Crush - Alan Jacobson [77]
“C’mon, you know none of that matters. We can rationalize all we want, but is it ever okay for us not to look good?”
“I was just trying to make you feel better.”
“Only thing that’ll make me feel better is a hot shower, a comfortable bed. And Robby’s body beside me.” They walked out of the Shift Change Room and headed down the hall. “Speaking of Robby, where is he?”
“He’s been working with Brix and Lugo.”
Vail felt a buzz on her belt. She dug out her BlackBerry and blew off the dirt that had no doubt come from rolling around in the vineyard. Looked at the text. And stopped in midstride. She felt dizzy again—only this time it was not from a next-gen drug. It was raw fear. “Oh my God,” she muttered.
Dixon stopped beside Vail and looked over her shoulder. “What is it?”
Think, Karen. Calm down. What do I do? How do I—stop. Breathe. Concentrate. She wiped at her eyes with two fingers. “Get Robby,” was all she said.
Dixon ran off. Vail dialed Jonathan. It went right to voicemail. “Fuck!” She hung up and scrolled to speed dial looking for Paul Bledsoe’s number. But there were no speed dial entries. Damn it! Think. What’s the number? 703 . . . come on . . . She pressed her eyes shut and it came to her. Punched it in, hit Call.
Bledsoe, a friend and homicide detective with Fairfax County Police Department, answered on the third ring.
“Bledsoe, it’s Karen. I know it’s early—”
“Fuck, Karen, I was up half the night. I finally fell asleep sometime around three. What time is it?”
“Seven-thirty, your time.”
“Seven—what do you mean, ‘your time’? Where are—”
“California, working a case. I need your help.”
He moaned. “Today’s my day off. Call me back in a few hours—”
“No! Get your ass out of bed. He’s targeting Jonathan—”
“Jonathan? Who’s targeting—”
“Shut up and listen to me. Throw on your clothes and get ready to leave. I’ll call you back in thirty seconds and tell you where you’re going.” She disconnected the call.
Vail stood there staring at the text message, her pulse pounding in her head. Whoever you are, you goddamn fucking bastard—
“Karen!”
Robby came running down the hall.
She pointed at him as he approached. “Have someone look up the next flight out to DC.”
“DC? What’s wrong?”
“Jonathan.” She held up a hand. “Please, just do it.”
Robby pulled his phone and started dialing. Vail pushed Talk on her BlackBerry and waited while it rang. Bledsoe picked up.
“Bledsoe, I’m putting you on speaker. I’ve got Robby here, too, and Roxxann Dixon, an investigator I’m working with.” She pressed a button on her phone then held it out. “Can you hear me?”
“Yeah,” Bledsoe said, his voice filtered and tinny. “Now what the hell’s going on?”
“Start driving toward Jonathan’s school. Lincoln Intermediate, you know where it is?”
“Yeah, but—”
“Just get in the car and I’ll explain.”
The crank of an engine turning over came through the speaker. “Already in the car, on my way.”
Robby ended his call and stepped closer to Vail and Dixon.
“I just got a text from a serial killer we’ve been tracking here in Napa.” She played with the device’s joystick and brought up the message. “He said, and I’m quoting, ‘I’m watching a very interesting young man. Reminds me of a young Karen Vail. He’s on his way to school right now. Lincoln Intermediate is a lot nicer than the school I went to, which was a real shit hole. I’ll be sure to say hi to Jonathan for you. Hope you enjoyed your little nap. A nap in Napa. LOL.’”
Dixon and Robby exchanged an uneasy glance. “Did you call Jonathan?” Robby asked.
“Went right to voicemail. He turns his phone off because the school confiscates it if it so much as vibrates.”
“Well that worked out great,” Bledsoe said. “Smart rule.”
“I’ll call the school,” Robby said, flipping open his phone. “Have them go into lockdown.”
“They can’t go into lockdown before school starts,” she said. Into her phone: “Bledsoe, you’ve gotta find him—”
“I’ll find him, Karen. I’ll be there in ten. I’ve got it handled, okay?”
No, not okay. That’s not quick enough. “Yeah, sure. Thanks.” She hung up, then