“Is there a difference?” Vail asked.
“Yeah. But to set the record straight, yes, I was attracted to her. I’m a man, she’s a beautiful woman. But you’re more beautiful. Besides, you’ve got my heart.”
She reached out and grabbed his groin. “That’s not all I’ve got.”
Robby raised his eyebrows, then guiltily glanced around the parking lot, which was now bathed in fading light. He said, “I think I should take this inside.”
AND THAT’S EXACTLY what he did. Afterwards, Vail rolled off him and stared at the ceiling. “That makes up for what turned out to be a tough day.”
“You have to learn to play well with others,” Robby said.
“How did you know what happened?”
He gave her a look that said, Come on. “Give me some credit. I think I know you pretty well, Karen.”
She yawned. “You know what, I don’t even care anymore. About today. I’m hungry . . . starved. But I’m so . . . I feel so rested. I don’t want to move.”
Robby got off the bed and drew the curtains. It was now ink black outside, the sun having set and the woods filtering whatever stray light might be emanating from the moon. “Let’s order room service,” Vail said, her speech groggy.
“Good one,” Robby said as he slipped on his pants. “How about I go out, get something, and bring it back?”
“Sounds good to me,” she mumbled. “Wake me when you get back . . .”
VAIL WAS ASLEEP, dreaming of yodeling sommeliers, the oak barrel scent of raspberry-nosed Pinot Noir, the weight of Robby lying atop her, the heat of the Day Spa sauna . . . hot . . .
Sweating . . .
So hot . . .
And the stench of gasoline. Gasoline?
Nose stings, hard to breath, smoke—
Vail woke from her stupor, lifted her head, and saw nothing. Blackness like a velvet coffin enveloped her. Cocoonlike in its confinement, thick. She felt around—she was on the bed. Asleep. Robby—he went for food.
Felt her fanny pack on the night table, with the Glock’s prominent bulge.
Can’t see. Cough! What’s the layout of the room? She couldn’t remember—but just then, something blasted through the small window, a fireball, flames—feeding on the once-delicate frilly curtains, conflagrating upwards toward the ceiling. Covering the walls.
Vail snatched the fanny pack and tossed the strap over her head. Wrapped a robe around herself and stumbled off the bed. Ran for the door—grabbed the knob and—fuck! Hotter than hot. Found a piece of clothing, wrapped it around her hand and tried to turn it. Locked? Jammed? She slammed against it with her shoulder. It rattled but didn’t budge. The door opens from the inside—it’d have to be pushed open from the outside.
She turned toward the window—only way out—but a wall of flames stared back. Angry, ferocious fire lunged at her.
The smoke, so thick. Get down, crawl—she fell to her knees, more because of her inability to breathe than a memory of what to do in the case of fires, which was suddenly plucked from some deep reach of consciousness.
She started toward the bathroom, but the air . . . so thick with particulates she tasted it on her tongue. Go, go, toward the bathroom. Window? Can’t remember . . .
Get out of here!
Made it to the bathroom, reached up—doorknob hot, burning hot—can’t open it. Hot doorknob means fire inside the room.
Turned back toward the front door, need a chair, smash through it . . .
But as she crawled along the floor, her chest felt heavy, tight—no air.
Robby! she screamed in her mind. Jonathan . . .
No, keep going. Cover mouth, keep going . . .
As she fought the intense heat, flames all around her, crackling, black smoke—the room door burst open. She couldn’t lift her head but two arms grabbed her and yanked her hard, and she felt herself being lifted into the air and thrown against a body. Robby . . . thank God . . .
She was bouncing up and down, helpless, a rag doll bobbing about on Robby’s back as he ran away from the burning building, the adjacent hedges now lit up like a bonfire.
coughing—
hair in her face—
and an explosion behind her—a fireball rose up into the sky, wood shards slamming into her back and above her, to the side, all around, and—
Robby, move faster!
He kept going, the smoke still thick, and she kept bouncing around as he ran into the graveled parking lot. Eyes burning. Tearing. Can’t see—
Off in the distance, a siren.
