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  “Tell you the truth, if it was up to me, I’d give your ASAC a ring and get you hooked up here. But I have to tread carefully. Don’t wanna step on toes. You know what I’m saying.”

  “I do, but—”

  Owens held up a hand. “Let me do my thing behind the scenes. Be patient. If it’s meant to be, it’ll happen.”

  EIGHT

  With nothing to do but wait, Vail and Robby headed to Calistoga Day Spa, where Vail would take in a mud bath, hot springs, and hour massage. It was a pampering to which she was unaccustomed—in fact, had never had, in her life.

  Robby dropped her at the spa and had the next few hours to himself. When he returned to pick up Vail, she walked into the glass enclosed lobby by the front desk with her hair back in a headband and a smile on her face.

  “Good time?”

  “If I closed my eyes, I could sleep for hours.”

  He carried her duffle to the car and tossed it into the back seat. “So how was the mud bath?”

  “Interesting. I mean, I’m lying there, totally relaxed, then I realized that I’m lying in a pile of warm cow shit. And I paid a lot of money for it.”

  “Did you enjoy it?”

  “Once I got the thought out of my mind, it was very soothing. Not as relaxing as the massage. I had this hunk named Pedro, and he had these really strong hands—”

  “Do I want to hear this?” Robby asked.

  “Apparently not.” She looked over at him and grinned. “Jealous?”

  Before Robby could answer, Vail’s phone started ringing. She reached into the rear seat and fished it out of the duffel. “Karen Vail.”

  “Yeah, this is Stan, Stan Owens.”

  “Stan . . . you got something for us?”

  “Sort of. I had a chat with Redd Brix. I think you should go and talk to him, see if you can get him to request the BAU’s involvement.”

  “You think he’ll go for it?”

  “I softened him up for you, told him about my experience with the National Academy. He did a lot of listening, didn’t say much. Thanked me for the call.”

  “Well, thanks, Stan. We’ll go chat with him right now. Any idea where he is?”

  “Matter of fact, yes. It’s his day off. He’s at a buddy’s house digging out an old wine cave.”

  “Digging out an old wine cave? Is that like spelunking?”

  “Not sure what that is, but that cave is legendary stuff here in the valley. A hundred years ago there was an earthquake that caused a cave-in at one of the premiere wineries in the region. Black Knoll Vineyards, been around since 1861. Legend is that there were some special bottles in that cave, and when the earthquake hit, they were buried alive, so to speak. Some old geezer convinced his neighbor he knew where the cave was located, and it happens to be on land belonging to Brix’s friend.”

  Vail took down the address, thanked him, and plugged it into their GPS.

  “You don’t really want to go there now,” Robby said. “You’re oiled, massaged, and relaxed. Let’s go shower, get dressed, have a nice dinner—”

  “Proceed to the highlighted route,” Stella’s GPS voice announced.

  Vail shrugged. “You heard the lady.”

  NINE

  “You have arrived at your destination, on the left,” Stella said.

  Vail compared the address to her notes and said, “Indeed we have.”

  Robby nodded at the portable electronic device in Vail’s hands. “You like that thing, don’t you?”

  “She’s grown on me.” Seeing Robby’s twisted mouth, she said, “What, don’t tell me you’re intimidated by a female voice telling you where to go.”

  “You tell me where to go all the time.”

  “Exactly. Turn right.” Vail thumbed a hand at the signpost. The numbers were lettered in block gold leaf on the label of a magnum wine bottle in the hands of a large statue of a waiter dressed in a tuxedo.

  “Something tells me this is going to be interesting,” Robby said as he swung the Murano onto the driveway.

  They drove a hundred feet before they came to an electric gate, which sat splayed open. To the right was a well-maintained mushroom-colored guard shack, which stood empty.

  “Guess we just let ourselves in,” Vail said.

  Just past the small security shed was a cutout in the fine gravel and compacted dirt that lined the paved roadway. A silver Ford sat parked parallel to the path in one of the available slots.

