Crush - Alan Jacobson [69]
“Scott, wake up,” Vail said. She shut her eyes, trying to will away the dizziness. She leaned forward and got onto all fours, then began feeling around in the dirt, searching for her missing Glock.
Wait. I was following another car. Headlights. . . .
Felt around. Nothing. She swung around in another direction, to the right, trying to keep some sort of directional sense as to where she was going so she didn’t double back on herself.
Car tried to force me off the road. Went into a ditch, it flipped—
Still failing to locate her pistol, she hung another right turn and crawled back toward her starting point.
Fuller. Fuller in the other car. He tried to run me off the road. Rooney—sealed arson record on Fuller. Bastard.
Vail crawled toward Fuller to get his handgun. Then she would wake him and find out what the hell he did to her—and why. Then, and only then, maybe she’d kill him. At least, that’s what she felt like doing.
Vail came upon Fuller’s boots, yanked on them. The movement made her nauseous. “Fuller, wake up!” But he didn’t respond. She scrabbled forward, grabbed his shirt to give him a good shake, but it was wet. Not just wet, but slimy and thick. Blood.
That’s the blood I smelled. Fuller’s?
She drew back, wiped her hands on her blouse, then peered closer to try to get a better look at where he was bleeding. She felt for his wrist, for a pulse. But there was nothing. Jesus Christ. What the hell happened here?
Argument with Fuller. Sharp—she brought her right hand to her neck. Something stuck her neck. She remembered that. But Fuller? Dead? Why wasn’t she killed, too?
And if Fuller had tried to burn her alive, then who’d want to kill him—and leave her among the living?
Cell phone—she needed to call someone. Robby. Dixon. Where did she keep it? Come on, Karen, think.
She felt around and located her BlackBerry. Couldn’t find Robby’s or Dixon’s number. New phone. Shit! She paged to the call log. A DC number—Rooney. She hit Call and waited while it rang. He answered on the first ring.
“Karen. Everything okay?”
His voice was amplified, like he was on a headset. “No, Art, things are all fucked up. I—I don’t know what happened. I think I was drugged—”
“Drugged—where are you?”
She slowly turned. It was dark . . . no lights of any kind. “I’m in the middle of nowhere. A vineyard, I’m in a vineyard. More than that, I don’t know. I remember driving on—on Silver . . . Silverado. Silverado Trail. I remember that. I thought someone was following me. Turned out to be Scott Fuller. He tried to run me off the road, we crashed, I got out of my car, and—I’m not sure. We argued. About the arson. I was talking to him,”—asking him whether he killed Victoria Cameron—“I was asking him if he killed Victoria Cameron. Then I felt something sharp and I went down. When I woke up, I was on the ground, I was dizzy—and Fuller’s dead.”
“Dead? How?”
“I don’t know—blood. There’s blood on his chest, I checked for a pulse. But my phone, it’s a new one after the fire, the one you gave me. And there’s no contact list so I don’t have anyone’s number—”
“Karen. Listen to me. I’m going to call Detective Hernandez. Then I’ll call Brix.”
“Call Dixon, Roxxann Dixon.”
“Okay. I’ll call her. How are you, are you able to wait for them?”
“I’m . . . okay, I think. Just have Robby call me. I’ll try to direct him to where I am.”
“Need be, we’ll track your cell signal. Meantime, be careful, Karen. Someone tried to kill you. And he’s still out there.”
“Actually, Art, the guy who tried to kill me is a few feet away from me. Dead. And whoever drugged me and killed him could just as easily have killed me, too. So I think he’s got other plans.”
“Maybe. If this guy’s a narcissist, this could all be part of his game. Showing you how superior he is, that he controls things, not you. He could’ve easily killed you, but didn’t. Maybe next time he will. We don’t know what’s going on yet. But we can’t assume it’s safe just because this one time keeping you alive served his purpose better.”
Vail knew he was