“Of course. I don’t want anyone to think the case is getting preferential treatment because of me, but more than that, I want this guy caught and the charges to stick. If there’s anything I can do to help the detectives catch him, just let me know.” Sarah wasn’t certain exactly how she was going to overcome the urge to take charge, but somehow she needed to stay out of it.
Captain Thomas nodded. “Right now, I think it’s best to keep details as quiet as possible. The detectives are still trying to figure out if there is any connection between the rape last spring and your sister’s attack. I’m curious about something, though. Didn’t Detective Wang recognize you at the hospital?”
“He didn’t seem to, sir.”
Thomas looked at her, clearly puzzled. “Well, since he hasn’t, we may as well let it play out naturally. I’m trusting you to stay out of the investigation, Roberts.”
Sarah nodded. Somehow, she’d do it. “Definitely. In the investigator’s defense, I’d like to say I make every effort to not look like a police officer when I’m off duty.” She forced a smile that she didn’t feel.
The captain laughed. “I’m going to have to push their observation skills a bit then. Maybe I could enlist your assistance, after the investigation is over.”
Sarah studied her superior officer, not sure if he was serious or joking. “I have one more concern. It seems that my experience with the Bureau is a source of contention. It’s not my imagination, is it?”
He shook his head. “Given time, the other officers will realize we’re lucky to have you as one of us. I’m afraid the drug ring has set lots of imaginations running wild. No matter what we say, half the department is convinced we’re still looking for another player in it.”
“Time heals all wounds.” She put her hand on the doorknob and paused. “Thank you for giving me a chance, Captain Thomas. Most places I applied threw out my application on the FBI merit alone. It’s nice to be here in a smaller department.”
“Their loss is Fossil Creek’s gain. We need some new blood here. The drug ring made that very apparent. Now get out there and kick some life into Matthews, would you?”
Sarah found Nick Matthews leaning against the doorway to the officers lounge down the stairs, watching the latest news report of her sister’s assault. “Have they mentioned the victim’s name?” she asked him.
“Nah, they won’t,” he said, stepping forward. “Even the press has standards. Victim’s rights are one of them. We ready to hit the streets?”
She nodded, noting he was taller than she remembered from high school. Ten years had changed both of them, she realized. His shirt looked two sizes too small, not that she minded. She just hoped it made it through the night without tearing.
Sarah went to get the police cruiser key from the board, and noticed it was gone. She turned to him. “You driving?”
“Nope, we’ll see where Sergeant Donovan left off with your training.” Matthews tossed the key to her, and she felt the butterflies in her stomach performing aerial stunts as he checked out an assault rifle from the gun vault. She followed, selecting her own.
“Great,” she muttered as she inspected the car, securing their rifles and a ticket can in the trunk, while he scrutinized her every move. Her rotation with the first trainer had been a continuous reminder of the lesson she’d learned the hard way at the FBI—that men didn’t like bossy women, whether it be at home or work. Nothing had been more difficult than discovering competency and self-reliance scared the marrying kind of man away, almost as fast as hearing she was a special agent for the FBI. “Suggestions?”
“Nope.”
She got into the car and radioed dispatch that they were on duty and heading toward their assigned region of town. Thirty minutes later, Nick still hadn’t said anything; he just silently scribbled on his notepad.
Sarah was getting desperate for some chatter, to the extent of being tempted to ask if he remembered her from high school. Anything to take her mind off Beth’s attack and what he was writing down. Her sister refused to talk about it, and Nick didn’t seem anxious to share, either. Don’t get pushy. Just do your job….
Dispatch interrupted her thoughts. “Silent alarm at Citizen’s Bank on the corner of Birch and First Street.”
“Three-eighteen copy,” Sarah said, then put the mike back into the clip and turned toward the bank.
“It’s not our area,” Nick argued. “We serve as backup if needed.”
Just as Nick predicted, the dispatcher sent another officer to respond, then added, “Three-eighteen stand by to back up if needed.”
She could see the corner of Nick’s mouth twitch.
“It’s only a block from our border,” she said, trying to sound compliant. “I just thought we could help….”
“If it were a block farther east, we could respond.
They’ll call if they need backup, so stay in the area, in case. A little different from what you’re used to, huh?”
She didn’t need to get into an argument on her first night with a new training officer. She put the safety on her mouth before her attitude got her into trouble. “The FBI didn’t serve as first responders on many calls, period.”
“You miss it?”
“I was ready for a change. I always liked Fossil Creek, and with my sister in graduate school here, I decided it was a sign when I saw they were hiring.”
“How long did your family live in Colorado?” he asked, sounding more like a detective than a partner.
As if he couldn’t be less interested if he tried.
“Ten years,” she said, expecting him to ask the same question everyone else did—why had she left the FBI for a local police department? Nick didn’t say anything, and the silence was deafening. She had to talk about something job related before she started worrying and talking about Beth. Experience and instinct told her she could trust Nick Matthews, but she wasn’t sure she was ready to open up yet. She tried making conversation, to no avail. “I’m a little surprised to hear Fossil Creek is having such an explosion of gang and drug problems.”
