In this follow-up to the standout bestseller The 7th Victim, Karen Vail ventures to Napa Valley, where a serial killer has been crushing his victims’ windpipes and leaving their bodies in caves. But when the Crush Killer learns that an FBI profiler has joined the Major Crimes Task Force, the newfound attention emboldens him, and he sets in motion a plan that wreaks havoc on the town—as well as the task force. Although a sudden break in the case helps Vail zero in on the identity of the killer, she senses that something isn’t right. If she doesn’t figure it out in time, the consequences will be dire.
In a rousing climax that leaves readers breathless, and which Publishers Weekly termed a “shockeroo ending,” Vail must pick up the pieces—and clean up the carnage left behind by the Crush Killer.
Meticulously researched during years of work with the FBI’s Behavioral Analysis Unit, this high-velocity thriller from national bestselling author Alan Jacobson features the kind of edge-of-your-seat ending that inspired Nelson DeMille to call Jacobson “a hell of a writer.”
Crush is the first installment of a two-part story that concludes with Velocity, book three in the Karen Vail Series.
About the Author
Jacobson’s books have been published internationally, and several have been optioned for film and television. A number have been named to Best of the Year lists.
Jacobson has been interviewed extensively on television and radio, including on CNN, NPR, and multiple ABC, CBS, NBC, and Fox network affiliates.
Alan Jacobson is the national bestselling author of the critically acclaimed FBI profiler Karen Vail and OPSIG Team Black series. Jacobson’s years of extensive research and training while embedded with federal and local law enforcement agencies have influenced him both personally and professionally, and have helped shape the stories he tells and the diverse characters that populate his novels.
Read an Excerpt
A Karen Vail Novel
By Alan Jacobson
OPEN ROAD INTEGRATED MEDIACopyright © 2009 Alan Jacobson
All rights reserved.
St. Helena, CaliforniaThe Napa Valley
The crush of a grape is not unlike life itself: You press and squeeze until the juice flows from its essence, and it dies a sudden, pathetic death. Devoid of its lifeblood, its body shrivels and is then discarded. Scattered about. Used as fertilizer, returned to the earth. Dust in the wind.
But despite the region in which John Mayfield worked—the Napa Valley—the crush of death wasn't reserved just for grapes.
John Mayfield liked his name. It reminded him of harvest and sunny vineyards.
He had, however, made one minor modification: His mother hadn't given him a middle name, so he chose one himself—Wayne. Given his avocation, "John Wayne" implied a tough guy image with star power. It also was a play on John Wayne Gacy, a notorious serial killer. And serial killers almost always were known in the public consciousness by three names. His persona—soon to be realized worldwide—needed to be polished and prepared.
Mayfield surveyed the room. He looked down at the woman, no longer breathing, in short order to resemble the shriveled husk of a crushed grape. He switched on his camera and made sure the lens captured the blood draining from her arm, the thirsty soil beneath her drinking it up as if it had been waiting for centuries to be nourished. Her fluid pooled a bit, then was slowly sucked beneath the surface.
A noise nearby broke his trance. He didn't have much time. He could have chosen his kill zone differently, to remove all risk. But it wasn't about avoiding detection. There was so much more to it.
The woman didn't appreciate his greatness, his power. She didn't see him for the unique person that he was. Her loss.
Mayfield wiped the knife of fingerprints and, using the clean handkerchief, slipped the sharp utensil beneath the dead woman's lower back. He stood up, kicked the loose dirt aside beneath his feet, scattering his footprints, then backed away.CHAPTER 2
As Karen Vail walked the grounds of the Mountain Crest Bed & Breakfast, holding the hand of Roberto Enrique Umberto Hernandez, she stopped at the edge of a neighboring vineyard. She looked out over the vines, the sun setting a hot orange in the March chill.
"You've been quiet since we got off the plane. Still thinking about your application to the Academy?"
"Am I that transparent?" Robby asked.
"Only to a sharp FBI profiler."
Robby cradled a tangle of vines in his large hand. "Yeah, that's what I'm thinking about."
"You'll get into the Academy, Robby. Maybe not right away, with the budget cutbacks, but I promise. You'll make the cut."
"Bledsoe said he could get me something with Fairfax County."
"Really? You didn't tell me that."
"I didn't want to say anything about it. I don't really want it. If I talk about it, it might come true."
"You don't really believe that."
He shrugged a shoulder.
"Fairfax would be a step up over Vienna. It's a huge department. Lots more action."
"I know. It's just that there's an eleven-year wait to become a profiler once I get into the Academy. The longer it takes to get into the Bureau, the longer I have to wait."
