She moved into the next car and saw the door ahead close suddenly. Was it possibly her offender? Impossible to say. She pulled her phone and called Dixon. “Anything?”
“If he came off the west side of the train, no. If he came off the east, I have no fucking clue.”
“I think I just saw him. Who’s en route?”
“Task force is lights and siren, but probably at least fifteen out. I just called St. Helena and Calistoga PDs.”
“Ten-four. Wish me luck.”
Vail signed off and hung up. For now, it was her ballgame. Hopefully she could stay in the game until the others arrived. And being on a train filled with people—who paid handsomely to be here—didn’t make her job any easier. If Mayfield wanted to make this a hostage situation, there’d be little she could do to stop, or defuse, it. So she kept moving forward.
As she climbed through the doors of the next car, she grabbed the waitress and asked a question she should’ve thought to ask earlier. “Just how many goddamn cars are on this train?”
The answer told her she was in the last one before the locomotive. Mayfield was either here—which he was not—or he was in the locomotive. Or he had bailed out. Vail looked west first and did not see anyone—but in the near darkness, there was no way she could be sure of what she was seeing. To her right, the east was totally black.
Yet she sensed Mayfield was still aboard the train.
Vail pushed forward into the connecting area between the car and the locomotive—and saw, to her right and now behind her as the train continued on, John Mayfield, standing in the middle of the road, car-jacking a vehicle.
She pulled her BlackBerry, but Dixon was already calling through.
“Got him—” Dixon said. “Two cars ahead. Silver SUV—”
“I see it.”
Dixon pulled right, around the car in front of her, along the shoulder of the winding road.
“I’m getting off,” Vail said. “Pick me up.”
She yanked open the side door, looked at the descending metal stairs, and stepped down.
Glanced right. Saw what looked like Dixon’s car.
Vail stepped down to the lowest rung, then sprung off the train and into the brush, rolling onto her shoulder as she landed. Cushioning scrub or not, the impact still stung.
She pushed herself up, saw Dixon’s head poking through the window, yelling at her.
“Hurry the hell up!”
Blaring horns. Vail ran onto the roadway and got into Dixon’s car.
Dixon floored it as soon as the door closed, throwing the seatbeltless Vail backwards and sideways. She grabbed for the door handle and righted herself. Pain shot through her left shoulder.
Dixon’s engine was revving, groaning as she kept the pedal against the floor.
“Don’t lose him,” Vail shouted. As if she had to tell Dixon to step on it. Dixon was driving along the rough hard-pack shoulder, which made for a less than comfortable ride. But neither of them cared, not with their quarry in the SUV ahead of them, speeding along this twisty-turny stretch of Highway 29 that was now out in the suburbs, vineyards on both sides illuminated by Dixon’s headlights.
Suddenly, a buzz on Dixon’s phone.
“Get it,” she yelled.
Vail reached over, grabbed Dixon’s cell, and flipped it open. “This is Vail.”
“It’s Brix. I’m en route, passing Pratt Avenue.”
“Sounds like he’s a couple miles back,” Dixon said. “Tell him we’re passing Ehlers.”
“We’re—”
“I heard,” Brix said. “I’ll be there soon.”
Vail ended the call, shoved the phone back into Dixon’s pocket—and that’s when she realized her partner was wearing the bare minimum: gym shorts and shirt, no bra, and tennis shoes without socks. But she had her sidearm strapped to her shoulder and her phone holder clipped to the shorts’ waistband. It looked bizarre—and downright geeky—but who the hell cared?
Vail caught a sign on the left—Bale Grist Mill State Park—and realized the area was becoming more rural as they drove down 29.
Dixon tightened her grip on the wheel. “He’s speeding up, I think he realizes we’re behind him.”
“Where’s your cube?”
“In here,” she said, banging her right elbow on the large armrest.
Dixon lifted her arm and Vail reached into the deep receptacle. She pulled out the device, flipped the switch, and the blinding light filled the interior and reflected off the windshield. It made them both recoil.
“Jesus—”
“Shit, sorry about that.” Vail rolled down the window and set the magnetic base on the roof.
“Two-way’s in the glove box. Tell dispatch we’ve got a code 33. Give our twenty.”
Vail located the radio, then saw something that brought a smile to her face: her Glock.
She keyed the two-way and followed Dixon’s instructions. “ . . . Code 33, stolen silver Nissan SUV headed —”
“North.”
“North on Highway 29.” She lowered the radio. “Get us closer, let me grab the tag.”
Dixon pressed the accelerator, the engine roared louder and the vehicle closed on Mayfield’s SUV.
“Roger,” the dispatcher responded. “Code 33 on primary. All non-emergency traffic go to red channel.”
Vail leaned forward and squinted. “I see a five. X-ray, Tom, Robert—” Vail moved the radio back to her lips. “License on the stolen Nissan. California plate. Five X-ray Tom Robert.”
Mayfield swerved left to avoid a motorcyclist, who leaned right, onto the shoulder.
Dixon gave the man extra room and cut back into the lane. “I hate high-speed chases. Too fucking dangerous.”
The headlights caught a large sign up ahead and off to the right. Vail pointed. “What do you say we forget the chase and go see Old Faithful spew her wrath?”
Dixon veered right around a stray cat. Vail grabbed the dashboard with her left hand, then set the radio between her thighs when Dixon slammed on the brakes and yelled out—
“What the fuck!”
A cruiser, light bar flashing, was approaching from the opposite direction. Dixon’s car dovetailed, her rear end flying right while she coaxed the front end left, back into pursuit of Mayfield.
“Mayfield saw the cruiser, turned left,” Dixon said. “Right into the Castillo del Deseo.”
“The what?”
“Castle of Desire,” Dixon said. “A dozen years to build. Looks and feels like a real Spanish castle.” She accelerated up the inclined cement drive, the taillights of Mayfield’s SUV still barely visible around the bend. She sped past the seedling evergreens, then crested the hill. Ahead, in the darkness, was a large, dramatically lit brick structure.
Vail craned her neck to take in the enormity of the approaching complex. “Robby said he went to a castle a few days ago. Wish I could’ve seen it with him. Just a guess . . . but this won’t be nearly as fun.”
Dixon swung the vehicle in behind Mayfield’s parked Nissan. “Let’s go.”
“Where?”
Dixon nodded ahead, toward the castle. “You’re gonna get your wish.”