  “Wanna walk?” Robby asked. “We don’t know where Brix is on the property, might as well explore.” He slid the Murano into the spot in front of the Ford and they hiked along the asphalt toward the house, which sat thirty yards ahead.

  “Gorgeous property,” Vail said. Exquisitely maintained vineyards, arranged in precise rows, lined the land to the north and south. “My feeling is that if we go to the front door, good chance they’ll tell us to go home.”

  “But if we wander around, we’re just a couple of bumbling idiots looking for Brix.”

  “Exactly.”

  The house was a gray, four-story, stone-faced structure with mature palms fanning out from either side of the entrance. A six-car garage sat to the left of the main building, attached by a covered walkway with vine-covered columns. Vail and Robby hung a left by the palms and moved down a graveled path for about fifty paces.

  They stopped and surveyed the landscape. Ahead of them lay closely cropped grass-covered rolling hills, with a sharp drop-off slightly to their right. Robby pointed in the direction he felt they should proceed, and they made their way down the sharp grade, moving sideways to control their descent.

  “You okay?” he asked.

  “Knee’s a little sore, but no problem.”

  The land flattened out, and further right, behind the house now and a hundred yards away, was a group of nine men holding shovels, perched beside a rectangular thirty-foot hole in the ground. A conical mound of overturned dirt sat along the far edge of the pit. A large, covered, blue-and-white wheeled cooler reclined at an angle on a secondary pile of dry soil.

  As Robby and Vail neared, Vail made out Redmond Brix, beer in one hand and the handle of a shovel in the other, the tip stuck into the grass.

  “Can I help you?” asked a man in a security uniform standing beside Brix, a two-way fastened to his belt. “This is private property.”

  “Front gate was open.”

  Brix turned. His face drooped as he caught sight of Vail. He frowned, then motioned to a man in jeans, leather gloves, and designer sunglasses. “This is one of my closest friends, Al Toland. He owns this property. Al, this is FBI Agent Vail and Detective Hernandez, from Virginia.” Brix introduced the rest of the men, other friends and hired workers, who dipped their chins and tipped their hats in acknowledgment.

  One of them had a high-end digital SLR camera around his neck, Nikon D700 embroidered into the strap.

  “Good to meet all of you,” Robby said. “Sorry to intrude.”

  “Goddamn right,” Brix said. “It’s my day off. Can’t a guy get a break?”

  “Hey, this is our vacation,” Vail said.

  Brix cocked his head. “No one’s asking you to keep sticking your nose in places you don’t belong.”

  “Can’t argue with that,” Robby said.

  Vail threw him a look.

  “Javi,” Toland said to the uniformed security guard, “go shut the front gate, please.”

  The security guard immediately headed off in the direction from which Vail and Robby had come. Brix stuck his shovel deeper into the dirt and trudged toward them, then motioned them to an area a few yards from the other men.

  Vail faced Brix and said, “Look, we’re just trying to help, that’s it. If there’s some information we can offer to help catch the guy who filleted that woman, then we’ve done our job.”

  “Your job? You have no job here. Do us all a favor, Agent Vail, go and visit some wineries, enjoy your time in the wine country with Detective Hernandez. Once you get home, it’s back t
o the grind.”

  Vail couldn’t help but think that this could’ve been Robby uttering those same words. And in another sense, Brix was right. What the hell was she doing here? She was on vacation. She should’ve been enjoying the beauty of the Napa Valley, tasting some of the world’s best wine, decompressing, letting her knee heal. That was the plan. But some killer with a sharp knife had shredded those plans.

  “You don’t know what you’re dealing with here, Lieutenant. If this guy has killed before, and I think that’s very likely, this is something you don’t want to fool around with. You need to get out in front of it now, before it’s too late. Ask Sheriff Owens. He’s been through the FBI’s National Academy program. He’s been exposed to this type of killer.”

  “Then I’ll know who to ask if we find another body.”

  “The woman from Silver Ridge Estates had a missing toenail. Second digit, forcibly removed.”

