suspect fled on a motorcycle going north. He’s described as a white male in his thirties, wearing a black leather jacket and a black motorcycle helmet. He is armed and dangerous. If you see him, call nine-one-one.”
“Hey!” Erin exclaimed as the music came back on. “What if that guy’s out here, on this road? What would we do if we saw him?”
“I’d keep driving and let you make the call,” Will said. “Somebody like that, with a gun, I wouldn’t take a chance on playing hero, especially with you along.”
“But what if—” Her words ended in a yelp as the pickup’s right front wheel slammed into something solid and stopped dead. Only her seat belt kept her from flying into the dashboard.
Will switched off the key, cursing under his breath. He wasn’t sure what he’d hit. It hadn’t felt like an animal, but just in case, he pulled his loaded .38 Smith and Wesson revolver from under the driver’s seat. If he’d struck some unlucky creature, he’d want to put it out of its misery—or defend himself if it had any fight left.
He found a flashlight in the console. “Stay put,” he told Erin as he opened his door. “Whatever happens, don’t get out.”
Climbing to the ground, he closed the door behind him and turned on the flashlight. The night air was chilly through his denim jacket, the full moon veiled by drifting clouds. The distant wail of a coyote echoed across the sage flats as Will walked around to the passenger side of the truck.
The pickup had come to rest at a cockeyed angle, probably blown a tire, which he’d need to change. In the beam of the flashlight, he could see what he’d hit. It was the engine block for some kind of vehicle, most likely fallen off the back of a flatbed because the fool driver hadn’t bothered to tie it down. Heavy and solid, its edges were sharp enough to puncture a tire, which was just what had happened. If he hadn’t been distracted by the announcement on the radio, he might have seen it in time to stop.
Erin rolled down the window. “What is it?” she asked. “Is it an animal?”
“No, just a big, nasty chunk of metal. But I’ll have to change the tire.”
“Can I help? I can hold the light for you.”
“No, just stay put. I’ll be fine.”
He’d stuck the .38 in his belt and was walking around to get the spare and the jack when he saw it—a single headlight approaching fast down the long, straight road from the direction of town, maybe half a mile away. It looked like a motorcycle, sounded like one, too.
Will turned off the flashlight and laid it on the ground. One hand drew the weapon out of his belt. “Close the window, lock the doors, and get down,” he ordered Erin. He caught the flash of her frightened eyes as she obeyed. He’d probably scared her for nothing, but he couldn’t take any chances.
The motorcycle was slowing down. Maybe the rider was just some Good Samaritan wanting to help. But Will couldn’t lay odds on that. He might be safer inside the truck, but that could expose Erin to more danger. Right now, his daughter’s safety was the only thing that mattered.
A few yards ahead of the truck, the motorcycle pulled onto the shoulder and stopped. The rider swung off his machine. He wore a black leather jacket with a dark helmet, the visor pulled down to obscure his face. His right hand held a small pistol with the look of a cheap Saturday-night special. He had to be the robber. Will waited in the shadows, gripping the .38, as the man approached and spoke.
“What the hell happened here? We were supposed to meet down by the crossroad.” His whiny-pitched voice sounded vaguely Eastern, and strangely familiar. “Never mind, I got the package on the bike. Show me the money, and we’re good.”
Will stepped into the moonlight, his pistol leveled at the man’s chest. “Hands where I can see them, mister. Now, nice and slow, drop your weapon. Then kick it over here toward me.”
“Shit, you’re not—” The motorcyclist froze in surprise. He dropped the gun on the ground. As he kicked it toward Will, his hand flashed. Suddenly there was a knife in it. As his arm flexed for the throw, Will pulled the trigger. The .38 roared, striking the man squarely in the chest. He toppled backward, dead by the time he hit the