Vail lifted her head.
Forced her eyes open, then closed, then open . . .
... saw two blurred headlights jumping in the darkness. They stopped, someone running toward her, and she was suddenly laid down on the gravel, looking up and seeing—
“Karen! Oh my god—what happened?”
She looked up, blinked repeatedly, eyes thick, and Robby was only a few feet away, running toward her. And then he was leaning over her, lifted her up and embraced her, held her close.
“Are you okay?” He pushed her away, held her at arm’s length, looking at her. “Karen—Karen, are you okay?”
Vail coughed, hard, nodded, her senses coming back to her with the cleaner air starting to infiltrate her lungs. With her pulled hard against his body, his long arm and large hand wrapped around her body, grabbing her hip, Robby led her farther away, toward his car. But he stopped, turned, and said, “Are you okay?”
“Fine.”
Coughing.
“I’ll be fine.”
And then he was moving her toward the car again.
JOHN WAYNE MAYFIELD sat in the thicket, a pair of Carson Super-Zoom binoculars pressed against his face. Normally, seeing in the distance at night would require a specialized night vision apparatus. But he didn’t have such equipment—and with the intense illumination given off by the fire, the area was lit just fine for his needs.
He had never experimented with fire, but watching the flames jump and consume and devour—he had to admit, it carried a certain excitement. A certain power.
But how would you leave your mark? How would others know it was you who set the fire?
Most of all, it was so distant, so removed from the action. The thrill just wasn’t there, at least not the same level of thrill he sought. That he craved. He was a tactile person. He needed to feel the death with his hands. And watch, up close.
As he sat there, he considered the virtues of various methods of killing. Guns, arson, poison . . . they all caused death but they just didn’t possess the qualities he sought. Still, he had to admit, fire setting had its merits. To arsonists, the scene before him was, in fact, the kindling that stoked their desires. Their internal fires.
Mayfield lifted the binoculars back to his face and watched.
THE SIREN WAS LOUDER NOW, filling her ears, floodlights and headlights and movement all around her. Firefighters jumping off the truck, pulling hose, paramedics rushing to her side, grabbing her left arm, Robby steadying her on the right, moving her quickly, lifting her off the ground and carrying her away from the fire truck, away from the commotion, from the smoke.
They sat her down on the ambulance’s bumper, strapped an oxygen mask to her face, and one of the men started examining her, bright light flicking across her eye as he checked her pupils.
Vail looked over at Robby. “Thank you, thank you . . .” she said through the mask. “You saved my life. You saved me . . .” As tears started rolling down her ash-covered and soot-stained face, the paramedic was saying something, turning her head back toward him.
She heard something. Robby was talking to her.
“Don’t thank me.”
What?
Don’t thank me. That’s what he said.
And then it registered. Vail turned her head away from the medic, focused on Robby’s face. And noticed he was looking off to the left.
“Thank her,” he said.
Standing in the flickering light
of the fire engine’s swirling light bar, with singed clothing and blackened face, was Roxxann Dixon.
TWENTY
V ail sat there looking at Dixon, who was now bent at the waist, coughing hard. The other paramedic left Vail’s side and helped Dixon to the ambulance’s bumper, beside Vail. He reached inside and grabbed another oxygen mask, then strapped it over Dixon’s face.
Vail pulled down her mask with a weak hand that felt like it weighed fifty pounds. “You? That was you?”
Dixon’s eyes moved right, the whites in stark contrast to her soot-covered face—and they narrowed as she smiled. Then nodded.
Vail grinned too. A silent thanks.
AN HOUR LATER, with the blaze now doused and the fire chief, Brix, Lugo, and Fuller on scene, Vail and Dixon were breathing easier and refusing transport. Their eyes had been flushed, they’d been infused with oxygen, and a few second-degree burns on Vail’s legs were dressed with Silvadene ointment.
Once Vail had her wits about her, she asked Dixon why she had inexplicably shown up at the bed-and-breakfast—not that she was complaining.