  “Yeah, I heard all about it. Stan called me. You were at the morgue. Those are some balls you got there, Agent Vail. You sure know how to endear yourself with the locals.”

  “We’ve offered our help, but you haven’t exactly been open to what we have to offer.”

  “We’re not small-town cops. We can do our job just fine without the FBI’s help. Thanks for your concern.” He took a quick pull from his beer, then pointed the mouth of the bottle to a spot behind them. “Why don’t you two run along now and have a nice day.” He turned away, then walked back to his shovel and pulled it from the ground. “Let’s get back to it, guys, we’re losing light.”

  Vail sucked on her lip but didn’t move.

  “Come on, Karen,” Robby said, gently taking her hand and leading her away.

  “WE’VE DONE EVERYTHING WE CAN,” Robby said, as they hiked past the six-car garage, headed toward the Murano.

  “He doesn’t know what he’s dealing with. And that means more women are going to be killed because he can’t put his ego aside.”

  “Sheriff Owens understands. Let him do his thing, maybe he can talk Brix into asking the BAU for help.”

  Vail sighed. “Fine. We’ve done everything we can, right?”

  “Right.”

  She squeezed his hand. “So there’s nothing left for us to do but enjoy our time together.”

  “Right again.”

  As they neared their car, the gate at the end of the road was closed. And Javi was by the guard shack reaching for his two-way.

  “Gate is closed, yes sir.”

  “Don’t let anyone in,” the filtered voice of Redmond Brix said. “We’ve found a body buried down here. At least, part of a body. I’m gonna call in CSI. His name’s Matthew Aaron. Let him through when he gets here.”

  “Roger,” Javi said. “Uh, that FBI agent and detective are here. You want me to send them back?”

  There was a long silence. Robby and Vail exchanged a glance.

  Robby was holding Vail’s hand tightly; she was sure he was keeping her from turning around and running back to where they’d come from.

  “Send them back,” Brix’s filtered voice finally said.

  Vail detected a note of dejection in his tone. But it didn’t matter. She was already en route.

  TEN

  When they arrived, the men were ringing the large pit, kneeling and staring at something at the far end. Brix was blocking their view, but judging from his body language, he was not pleased. He was on one knee and his head was bowed. The guy with the camera was snapping away, his flash bursting like lightning in a night sky.

  As Vail moved closer to the hole’s boundary, two of the men stood and moved out of her way. That’s when she saw it: Two dirt-crusted feet were protruding from the edge of the opening, the flesh partially decomposed.

  “Hey,” Vail said to the man with the Nikon. “What are you doing? Why are you taking pictures?”

  “I’m with the Napa Valley Press. I was covering the excavation of the cave. It’s historic. I didn’t think we’d find a—a dead body.”

  Yeah, dipshit. I’m sure no one here expected that. Vail thought of telling him to shove his lens where the light doesn’t shine, but then figured the photos could be useful to their investigation. Besides, she had no right to tell him not to take photos. That was Brix’s job.

  Robby joined Vail and got down on his stomach to get as close a look at the feet as possible. Brix rose and moved back, then wiped at his sweat-pimpled forehead with the back of his leather work glove.

  “Karen,” Robby said. “Come closer. Take a look at this.”

  In the burst of light from the flash, she saw what drew Robby’s attention. The second toenail of the right foot was missing.

  THEY WERE ALL SILENT A MOMENT before Vail said, “Lieutenant, can you get these men out of here?”

  Brix complied without comment, giving head signals to the workers. Toland followed. “I’m gonna have to ask you not to go public with those photos, Randy.”

  The Press photographer chortled as his gaze flicked between Brix and Vail. “We can discuss that later.”

  “Nothing to discuss,” Brix said. “I invited you here as a guest because I thought you’d appreciate the exclusive on the cave. If you want to come back when we finish this thing, you’ll honor my request.”

  Randy gave him a hard look, but nodded.

  Brix extended a hand. “The memory card.”

  Vail could see Randy’s facial muscles contracting as he flipped open the side compartment and withdrew the compact flash card.

