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She checked her side mirror and saw a vehicle approaching from the rear. It was a red Jeep traveling at high speed. In moments it was on her, passing her, and swerving back into her lane ahead of her. The Jeep instantly slowed to a crawl and Riley had to stomp on the brakes to keep from plowing into it. Riley pulled left to pass and the Jeep veered in front of her, blocking her.
“How odd,” Emerson said, sitting up straighter in his seat.
“There’s a second car on my back bumper,” Riley said. “It’s a black SUV.”
PING! PING! PING! A bullet took out the side mirror.
“They’re shooting at us,” Riley said.
She slammed the brake pedal to the floor, the Redhawk fishtailed to a stop, and the black SUV crashed into the back of the motor home with a loud BANG! Riley pulled forward and stuck her head out the window. The entire front of the SUV was crumpled, and steam spewed out from under the hood.
The red Jeep came to a stop several car lengths in front of the Redhawk. The driver’s door opened and Rollo jumped out and opened fire.
“Holy crap!” Riley said.
Emerson narrowed his eyes. “Ramming speed, Mr. Sulu.”
Riley floored the gas pedal, ducked behind the steering wheel, and aimed for Rollo. Rollo continued to shoot, peppering the windshield, registering surprised horror only an instant before Riley bounced him off the front of the Redhawk and sent him airborne. She put the Redhawk into reverse and backed into Rollo’s Jeep, pushing it off the road and into a ditch.
“Just in case he’s not dead,” Riley said.
Emerson raised an eyebrow. “This is a new side to you.”
“I might have gotten carried away what with being shot at and all.”
“I’m actually quite turned on.”
“You’re a very strange man.”
“Thank you. I have my moments.”
Rollo was a crumpled heap alongside the road, and the man in the black SUV was on his feet and limping away from them. A car traveling in the oncoming lane pulled over and stopped. A good Samaritan looking to help.
“Do you suppose the hit-and-run rules apply when you’ve run over someone who tried to kill you?” Riley asked.
“I imagine it’s a gray area.”
A second car came to a stop in the oncoming lane. The drivers of both cars were out and running toward Rollo.
“We’re not needed here,” Riley said, pulling away from Rollo’s car and easing the Redhawk back onto the road.
“I agree,” Emerson said. “Time to move on.”
Riley squinted through a small clear patch of glass in the windshield. “It’s amazing that we’re alive, considering how many rounds he pumped into this RV.”
“The impact glass helped,” Emerson said. “And he was sighting high.”
“We’re going to have to abandon the Redhawk. And it would be best if it wasn’t found. I don’t want to implicate Vernon’s friend in this.”
“I’ve instructed Vernon to say that the Redhawk was stolen, if anyone should ask. This won’t reflect badly on him or his friend. We can leave the beast on the side of the road. Our larger problem will be getting to Nevada without it.”
“We’ve got a ways to walk,” Riley said. “And we’re going to have to do it off-road, but I know where we can find a ride.”
Dwayne Moon almost choked on his Twizzler when he saw Riley walking toward his patrol car. He got out with his hand on his holstered Sig. The hand on the Sig was more muscle memory than thought.
“Riley? What are you doing here? We heard you were kidnapped.” Dwayne cut his eyes to Emerson. “Is this the guy who kidnapped you? Should I shoot him?”
At twenty-nine, Dwayne Moon was a year older than his sister Riley, but she always thought of him as her baby brother. It was Riley who had taught Dwayne how to ride a two-wheel bike and a skateboard, not the other way around. She helped him with his homework. Taught him cursive handwriting. The multiplication tables. Spanish grammar. And how to nail a grasshopper at a hundred feet with their dad’s old Smith & Wesson. Later, Riley taught him to drive a manual transmission.
