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“Lying, no,” she said, “but it’s possible he’s managed to peel off on one of these side streets, or pulled in behind somebody’s shed or something and we missed him. Or maybe he’s outrun us. But it’ll be a lot harder for him to outrun the whole Mustang Valley PD.”
“This isn’t Las Vegas,” Ace argued, pushing the accelerator harder. “It’s a tiny department, and it’ll be dark in another—”
“Watch out!” she barked, seeing he was about to blow a stop sign—and cut off a pair of adult bicyclists, both wearing form-fitting jerseys and leggings with their helmets, entering the intersection.
Screeching to a halt, he gritted his teeth as the two riders safely cleared his path by a few feet.
“No, this isn’t Vegas—” the edge in Sierra’s voice was sharp enough to slice flesh “—which means you may be mowing down a friend or neighbor. Or maybe a family member, given how you’re somehow related to half of this town, if you don’t slow down and think.”
“Point taken,” he said gruffly, “damn it. But it just kills me giving up now, when back at the hospital, I was so close I could—well, so close I did—touch the bastard.”
She touched his arm, sighing as she reminded him. “Let’s not forget, you saved your father’s life this afternoon, along with your own. Plus, you’ve seen this shooter and the car he’s driving, so why don’t you go back to that little standalone Mexican bakery we passed about two blocks back and ask to use their phone?”
With a growl of frustration, he conceded, and turned the car around. Just as he pulled in front of the small, tan stucco building, the bright yellow ’69 Camaro came blasting out from behind it, spraying up gravel as it exited the unpaved lot.
The muscle car’s passenger-side window was down, allowing Sierra a glimpse of th
e wild-eyed male driver on her side. And letting her see the barrel of his pistol swing to point at her.
“Gun!” she shrieked, flinging herself forward. Ducking her head, she heard the pop—along with the splintering of the glass just behind and to her right.
Then the Camaro was speeding past them in the same direction they’d just come from, leaving behind a circular hole in the passenger window next to where her head had been only seconds before.
“Are you hit? You all right, Sierra?” Ace shouted.
“F-fine,” she managed, her teeth chattering with adrenaline—and the realization that the bullet must have passed only a few inches behind her before flying—Her heart nearly beat free of her chest to see an exit hole in the driver’s side window, just in front of Ace’s body. “H-holy—how are we both still alive?”
Ace executed a neat three-point turn and then floored the accelerator. “We’re alive because we’re meant to stop him—only this time, I’m not letting him out of my sight—or allowing him to get far enough ahead to try another ambush, either. I can’t believe that jackass had another gun stashed in his car.”
“That might not be the last surprise he has in store for us,” Sierra warned him as she reached for the weapon he’d taken from the shooter, which he’d stowed in a compartment of the Porsche’s center console.
“What are you doing?” Ace demanded, sounding irritated.
“Since you’re a little busy right now breaking nine kinds of traffic laws, why don’t you let me concentrate on the gunplay? Especially since I’m pretty sure I have way more training and experience than you’ve gotten in the boardroom.”
“You also took the kind of knock to the head that affects vision and coordination. Can you even shoot straight, Iris?”
She made a huffing sound. “Call me Iris again, cowboy, and you might find out exactly how straight I can shoot.”
To her surprise, he laughed at that. “Sorry, Sierra. And I’m sorry about before, with the zip tie, too. I wish I’d handled things differently, but—”
“Hey, where’s he going?” she asked, seeing the Camaro abruptly veer onto a dirt track leading toward the foothills. “What is this?”
They passed a sign that read: Warning—Ungraded Road. Four-Wheel Drive Recommended. Bring Tools, First Aid, Water, Phone.
“Looks like he’s taking the abandoned mining road up into the desert mountains. That’s crazy,” Ace said. “The only things out that way are tumbleweeds and tarantulas and this tiny old ghost town by the name of Gila Gulch at the end of the road—where he’ll be completely boxed in.”
“So what do you want to do about it?” Sierra asked him.
“If you’re with me, I say let’s go get my father’s shooter and bring him the hell in.”
“I’m with you, but only on one condition,” she said.
“What’s that?”
“If you do happen to spot any of those horrible spiders you mentioned—” Her skin rippled with revulsion at the thought of the disturbingly large arachnids, whose hairy legs had always creeped her out “—you have to be the one to stomp the things into oblivion before I get a glimpse.”
* * *
