, her right hand firmly on the Glock 23 that was buried in the pouch below her abdomen.
She made eye contact with Manette’s reflection in the window and nodded, then stole a glance at Yates. He looked at Vail at precisely that moment, and Fuck—he made me—
Yates turned and pushed through the clot of people standing behind him. Vail followed, doing her best to navigate the tumbled bodies with her still-sore postsurgical knee. Manette, she figured, was also in pursuit. Manette was tall and thin, and she