"Why don't you call Gifford," Vail asked. "I thought he owes you. Because of your mother. Because of their relationship."
"That was Gifford's perception, not mine. He promised her he'd look after me." Robby glanced off a moment, then said, "He doesn't owe me anything. And I don't want any favors."
"How about I look into it, quietly, under the radar, when we get home?"
Robby chewed on that. "Maybe."
"I can call first thing in the morning, put out a feeler."
"No. We're here on vacation, to get away from all that stuff. It'll wait."
They turned and walked toward their room, The Hot Date, which was in a separate building off the main house. According to the information on the website, it was the largest in the facility, featuring spacious main sleeping quarters, a sitting area with a private porch and view of the vines, and a jetted tub in the bathroom. A wooden sign, red with painted flames, hung dead center on the door.
Vail felt around in her pocket for the key they'd been given when they checked in fifteen minutes ago. "You sure?"
"Absolutely sure. I'm wiping it from my mind right now. Nothing but fun from here on out. Okay?"
Vail fit the key into the lock and turned it. "Works for me." She swung the door open and looked around at the frilly décor of the room. She kicked off her shoes, ran forward, and jumped onto the bed, bouncing up and down like a five-year-old kid. "This could be fun," she said with a wink.
Robby stood a few feet away, hands on his hips, grinning widely. "I've never seen you like this."
"Nothing but fun from here on out, right? Not a worry in the world? No serial killers dancing around in our heads, no ASACs or lieutenants ordering us around. No job decisions. And no excess testosterone floating on the air."
"The name of this room is The Hot Date, right? That should be our theme for the week."
"Count me in."
"That's good," Robby said. "Because a hot date for one isn't much fun."
Vail hopped to the side of the bed, stood up precariously on the edge, and grabbed Robby's collar with both hands. She fell forward into him, but at six foot seven, he easily swept her off the bed and onto the floor, then kissed her hard.
He leaned back and she looked up at his face. "You know," Vail said, "I flew cross-country to Napa for the fine wine and truffles, but that was pretty freaking good, Hernandez."
"Oh, yeah? That's just a tasting. If you want the whole bottle, it'll cost you."
As he leaned in for another kiss, her gaze caught sight of the wall clock. "Oh—" The word rode on his lips and made him pull away. "Our tour."
"I told you. Don't you ever listen to me?"
"Uh, yeah, I, uh—"
"The wine cave thing, that tour we booked through your friend—"
"The tasting, the dinner in the cave." He smiled and raised his brow. "See, I do listen to you."
"We've gotta leave now. It's about twenty minutes away."
"You sure?" He nodded behind her. "Bed, Cabernet, chocolate, sex ..."
She pushed him away in mock anger. "That's not fair, Robby. You know that?
We've got this appointment, it's expensive, like two hundred bucks each, and you just want to blow it off?"
"I can think of something else to blow off."
Vail twisted her lips into a mock frown. "I guess five minutes won't hurt."
"We'll speed to make up the time. We're cops, right? If we're pulled over, we'll badge the officer—"
Vail placed a finger over his lips. "You're wasting time."
* * *
THEY ARRIVED FIVE MINUTES LATE. The California Highway Patrol was not on duty—at least along the strip of Route 29 they traversed quite a few miles per hour over the limit—and they pulled into the parking lot smelling of chocolate and, well, the perfume of intimacy.
They sat in the Silver Ridge Estates private tasting room around a table with a dozen others, listening to a sommelier expound the virtues of the wines they were about to taste. They learned about the different climates where the grapes were grown, why the region's wind patterns and mix of daytime heat and chilly evenings provided optimum conditions for growing premium grapes. Vail played footsie with Robby beneath the table, but Robby kept a stoic face, refusing to give in to her childish playfulness.
That is, until she realized she was reaching too far and had been stroking the leg of the graying fifty-something man beside Robby, whose name tag read "Bill (Oklahoma)." When Bill from Oklahoma turned to face her with a surprised look on his face, Vail realized her error and shaded the same red as the Pinot Noir on the table in front of them.
"Okay," the sommelier said. "We're going to go across the way into our wine cave, where we'll talk about the best temperatures for storing our wine. Then we'll do a tasting in a special room of the cave and discuss pairings, what we're about to eat, with which wine—and why—before dinner is served."
As they rose from the table, Robby leaned forward to ask the sommelier a question about the delicate color of the Pinot. Oklahoma Bill slid beside Vail, but before he could speak, she said, "My mistake, buddy. Not gonna happen."
Bill seemed to be mulling his options, planning a counterattack. But Vail put an end to any further pursuit by cutting him off with a slow, firm, "Don't even think about it."
