Total pages in book: 87
Estimated words: 83331 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 417(@200wpm)___ 333(@250wpm)___ 278(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 83331 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 417(@200wpm)___ 333(@250wpm)___ 278(@300wpm)
The SUV lurched as I turned at the next light. We’d taken an older, unmarked vehicle owned by the department for undercover work. I just needed to make it a few more miles, and then the engine could fall out of this old piece of crap for all I cared.
“How close are we?” I asked.
“Two-point-four miles. Right at the stop sign,” Coulter said.
I gripped the steering wheel, my heart racing with nervous energy. Knowing where Bardot was wasn’t the same as having him in custody. I needed this to go off without a hitch.
“Oh, shit,” Coulter muttered as he looked at his phone screen.
“What?”
“They’re on the move.”
“Are you fucking serious?”
“Relax. Our guys are tailing.”
This couldn’t fall apart. The only justice Megan and my dad would ever have was Bardot’s arrest and conviction. I forced myself to take a step back mentally. I needed to handle this like any other case. Turn off my emotions. Be smart.
“They’re heading toward us,” Coulter said, typing furiously into his phone. “White sedan. Haroldson wants us to intercept.”
“You brought stop sticks, right?”
“Yep. You told me to plan for every contingency.” He hesitated. “But are you sure that’s a good idea here?”
He had a point—we didn’t want to risk flattening the tires of innocent drivers. But I also didn’t want to risk a potentially dangerous high-speed chase. I made a split-second call.
“It’s our best play,” I said.
“Okay, I see him,” Coulter said. “Haroldson shared his location with me. Fuck, Grady, we need to get this done now.”
I skidded to a stop on the side of the road and ran to the back of the vehicle, Coulter hot on my heels. It was around midnight and we were in a quiet, secluded area. There was a good chance that if Bardot was close, he was the only car that would catch our stop sticks.
“Get that end,” I yelled at Coulter, running across the road to spread the stop sticks across the whole street.
As soon as I looked up, I saw approaching headlights. I unholstered my gun and stood behind a bush, pointing my weapon down but keeping my finger poised above the trigger.
Megan had been quiet and shy but authoritative when her job called for it. She became a police officer because a former SBPD officer had saved her younger brother’s life, pushing him out of the way of an oncoming out-of-control vehicle when he was crossing the street. She’d made the ultimate sacrifice eleven years ago when she died alone on a dark, deserted road.
My dad had devoted his entire career to making his hometown a safer place. He’d never hunt, hike, or run again, all things he’d loved before being shot and paralyzed.
I said a silent prayer to do right by both of them as the headlights approached.
The vehicle rolled over the stop sticks and I heard the tires blow out. Coulter and I approached from each side of the road as the car came to a halt, weapons drawn.
“It’s not them!” he yelled to me. “Vehicle doesn’t match the description.”
A panicked woman held her hands in the air from the driver’s seat.
Shit. My gamble hadn’t paid off.
“Grady!” Coulter called.
Another set of headlights approached. I ran to the woman’s passenger window and yelled out, “Get down. Get down!”
Then I drew my weapon again, pointing it at the oncoming vehicle. It was a white sedan. Perfect match. As soon as the driver spotted us, the car sped up, and I saw what was about to unfold. He was going to rear-end that poor woman hiding in her car.
“Shoot out the front driver’s side tire!” I yelled at Coulter.
We both fired at the same time, me at the passenger side and him at the driver’s side. My bullet made contact with a whooshing sound. The front end of the car dropped suddenly and it started to slow.
“Back tires!” I said, and Coulter immediately fired again.
The car was so close that if we didn’t stop it right now, things could get bad quickly.
All our range practice paid off. Our shots at the four tires were all direct hits, and the car’s back end dropped. It skidded for a few feet before landing on the ground.
“Hands in the air!” Coulter ordered as we approached the car from opposite sides.
The driver was messing with something. If it was a gun—
“Hands in the air!” I yelled. “Fucking now or I shoot!”
The passenger spilled out of the car onto the road, his arms above his head. The cars that had been tailing behind arrived and came to a stop. Officers surrounded the suspect from every direction now, all with weapons drawn.
I’d only seen photos of Bardot, but I knew the passenger wasn’t him. Another officer closed in on the passenger, dragging him to the side and allowing me to focus on the driver.