“You forgot your purse,” Dixon had told her. “It was shoved under the seat. When I got home, I pulled mine out of the glovebox and remembered you’d stowed yours, too. I checked and it was still there. I figured your phone and wallet were probably inside, and it wasn’t that far, so I thought I’d bring it by.” She turned back toward the destroyed building. “I certainly wasn’t expecting this.”
Vail said, “This is the first time I’m glad I left my purse somewhere.”
Now, half an hour later, Dixon was approaching the ambulance, her face smeared with black ash and streaked saline, giving it a running mascara appearance. “Okay,” she said. “We’re covered. Once the fire is out, the exigency under which we entered the scene is greatly diminished. Further search or scrutiny of the scene requires a search warrant or consent from the owner or agent in control of the premises. I had Ray contact the owner. She went to San Francisco for dinner. She’s on her way back.”
“What makes you think this is a crime scene?” Robby asked.
“Just being thorough. I think it’s strange that right after you left, an aggressive fire breaks out and nearly kills Karen.”
“I agree,” Vail said. “So what’s procedure out here?”
“Well, the firefighters are doing their bit, poking around, conducting an investigation to determine the ignition source and method to make sure the fire’s really out, and that the cause of the fire no longer exists. That’s their responsibility, and it’s covered by the exigency under which they entered the premises. But because we’re here, a defense attorney could make the case that the search is going beyond what is required by exigency and turning to the collection of criminal evidence.”
“But since I paid for the room rental, don’t I have the right to give consent for the search?”
“Hmm. I’ll make a call. You may be right.” Dixon pulled her cell phone. “By the way, one of the fire guys said he saw a gas can behind the building. Don’t know if it’s related, or if it’s from a lawn mower, or whatever. To be safe, they backed off and waited for Brix to get here.”
“Brix is here? Didn’t even see him.”
“Behind the structure,” Dixon said, tilting her head back over her shoulder. “There’s another guy with him from the Napa sheriff’s office. I don’t know who he is, but they’ve been pointing at things, talking a lot.” She turned and punched a speed dial number into her phone.
Vail sighed. “All our stuff was in that room. We’ve got nothing to wear.”
“Just stuff,” Robby said. “Replaceable.”
The noise of crunching boots on gravel made them turn. Walking toward them was Brix, alongside a short, squat man in a suit. His legs were so thick he rocked a bit from side to side as he approached.
Brix nodded at Dixon, then gestured to the man. “Burt Gordon, Napa County arson investigator.”
Gordon acknowledged Vail, Dixon, and Robby. “This look familiar?” He held up a plastic bag. Inside was a dinged, dull-metal butane lighter.
Vail and Robby shook their heads.
“Should it?” Robby asked.
“I’m here with an investigator from CalFire. We rely on them to determine cause and origin, and he’s pretty sure this here lighter is what was used to start it. That and gasoline. Found a can back behind the building. We’ll know more by morning, once we’ve had a chance to run it all through the lab.”
“Arson,” Vail said. Jesus Christ. What have I gotten myself into?
“Looks that way. When so much fire spreads that quickly, the cause is automatically suspicious.” Gordon handed the evidence bags to a nearby assistant. “Building was a freestanding structure, so no one else was at risk. All the other renters got out without a problem. So the question begging to be asked is, Any idea who’d want to kill you?”
“We just got to town a couple days ago,” Robby said. “Not enough time for anyone to get to know us, let alone want to kill us.”
Vail rose from the bumper. “I wouldn’t exactly say that.”
Robby gave her a pleading look. “I don’t think I want to know.”
Dixon shoved her cell back into her pocket. To Vail, she said, “We’re good for the search. You were right.” She looked up at Robby. “As to any . . . disputes Karen may have had, they would’ve been with law enforcement officers. None of them would’ve done this.”
Vail nodded slowly. “I’ve pushed some buttons, but Roxxann’s right.”
“We talking about people here, on-site?”
Vail nodded. “The task force. Brix, mostly. I said some things the mayor, board of supervisors president, and Congressman Church’s District Director took offense to.”