Bill obviously sensed the tightness in her voice and backed away as if she had threatened him physically. Judging by the visible tension in Vail's forearm muscles, that probably wasn't far from the truth.
They shuffled through the breezeway of the winery, their tour guide explaining the various sculptures that were set back in alcoves in the walls, and how they had been gathered over the course of five decades, one from each continent. When they passed through the mouth of the wine cave, the drop in temperature was immediately discernable.
"The cave is a near-constant fifty-five degrees, which is perfect for storing our reds," the guide said. The group crowded into the side room that extended off the main corridor. "One thing about the way we grow our grapes," the woman said. "We plant more vines per square foot than your typical winery because we believe in stressing our vines, making them compete for water and nutrients. It forces their roots deeper into the ground and results in smaller fruit, which gives more skin surface area compared to the juice. And since the skin is what gives a red varietal most of its flavor, you can see why our wines are more complex and flavorful."
She stopped beside a color-true model of two grapevines that appeared poised to illustrate her point, but before she could continue her explanation, a male guide came from a deeper portion of the cave, ushering another group along toward the exit. He leaned into the female guide's ear and said something. Her eyes widened, then she moved forward, arms splayed wide like an eagle. "Okay, everyone, we have to go back into the tasting area for a while." She swallowed hard and cleared her throat, as if there was something caught, then said, "I'm terribly sorry for this interruption, but we'll make it worth your while, I promise."
Vail caught a glimpse of a husky Hispanic worker who was bringing up the rear. She elbowed Robby and nodded toward the guy. "Something's wrong, look at his face." She moved against the stream of exiting guests and grabbed the man's arm.
"What's going on?" Vail asked.
"Nothing, sigñora, all's good. Just a ... the power is out, it's very dark.
Please, go back to the tasting room—"
"It's okay," Robby said. "We're cops."
"Something like that." Vail held up her FBI credentials and badge. "What's wrong?"
"Who say there is something wrong?"
"It's my job to read people. Your face tells a story, señor. Now—" she motioned with her fingers. "What's the deal?"
He looked toward the mouth of cave, where most of the guests had already exited. "I did not tell you, right?"
"Of course not. Now ... tell us, what?"
"A body. A dead body. Back there," he said, motioning behind him with a thumb.
"How do you know the person's dead?"
"Because she cut up bad, señora. Her ... uh, los pechos ... her ... tits—are cut off."
Robby looked over the guy's shoulder, off into the darkness. "Are you sure?"
"I found the body, yes, I am sure."
"What's your name?"
"You have a flashlight, Miguel?" Vail asked.
The large man rooted out a set of keys from his pocket, pulled off a small LED light and handed it to her.
"Wait here. Don't let anyone else past you. You have security at the winery?"
"Then call them on your cell," Vail said, as she and Robby backed away, deeper into the tunnel. "Tell them to shut this place down tight. No one in or out. No one."
* * *
AS A FEDERAL AGENT, Karen Vail was required to carry her sidearm wherever she traveled. But Robby, being a state officer, transported his weapon in a locked box, and it had to remain there; he was not permitted to carry it on his person. This fact was not lost on Vail as she removed her sidearm from her Velcro fanny pack. She reached down to her ankle holster and pulled a smaller Glock 27 and handed it to Robby.
They moved slowly through the dim cave. The walls were roughened gunite, dirt brown and cold to the touch. The sprayed cement blend gave the sense of being in a real cave, save for its surface uniformity.
"You okay in here?" Robby asked.
"Don't ask. I'm trying not to think about it." But she had no choice. Vail had developed claustrophobia after the recent incident in the Dead Eyes Killer's lair. Though she never had experienced such intense anxiety, it was suddenly a prominent part of her life. Going into certain parking garages, through commuter tunnels, and even into crammed elevators became a fretful experience. But it wasn't consistent. Sometimes it was worse than others.
Overall, it was inconvenient—and no fun admitting you had such an irrational weakness. But she was now afflicted with the malady and she did her best to control it. Control? Not exactly. It controlled her. Manage it was more accurate. Take her mind off it, talk herself through it until she could move into roomier quarters.
Sometimes, though, she thought she might actually claw through walls to get out. Getting squeezed into an elevator was the worst. For some reason, people didn't mind cramming against you if the alternative meant waiting another minute or two for the next car.
Vail slung her purse over her shoulder so it rested on her back, then moved the weak light around, taking care not to tread on anything that might constitute evidence.
"Maybe we should call it in," Robby said. "Let the locals handle it."
"The locals? This isn't exactly Los Angeles, Robby. I seriously doubt they have a whole lot of murders out here. If the vic's been cut like Miguel says, the local cops'll be out of their league. They're going to look at the crime scene but won't know what they're seeing."
