An Eye For Danger (book 1)

Chapter 40

Chapter 40

Wind thudded through the deputy’s truck window, nearly blowing out my eardrum and numbing my left cheek, while my right side blistered from the heater breathing fire up my dress. I couldn’t let myself ice over before reaching Sam.

Police codes popped over the radio. “Shots fired near Mo’s. Officer on scene. Deputy Burke, relay status.” The woman’s voice was tense. “Burke, respond. Are you there?” She got more personal, more anxious with repeated calls. She deserved an answer, and I thought to respond “officer down,” but Burke was already dead with fire engines en route to his location. And I couldn’t afford to let anyone know I was still alive.

I clicked off the radio.

From Mo’s, Reynolds had driven toward the northbound freeway entrance, so I was guzzling gas to eat up highway fast. With his twenty-minute lead he could be thirty miles up the road by now, if he hadn’t exited altogether. But why north instead of south to the city?

My speed hovered around 98 mph as I rocketed down a long hill. At high speeds, air drag from the broken out window intensified the wheel shake, numbing my hands with vibration on top of the cold air slapping at me through the window. But at least the roads weren’t icy.

The rolling police lights urged drivers out of my lane, but I couldn’t go fast enough. Every pair of taillights I hoped belonged to my Land Cruiser, till I got close enough to distinguish a Civic from a Ford, and, disappointed, I hit the gas harder. Car after car I passed. The highway grew desperately lonely.

Leaning, I searched the cab, but found nothing useful. I couldn’t pop the glove compartment for all the damned computer equipment in my way. So I had no cell phone, no gun, and no plan once I caught up with Reynolds. Even the rifle above my head was locked in place with iron clamps. Basically, I was running to a funeral.

My left shoulder slumped and my belly cramped from being landed on by a gorilla. The bruising and sprains would take weeks to heal. The rest—shit, I couldn’t revisit what Stone had done. Couldn’t accept a reality so inconceivable. That couldn't happen to me. No, the worst never happened, I argued with myself. Stone and I fought, I got away from him, end of story. I’d never speak of those events, and Sam would never know.

Present, Jules, get in the damn present. Or Sam won’t be alive to lie to.

I picked up the radio handset to keep my head straight. The mechanic had told Sam a radio frequency James’ crew used. I turned the unit back on, ran the dial to 861, and found a race-car broadcast. Hoping I’d transposed the numbers, I rolled to 681[CMF1] . Nothing. Maybe that was a good sign.

“SOS. Emergency.” I’d no idea what call signs to use, no way to avoid being overheard. Blatant seemed expedient at this point: “They took Sam. Please respond.” Over the wind I could hear the chill of pure static. I barely kept from choking my words. “Is anyone there? Somebody, anybody, please, help me.”

My eyes blurred. This was no time to lose my mind.

Before I could change the channel I heard a click.

“Ten-four.” He sounded like James but winded. “What’s your twenty?”

“Somewhere north of Glen Falls on 87. They’re gonna kill him. Jesus.” No, Jules, they’re going to frame him. But anyone who knew Sam could guess he’d refuse to cooperate and piss off Reynolds the minute he woke. Then Reynolds would put a bullet between his eyes.

Static.

"Roger that," he finally said, his voice so defeated I knew he had to be James.

“They took my truck. I’m trying to catch up, but I can't find them. Shit, I don't know what to do.”