Crush - Alan Jacobson [149]
Their eyes, wide with fear, registered their understanding and they moved off.
Vail continued on, through the gift shop, into tasting stations that were tucked into small rooms off the main hallway. She felt her anxiety bubbling up, the pressure in her chest, the sense that she had to get the hell out of here.
Claustrophobia sucks. And it’s goddamn inconvenient.
I don’t have time for this shit. She pressed on, following the tasting room into what was apparently a wine cave. The hallways were narrow, the ceiling was low, and the lighting was dim.
Hundreds of wine bottles were stacked horizontally against the wall, twelve rows high and several dozen wide. Up ahead, oak barrels rested on their sides along the walls, making the rooms seem even narrower. She turned down another bend and entered a similarly slender hallway. With only one bulb now every twenty or so feet, it was getting darker. And she was finding it more difficult to breathe.
This is ridiculous. Mayfield could be anywhere. He must’ve known this place. Maybe the cruiser didn’t force him down this road. Maybe he knew how many caves and corridors and hidden rooms there were down here.
How are we going to find him?
Vail kept wandering through the maze of passageways, the anxiety and dread now consuming her thoughts. No. Focus on Mayfield. On Mayfield. He could be anywhere. Stay focused—
Up ahead—a larger room. Time to breathe, regroup. Think things through.
She stepped into a vast brick-encased vault—filled with oak barrels. It was brighter in here, and the ceiling was higher. She continued in, eyes scanning every corner and the subrooms created by the stacks of barrels. It was not unlike the thousand square foot barrel room she had been in at Silver Ridge.
When they found Victoria Cameron. When this whole mess started. In a sense, she had come full circle.
She walked down the wide, main aisle, her head swinging from side to side, trying to ensure John Mayfield didn’t ambush or blindside her. A few feet more and then she stopped. Turned 360 degrees, then backed against the nearest wall. Crouched down and pulled her BlackBerry. She had minimal service—one bar—but hopefully it was enough.
She looked for messages. Nothing. Robby had still not replied. What was up with that? That was a pretty frantic message she left. He wouldn’t ignore it. He’d never ignored any message she left him. Ever.
With her Glock in her left hand, she thumb-typed Robby a quick text:
where r u. need help
Then she texted Dixon and Brix, Lugo and Agbayani:
in large room filled with oak barrels. past gift shop. somewhere in tunnels. no sign of mayfld. ur 20?
As she reholstered her BlackBerry, she heard the tone of a cell phone. It was more than nearby—it was damn near next to her. She rose from her crouch and started searching. Whose phone had rung? It wasn’t a prolonged ring, as if someone had called. It was more like a quick, repeated beep. Then nothing.
A text.
She had just sent a text. Shit, this is not good.
Vail tightened her grip on the Glock, then moved slowly forward. Looked left, into a smaller room—also lined with oak barrels—and saw a body. Lying supine. With a shiny, thick liquid beneath it.
Vail rotated her head, checking as best she could around the barrels. Finding nothing, she inched closer to the body, still keeping an eye on her immediate vicinity. She moved to the far wall and cleared that completely, then kept her back to it. Directly in front of her was the victim. Male, well-dressed.
She advanced, in a crouch, her eyes still scanning below the barrels for feet—or movement of any kind.
Looked back to the body. And then she saw the face. It was Eddie Agbayani. In this light, it was impossible to determine much about cause of death. She lay her index and middle finger across his neck to check for a pulse. Nothing. But she felt something that confirmed her suspicions.
Vail pulled her BlackBerry. Using the light given off by the LCD screen, she scanned Agbayani’s throat