"Beyond the obvious, you mean."
"The obvious to me and the obvious to a homicide detective are not the same things, Robby. You know that. When you encounter something unusual—no matter what profession you're talking about—would you rather hire someone who's seen that unusual thing a thousand times, or someone who's only seen it once or twice?"
"If we do find something, we won't have a choice. We've got no jurisdiction here."
"Yeah, well, we'll cross that bridge when we come to it."
They turned left down another tunnel, which opened into a large storage room of approximately a thousand square feet. Hundreds of French oak barrels sat on their sides, stacked one atop the other, three rows high and what must've been fifty rows long. A few candelabras with low-output lightbulbs hung from above, providing dim illumination. The walls and ceiling were constructed of roughened multicolored brick, with multiple arched ceilings that rose and plunged and joined one another to form columns every fifteen feet, giving the feel of a room filled with majestic gazebos.
A forklift sat dormant on the left, pointing at an opening along the right wall, where, amidst a break in the barrels, was another room. They moved toward it, Vail shining the flashlight in a systematic manner from left to right as they walked. They stepped carefully, foot by foot, to avoid errant hoses and other objects like ... a mutilated woman's body.
They entered the anteroom and saw a lump in the darkness on the ground.
Robby said, "That bridge you just mentioned? I think we just came to it."
"Shit," Vail said.
"You didn't think Miguel was pulling our leg, did you? He looked pretty freaked out."
"No, I figured he saw something. I was just hoping it was a sack of potatoes, and in some kind of wine-induced stupor, he thought it was a dead woman."
"With her breasts cut off?"
"Hey, I'm an optimist, okay?"
Robby looked at her. "You're an optimist?"
As they stood there, Vail couldn't take her eyes off the body. She'd come to Napa to relax, to get away from work. Yet lying on the cold ground a little over twenty feet away was an all-too-obvious reminder of what she'd come here to escape.
Then she mentally slapped herself. She was pissed at having her vacation ruined. The woman in front of her had her life ruined.
Vail took a deep breath. "You have cell service? We need to call this in."
Robby flipped open his phone. "No bars."
"No bars in Napa? Some other time and place, that would be funny." She shook her head. "I can't believe I just said that."
Excerpted from Crush by Alan Jacobson. Copyright © 2009 Alan Jacobson. Excerpted by permission of OPEN ROAD INTEGRATED MEDIA.
All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
Excerpts are provided by Dial-A-Book Inc. solely for the personal use of visitors to this web site.
Most Helpful Customer Reviews
After reading 7th Victim by Mr. Jacobson I was so looking forward to buying this book only to see it was now free.However this book was a mess.Not sure if he had a page quota to make but this book condensed down would of made a better read.The last 50 pages are the best part of the book real page turners.At the end you are left with a lot of loose threads but to quote Alan Jacobson on the last page of the book, "Fear not,they will be tied together,neatly trimmed or tucked away in the next Karen Vail novel".
Overall this could have been a good book, and the first few hundred pages are quite well-written. I was distracted by the sudden Microsoft ad starting on page 323, and then the rush to close the case, but leaving giant loose ends on the final page.
I did not care for this book very much. I was really disappointed at the end in which at least two very important issues were not resolved. It was stated at the end that the unanswered issues would be addressed in the next book in the Karen Vail series. I would not have read it if I had known this.
As a reader who was invested in this page turning story, well developed plot and characters.................I am angry. I feel cheated, as there was literally NO END to the story. If I had known that ahead of time, I would not have bothered to read 381 pages- just to end up with "NOTHING." Did Alan Jacobson (an otherwise fabulous writer) run out of ideas for further development of his story? Is this a ruse to sell his "Next Book?" I don't know, but I DO know I will not invest my time, and interest in another book of his. Sad. because it was a good read until the "premature ending." Seems self sabatoging to end a wonderful work of art like this.
NOT FAIR! I loved the book but it had no ending. It just left you hanging. You have to buy the third book to get the conclusion to the second book. So, you have to spend $25 to find out why everything happend in the second book. Does not seem to me that the author played fair.
A slow, dull, stumbling work with no logical framework except the for the broadly hinted "big surprise" which would bring it all together. The book ended, however, with the author's note saying we'd have to buy his next book to find out what the "big surpise" is. Rip off!!
This book should come with a warning that's it's PART ONE. At least that's what I felt when I read the ending. Way too many loose ends, a few maybe but 99 percent - NO! Otherwise is was an OK free Friday book.
darn just when it got really exciting it ended with a cliffhanger!
