Pursuit of Justice

Pursuit of Justice
Pamela Tracy

“You have the right to remain silent–”

Rosa’s foot hammered down on Officer Sam Packard’s instep. His grip loosened. She pulled away and managed to assume a position of flight. He had her on the ground in two seconds and finished giving the Miranda to the back of her head.

“I’ll pay you a thousand dollars to let me go.”

A bribe! She’d offered him a bribe! His eyes darkened. “Lady, it’s worth a thousand dollars just to find out what’s going on.” He pushed her toward the street where his cruiser’s lights flashed.

She clamped her lips together, and Sam knew he’d get no information from her at the moment. Sam liked challenges, and right now the woman-who smelled like peaches and shot like John Wayne-promised to be an entertaining puzzle.

PAMELA TRACY

lives in Arizona with a newly acquired husband (Yes, Pamela is somewhat a newlywed. You can be a newlywed for seven years. We’re only on year four) and a confused cat (Hey, I had her all to myself for fifteen years. Where’d this guy come from? But maybe it’s okay. He’s pretty good about feeding me and petting me) and a toddler (Newlymom is almost as fun as newlywed!). Pamela was raised in Omaha, Nebraska, and started writing at age twelve (A very bad teen romance featuring David Cassidy from The Partridge Family). Later, she honed her writing skills while earning a B.A. in journalism at Texas Tech University in Lubbock, Texas (And wrote a very bad science fiction novel that didn’t feature David Cassidy).

Readers can write to her at www.pamelakayetracy.com, or c/o Steeple Hill Books, 233 Broadway, Suite 1001, New York, NY 10279.

Pursuit of Justice

Pamela Tracy

Listen to my cry for help, my King and my God, for to You I pray. In the morning, O Lord, You hear my voice; in the morning I lay my requests before You and wait in expectation.

—Psalms 5:2–3

To my husband, Donald Osback,

who watched as I wrote during our honeymoon,

as I edited during road trips, and who

continuously models what a “hero” really is.

CONTENTS

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

CHAPTER NINETEEN

QUESTIONS FOR DISCUSSION

ONE

Flashing lights, on a plain, brown sedan, blinked an unwanted command.

She momentarily closed her eyes, willing the image in the rearview mirror to disappear. When she opened them again, the cop remained. There’d been a time, she remembered, when cops drove cop cars, a time when plain, old, everyday vehicles didn’t suddenly sprout flashing lights. Taking a deep breath, she glanced at the speedometer and tried to control the urge to flee.

Every time she saw a cop, she wanted to floor it and veer out of sight. Since she usually obeyed the speed limit, the cop always went around her in pursuit of some other offender. But, no, not this time. The speedometer and rearview mirror informed her that this time, this cop was definitely after her.

She hesitated a moment too long. The traffic signal in front of her switched from yellow to red. She hit the brake and only her seat belt kept her from serious injury.

Run the light!

Now!

Her fingers gripped the steering wheel. There’d be no time to get to the trailer and grab her suitcase. No time to pick up her cat.

Checking the rearview mirror again, she watched as the patrol car gained on her bumper. Instinctively, she adjusted her hat, trying to cover her face, and watched the cop motion her toward the side of the road. He was that close.

No, no, no.

Her foot, already poised for the escape she so desperately desired, brushed the gas pedal.

Floor it!