Cut Throat

Cat was less than an hour from the border when she glanced up into her rearview mirror and saw a police car bearing down on her with lights flashing.

“Crap,” she muttered, and checked her speedometer. She wasn’t speeding—much.

Rolling her eyes at yet another delay, she tapped on her brakes and began slowing down to pull off onto the shoulder. As she slowed, the cruiser caught up with her, then passed her at a high rate of speed. Her foot was still on the brakes as she watched the taillights of the patrol car disappearing over a rise.

Breathing a quick sigh of relief, she glanced down at her laptop, then pulled back onto the highway and turned on the radio, tuning it to a satellite station that played oldies from the eighties. The next few miles passed with a song from Boy George, then one from Michael Jackson. But when Mike and the Mechanics came on with an oldie called “All I Need Is A Miracle,” she frowned and turned it off. Her hopes of a miracle had died when she’d found Marsha’s body. She knew better than to hope for another one. She drove for about a mile without consequence; then everything began to happen at once.

The eighteen-wheeler about a quarter of a mile in front of her was suddenly heading for the ditch. The church van that had passed her a couple of miles back swerved onto the center median, as did a pickup truck and a small compact car. She couldn’t see what they were dodging, but something had to be wrong. Either there was a roadblock from another wreck or something more—something potentially deadly for the people on the road.

Seconds later, another vehicle ahead of her swerved, and as it did, she finally saw what was causing the panic. There was a northbound car coming fast—but in the southbound lane.

She tapped on the brakes and began slowing down. It wasn’t until she realized there was a phalanx of Texas Highway Patrol cars barreling up behind the northbound car that she realized the enormity of the situation. Someone was on the run from the cops with no care for the innocents heading south. When she saw the windshield of a patrol car suddenly shatter, she realized that the occupants of the car were shooting at the cops in pursuit.

Slamming on her brakes, Cat pulled over to the side of the road, killed the engine, then grabbed her handgun from the glove box. She got out of her SUV on the run and took cover on the passenger side.

As the chase came closer, she heard a series of rapid gunshots and winced when the windshield of another patrol car shattered. The patrol car fishtailed, then swerved into the ditch, barely escaping being rear-ended by the cars giving chase behind it.

Bracing herself, she went down on her belly at the rear of her vehicle, using it as cover while waiting for the fleeing vehicle to draw near. Seconds later it was on her, with the police cars only a few yards behind.

Her first shot hit the left front tire, her second, the left rear. There were two loud pops as they blew in quick succession, then a cloud of smoke and the scent of burning rubber as the driver tried to keep the crippled car on the road.

Helpless, without control, the car quickly fishtailed, then slid onto the center median, rolling several times before coming to a stop upside down.

Cat heard tires squealing as the patrol cars began stopping. From where she was lying, she could see the smoking car upside down, with the tires still spinning.

She got up slowly, laying her gun on the bumper of her car and raising her hands as she stood.

“I’m unarmed! I’m unarmed!” she shouted, as two officers came at her with guns drawn, shouting for her to drop her weapon.

The other officers converged on the wrecked car before the passengers had time to crawl out and run.

Cat stepped out from behind her car.

“My weapon is on the bumper,” she said, well aware of what was coming next.

“Hands on the back of the vehicle! Legs spread! Do it now!” one of them shouted, while the other began patting her down. When the handcuffs went around her wrists, she winced.

“Some thanks,” she said, as the handcuffs clicked.

The patrolman in front of her frowned as she began to speak.

“My name is Cat Dupree, and I have a permit for the gun. It’s in the glove box. I thought it was prudent to stop this crazy bastard before someone got killed, but if I messed up your race, boys, I’m real sorry.”

The officer who’d patted her down asked her to repeat her name.

“Cat Dupree. I work for Art Ball Bail Bonds, out of Dallas.”

The officer’s eyebrows arched as he opened the wallet he’d taken out of her pocket.

“You’re a bounty hunter?”

She nodded, then tilted her head toward the wrecked car.

“How long have they been on the wrong side of the highway?”

The patrolman sighed wearily.

“Too long.”

Cat frowned. “Someone get hurt?”

“Yeah. The guard at the bank they just robbed and a woman and two kids about six miles back.”

Cat stifled a shudder. “Bad?”

“As bad as it gets.”

“Lord,” Cat said, watching as the cops began pulling two men out from the overturned vehicle.

The patrolman escorted her to his car, put her in the backseat and then went about the business of checking her credentials. A few minutes later he opened the door, helped her out and took off the cuffs.

“Sorry. Procedure,” he said, and dropped the gun into her hands.

“No problem,” Cat said, absently rubbing at her wrists as she took her pistol, walked back to her SUV and put the gun back in the glove box.

It was at that point that she realized there was more going on than what was happening on the ground.

“Damn news crews,” the highway patrolman muttered.

Cat glanced up. A helicopter with a Channel 4 logo on the side was hovering overhead.

“Smile pretty,” the cop said. “I can guarantee they got all of this on tape.”

Cat frowned, then looked away. “Well, crap,” she muttered.

“Exactly,” he said, then glanced into her SUV and saw the laptop and the program running on it. “What’s that?” he asked.

“Bounty.”

He arched an eyebrow, then looked back at her and grinned.

“Damn, lady…you don’t even give them a fighting chance, do you?”

“Not if I can help it,” she muttered, then put her hands on her hips. “Are we through here?”

“Yeah. We have your info if we need more from you later.” Then he smiled. “Watch your back.”

“Always,” she said.