Page 47 of Tough Justice

“Get down!” He grabbed Tori’s shoulder, pushing her upper body below the level of the dashboard. Automatically, he reached to his right hip and closed his hand around…nothing. “Christ,” he gritted out. He was still on the rubber gun squad until the shooting board cleared him next week.

More gunshots, louder this time. Leaning down as much as possible, he veered into the center of the road, trying to block the car from coming alongside them. If they managed that, he and Tori were dead meat.

“They’re shooting at us!” she shouted.

“Yeah. Stay down!” The road curved sharply to the right. He slammed his foot on the accelerator. If he punched it too hard, they’d careen on two wheels and fly over the guardrail into the ravine. If the goons with the guns didn’t kill them, the crash would.

More gunshots blasted, some taking out the left side windows, more pinging against the quarter panel.

Tori screamed. Shards of glass flew at his face, stinging like tiny ice picks. Deck’s pulse hammered as he continued into the S curves. The Interceptor’s center of gravity was higher than the car chasing him. He could already feel the SUV tipping. If he didn’t slow down, they’d never make it. If he did slow down, they’d get caught in a hailstorm of flying lead.

At the next turn, the car pulled alongside. Up ahead, lights from the C-470 interchange glowed brightly. Tall streetlights marking the entrance to a new development lit the road. It wouldn’t matter to him and Tori if they were dead, but he knew for a fact there were city cameras strategically placed at the C-470 on-ramps. If they made it that far, they should be able to get a tag reading off the vehicle. If there was a tag.

An arm stretched out of the car’s window. Something glinted in his hand—a gun. Deck swerved to his left, slamming into the side of the car. The guy pulled back inside, barely avoiding getting his arm crushed.

They hit the straightaway at the entrance to the development. Headlights came at them, another car in the other lane. Again, Deck slammed his foot down on the accelerator, gunning onto the straightaway. The tire warning light lit and dinged. The SUV began tilting and veering sharply to the left. The tires were hit and deflating fast.

He glanced at the vehicle gaining ground and moving alongside again. The goon in the passenger seat aimed the gun at him. The driver leaned over, shouting something just as headlights from oncoming traffic fell across the guy’s face. A face Deck knew.

A face he could identify.

The car shot past them, barely missing a head-on collision with a tractor trailer on the opposite side of the road. The car fishtailed as it hit the entrance ramp to the highway then slammed on the brakes and began doing a quick one-eighty. They were turning around for another pass.

With at least two tires shot out, the Interceptor was barely drivable. He was practically on the rims as it was. There’d be no way he could punch it.

Just as the shooter’s car turned the wrong way on the one-way ramp, two other cars coming from the opposite direction on Alameda turned into the narrow highway entrance. With the headlights off, the first car slammed into the shooter’s vehicle. The second car slammed into the first, careening off to the side and effectively blocking the ramp completely. Somehow, the shooter managed to back up, spin around, and take off up the ramp and disappear.

Deck slowed the shuddering SUV and pulled onto the shoulder. He blew out a heavy breath to try and calm his racing heart. “You okay?” Tori was hunched over with her hands covering the back of her head. When he touched her shoulder, he felt her entire body trembling. “Hey, hey. It’s all right now.”

Slowly, she sat up, staring at him with fear-filled eyes. “Are they gone?” He nodded. “What just happened?”

“Someone tried to kill us.” A fact that stabbed him in the chest like a red-hot poker. She’d almost been hurt again because of him.

“Tell me something,” she said in a shaky voice. “How many gunfights do you get into every week?”

“Normally, none.” Breaking his own rule, he cupped her face, needing to feel her warm skin against his rough fingers. “This week has been an exception.”

His thumb touched something wet and sticky, and he flipped on the overhead light. Blood trickled from several scratches on her left cheek. She must have caught some of the flying glass from the window as it shattered with enough force to send shards into her face. The left side of his own face still stung from the impact of tiny bits of glass, but his only thoughts were for her. She could have been blinded. She could have been—

Killed.

He squeezed his eyes shut, clamping his jaw together tightly. If his window wasn’t already shattered, he would have punched it out with his fist. He reached over her and pulled clean napkins from the glove compartment then dabbed one gently at her cheek. He clenched his jaw tighter as bloody splotches soaked the napkin.

She stared blindly through the windshield. “Where did they go?”

“They got away.” He reached for his cell and dialed 911.

“Do you think the police will catch them?” she asked after he’d made his report to the dispatcher.

“No. The car was probably stolen. They’ll ditch it somewhere. Most likely, they’ll burn it to get rid of prints. But it doesn’t matter.” He opened the door. “Stay here. I need to check on those other drivers.”

“Wait!” She reached over the console to grab his arm. “Someone just tried to murder us, so why the hell doesn’t it matter?”

Murder him, not her.

He looked at her lovely face, the scratches and blood on her cheek, the fear in her rounded green eyes. Because of him, she’d nearly become another statistic in the war against illegal drugs.

All-out rage had him so wired he was practically vibrating with it. One way or the other, he’d find the POS who’d put those scratches on Tori’s skin then adorn the guy’s face with the imprints of his knuckles.