I suppose I have read worse books but this one was so boring I couldn't get more than 1/4 of the way through. I gave it a chance, but there was no character development and it left me not caring about anyone. A great idea for a story just not well told. Maybe if I had nothing else to read I'd fisish the book but even for a free download, this will end up in the "delete" pile.
oh no not another slasher novel i give up!
I thought it was a great read....until the end. Apparently, the author couldn't figure out how to end it. Sound like James Patterson? Well, even worse. How disappointing to come to the end and have an incomplete ending to a book...Oh well. I got it for free..
bad writing..specifically cheesey dialogue...horrible ending
Like the comments from Shema this ending really makes me angry as well. It's a well-written book but I want an end to my stories....I don't want to be forced into buying another book to find out what happened in the previous one. Please...leave the cliff-hangers for daytime tv!!!!
Mr. Jacobson obviously believes his readers lack the intellectual capacity to understand his stories. His unnecessary lectures to explain terms and procedures interrupt the rhythm of the main story. I had no interest in the explanation of the acronym LEO (Law Enforcement Officer) so that he could use it throughout the book as he did with other acronyms. Most frustrating was the failure to complete the story in the last few pages. Had he not provided another lecture at the end that I should read the next Karen Vail book I would have had no idea of his intent. The story in Crush did not leave me wanting more. His direction to his website was so trite. Then he put a video on his website that equally lacked substance and content. This is my first and last Alan Jacobson book!
An Ok serial killer crime book, but the book doesn't really end. You find out who did it but not really the whole why and at the very end--literally the last few pages something happens that is continued in his next book Velocity. I got this as a free friday read, but I feel like it was a ploy to get me to buy the next book--and this book is not really good enough for me to get over my anger and what seems to be a marketing ploy and buy it.
There is nothing more frustrating than reading a book only to find that the author has decided not to end it... Really? If it wasn't on my nook, I'd have thrown the book across the room. I will not buy anything from this author. That said, the story (beginning and middle at lease) was okay. Decent enough characters, though the main character is a bit too high on herself for my liking.
Reader beware. . . This "free" book is only half of a book . . . Intended to draw you in and force you to buy "Velocity", the second half of the book. It was only a so-so read. . . Not good enough to strong me into expending my money on the second installment.
The main character is really hard to connect with, she is abraisive and has a huge ego. She feels the need to correct everyone on everything even if it doesn't matter. Most of the time I just want her to shut up. There is one part where she says "psychopaths, who don't feel any anger at all, are not necessarily angry at the vitcim. They're angry at someone else.." There is entirely to much descrition of things that don't really matter which made me feel like I was reading a steamy romance novel instead of a mystery/thriller.
the plot is good, even though i have no idea why the author felt the need to show of his knowledge that he learned in a travel guide about the winecountry. really not relevant. What really annoyed me was that you have to buy the next book to find out the end of this book. not cool.
This book is 391 pages, and several times while reading, I had to put it down or skip through because the explanations of technical forensic things was just too lengthy. Some parts are just a little unbelievable - like how she got on the case to begin with. And some of the characters just lacked depth. Maybe it's because I haven't read the first book, but I really only enjoyed small parts of it. It wasn't the non-stop thriller other reviewers made it out to be. For the intellectual reader who wants depth and believability, this one's not for you. Also, I'm a stickler for grammar, and this book had a plethora of typos and mismatched sentences. Just my opinion, but for a free book, it wasn't bad.
I downloaded this free book and 1 week later I'm only on page 60. I agree, not a "can't put down" book.
This book is one that you can read at lunch and put down and not worry about picking back up until the next lunch. It's not one of those that you "just can't put down." Don't get me wrong, it's decent reading, but the plot just drags and the main character is just oblivious. Glad it was free...
I have done so many of these. Just bare with me on this. So, somehow, I have managed to get dumped, get left, and now break boy's heart. Yes, I told him I wanted to stop. I told him I didn't want him to talk to me. If I hadn't, I would become the weak girl I really am and collapse into his arms. No one held me like he did. It's over now. I guess he didn't know I loved him as much as he had managed to love me. Though in all honesty, I probably loved him more. I told him I would choose someone else over him. I was upset at the time. So I said some things I didn't mean. My question is; Did I make the right choice? Or worst mistake of my life? I never know. Peaople said he was bad and we weren't good together. They said he was a cheater. A player. And that he was only using me as a toy. If I was just a toy? Why did he make me feel so loved? I never thought that when we were together, but now I see. He really loved me. Now, I may have just lost the only person I have left in this world, all over my own emotional-rollarcoaster.
Pretty sure he knows...
No one. I think.