  Brix took it from him. “I’ll make sure you get this back.”

  “Yeah, whatever,” Randy said, then walked off.

  When he was out of earshot, Vail said, “Well, guess that answers our question. This guy has killed before.”

  Brix’s shoulders were rolled forward and his gloved hands hung at his sides. He spoke without meeting her eyes. “What’s the procedure for bringing the profiling unit on board?”

  “It’s a pretty informal process. If an agency wants help from the BAU, they’d either call the unit and talk with an agent, or contact their local FBI office. Since I’m already here, all you had to do was ask. I’ll call my supervisor for approval. Be a good idea to write me a formal request on letterhead for the file. But that’s all just a red-tape formality. I’m here, and I want to help. Let’s not waste any time.”

  “We’ve got a major crimes task force. Obviously, this is top priority. We’ll start in the morning. I’ve got your number, I’ll text you the info.”

  ELEVEN

  John Wayne Mayfield sat in his idling white Jeep in the parking lot of Dean & Deluca, munching on a veggie sandwich. Country music was pouring from the dash speakers, the vocals pining about hating his job but not having a choice because he needed the money for alimony.

  Mayfield didn’t have the alimony problem, but it made him think of his job, and how he always strived to do it the best he could—but was it too much to ask that he wanted to enjoy himself, too? Sometimes he did, but oftentimes he did not—the reasons were obvious, but there was nothing he could do about it. He was given a task to complete and if he didn’t complete it successfully, he didn’t get paid. Simple as that.

  It was a common dilemma with workers all over the world, he imagined: the desire to do something you enjoyed doing, but still earn a living doing it. In his case, it was not always possible to accomplish both.

  But his hobbies, those were where he was able to feed his hunger, where he satisfied his desires.

  As he bit into his sandwich, he saw a blonde exit the store, a white bag hanging from her hand. Diamond ring on her finger, but no male companion in sight. Was he waiting for her in their car? Mayfield watched her as she traversed the parking lot, passing right in front of his truck. His eyes were riveted to the sway of her hips, the slink of her thighs as they rhythmically moved through space. She stopped at a dark blue Mercedes and got into the passenger seat.

  Mayfield swallowed, then took another bite of his sandwich. All in all, it wasn�
��t a bad existence. And to be able to live in the area where he lived, in the house that he owned, that had to be factored into the equation. Some people killed for the sport, some killed over drugs, or money, or sex, or anger. Those were largely unfulfilling, without any of the satisfaction and sense of accomplishment he sought when he stalked his victims, and then ended their lives.

  Unfulfilling, but necessary. Some things just had to be done, whether you liked it or not. For John Wayne Mayfield, this was both fulfilling and enjoyable. He crumpled the paper wrapping of his sandwich and shoved his truck into gear.

  There was work to be done.

  TWELVE

  They ate dinner at Angèle, which abutted the recently refurbished Napa River embankment. The food was exquisitely tasteful. But Robby was unusually quiet. Vail sensed he was frustrated that she had pushed so hard to be included in the investigation, and now the task force.

  “I ruined our vacation,” she said over a sip of Duckhorn Merlot.

  Robby put down his fork and sat back. “No, the UNSUB ruined it. Wrong place, wrong time.” He chewed a moment, then added, “But that doesn’t mean you had to pursue it so aggressively.”

  “I had to.”

  “Karen, there are murders all across the country—hell, all across the world—and you can’t be at every crime scene. You can’t draw up a profile on every UNSUB. You can’t help catch every psychosexual offender who’s on the loose.”

  “I know that.”

  He splayed out his large hands. “So then what gives?”

  Vail took another sip of wine. She put it down, studied the glass, then said, “I don’t know. I saw that body, the—well, the behaviors—and my mind switched into work mode. I—this is what I do, and I’ve got very specialized knowledge that can help apprehend this guy before more women are killed. Am I wrong to want to help prevent that?”

  Robby looked to his left, out the window at the Napa River. The sun had set and a blue-orange blush reflected off the water. The lights along the river’s edge began glowing.