“Again,” Dixon said, “not the kind of people who’d be involved with something like this.”
Gordon sucked on his teeth, then nodded slowly. “Okay, here’s what I’m gonna do. I’m going to meet with each one of these people, on-site, right now. Get alibis, statements from each of them—”
“Mayor Prisco, Supervisor Zimbroski, and Tim Nance aren’t here,” Dixon said.
“Then I’ll send someone to go find them. This is serious goddamn shit, Investigator Dixon. And I take my job seriously. Which means I gotta ask you, where were you tonight?”
Dixon set her jaw, then said, “I went home after dropping Karen off here.”
“Anyone who can corroborate that?”
“My dog. He’s a standard poodle. He’s very smart.”
Gordon’s eyes narrowed.
“But,” Dixon said, “I suggest a recorded statement. His handwriting’s paw. I mean, poor.”
Gordon stared at her. “I’ll get you a pad and pen and you can give me your statement. I suggest you leave out that bullshit about your dog.” He hobbled off toward the now doused but still simmering structure.
Dixon watched him until he walked sufficiently out of range, then said, “What kind of bullshit is that? Thinking I had something to do with this. He pissed me off.”
Robby rubbed his eyes. “Not your fault. Karen’s got a way of rubbing off on people.”
“Don’t talk about me like I’m not here,” Vail said. She then shivered, grabbed a blanket the paramedic had given her earlier and wrapped it around her shoulders. “My backup piece was in there.”
“Yeah, well, it’s probably toast.” Robby winced. “Sorry.”
“Better it than me.” Vail wiggled her fingers at him. “Can I have your phone? Mine’s now an expensive paperweight, assuming they ever find it.”
Robby handed her his cell. She dialed Thomas Gifford’s direct line and left him a message, briefly telling him what happened, knowing he wouldn’t get it until he arrived in the morning. That was fine—there was nothing for him to do, but if she didn’t keep him informed of a potential attempt on her life, he would not be pleased. She handed Robby back the cell, rewrapped the blanket, and said, “So . . . no clean clothes and no place t
o sleep.”
“You guys can stay with me,” Dixon said. She gave Vail a quick once-over. “You’re a little taller, but I’ve got something you can wear until you can go shopping.”
“Guess I know what I’m doing tomorrow,” Robby said.
“Hey, let me borrow your phone again.” Robby handed it back to Vail, and she began dialing. “Who are you calling?”
“Jonathan.” She glanced over and saw Robby look at his watch, no doubt doing the time calculation. “I just need to hear his voice,” she said. “He’s a teen, he’ll fall right back to sleep.” But he didn’t answer. His cell went straight to voicemail. She listened to his recorded greeting, grinned, then left a message, told him she loved him, and that she’d call him when she had a moment.
As Vail handed her phone back to Robby, Dixon yawned wide and loud, then said, “Let me go write up my statement, then we can get the hell out of here.”
After Dixon walked off, Vail cuddled into Robby’s chest, watching the firefighters mill about, rolling hoses, packing air tanks, and stowing tools.
Gordon’s question echoed in her thoughts: Any idea who’d want to kill you? It was a question for which she had no rational answer.
Yet.
TWENTY-ONE
S omeone was shoving her. Pushing her shoulder. What. Who—
It was Robby, lying beside her in the double bed of Roxxann Dixon’s guest bedroom. Because of Robby’s breadth and the mattress’s small size, they were jammed up against one another most of the night. That is, once Vail stopped hacking and fell asleep sometime around 1 a.m.
Robby was handing her his cell phone. “Your boss.”
“I didn’t even hear it ring.”
Vail pushed herself up on an elbow—and launched into a coughing fit. She rolled out of bed, hurried into the bathroom, and spit up a glob of soot-infused mucus. She swallowed some water, leaned on the sink a moment, then turned. Robby was standing there.
“You okay?” Robby asked.
“Peachy.” She took the phone, cleared her throat, and said, “Yes, sir.”
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