“Yeah, Greeley PD had to start a gang task force. They cracked down and pushed the gangs out. Now they’re our problem. We need to give them a swift kick out of town, too, before they have a chance to get established here. Fortunately, they’re not as organized as the West Coast gangs. Ours are mostly family and territory battles.”
“What about the drugs?”
He didn’t answer immediately, and Sarah realized she’d just put her foot in her mouth.
“Oh, I didn’t mean…That came out wrong. Forget I said anything,” she begged. “Nick, I’m sorry.”
“Our drug task force does a great job. They work with the DEA and other Colorado agencies to get a leg up on the growing problems.”
She felt blood rush to her face. “I didn’t mean anything personal….”
Before she could continue, dispatch interrupted. “Three-eighteen, backup at Citizen’s Bank. Suspect seen in back of the bank on foot, wearing a dark green shirt and baseball cap, Caucasian, dark hair, nylon stocking over his face. Headed toward University Drive.”
“Three-eighteen copy,” Sarah responded, happy to have something put a little distance between her and Nick. She turned on the flashing lights and siren and headed toward University Drive.
“Take the alley, just past the bus stop sign on the right,” Nick instructed. “He’s not going to stay on a main road if he’s running.”
“He could have a car or driver waiting.”
“There’s no parking on University. Take the alley,” Nick ordered.
She made a last-minute turn into the laneway, annoyed to be given a command. Even more annoyed when he proved her wrong. She hurried toward the taillights of an orange car.
The suspect was stuffing a duffel bag into the passenger-side window and looked up, shocked to see them. He dived headfirst after the bag. The driver took off before his accomplice had pulled his legs inside.
Sarah called
dispatch. “Suspect dived into a 1970 SS 454 Chevelle, Nebraska plates, William-Lincoln-Boy 783. That’s WLB 783,” she repeated. She followed with her lights flashing as the car sped away. If no one had been hurt at the bank, and no money taken, there was likely no need to risk the citizenry’s safety with a high-speed pursuit. Sarah was hesitant to force a chase through rush hour traffic. “He’s not going to wait for authorization from the shift commander. Do I pursue?”
Nick started to tell her about a shortcut.
“I know my way around Fossil Creek, Sergeant Matthews. I used to live here.” She pressed the accelerator a bit harder, hoping slow and steady could win this race. “Which officer went into the bank?”
Her partner spoke into his cell phone. “What do we have at the bank? Any injuries?” He paused. “Hostages?” He shook his head.
Sarah kept driving, lights and siren blaring, but she wasn’t going to be aggressive with a chase without orders. Not as a rookie. “The suspects aren’t waiting around. Do we pursue?” she demanded. The orange car was speeding away, the sight sending adrenaline pumping through her veins. It rankled her to let a criminal get away.
The Chevelle was forcing motorists off the roads, amazingly, not causing any accidents. Its brake lights flashed like blinkers. From the sound of horns honking, the driver was obviously annoying locals stuck in five o’clock traffic.
Nick pulled the phone from his ear. “The suspects turned right on—” Before he could finish the sentence, Sarah cut over and turned off on a side street.
“We can catch up without fighting this heavy traffic.”
He nodded and went back to his conversation with the shift supervisor.
Before she got any more response from Nick, dispatch came back with a report. The car had been stolen after a bank robbery in Omaha two days earlier.
“Stolen vehicle,” Nick confirmed. “Follow, but take it easy. They’re calling the commander.”
“Three-eighteen in pursuit on Ram Ridge Road, southbound toward Horseshoe,” Sarah told dispatch.
She waited for information from Nick, which didn’t come. “Was someone hurt?” Depending on the answer, everything may have just changed.
“Yeah, are you comfortable with a high speed pursuit if necessary?” he asked. “We can call in someone else to intercept or set up a roadblock.”
“This isn’t my first pursuit, if that’s what has you worried. And I have a perfect driving record.”
“It was just an offer,” he said, his deep voice tinged with sarcasm.
The car had turned back onto a main road, fighting traffic again, with Sarah on its tail. She watched drivers’ reactions with dismay. One apparently didn’t have good vision or hearing, for she didn’t make any attempt to get out of the way. She should have noticed the flashing lights by now. Sarah hit the brakes and honked her horn. Finally, the driver swerved to the right, nearly hitting the cars that were already on the shoulder.
“Three-eighteen, status?” the dispatcher asked.
Nick responded before she could, leaving her free to focus on the pursuit. “We have the suspect in sight. The Chevelle is turning west on Horseshoe Loop.” He leaned over and checked the speedometer. “Party is exceeding speed limits in heavy rush hour traffic.”
“All officers in the vicinity west of Horseshoe and Dillon Road set up roadblock.”
Oncoming traffic pulled to the shoulder, leaving Sarah an opening. She passed the remaining cars between her and the suspect, hitting a hundred miles an hour in seconds. The road turned from a four-lane to two, but traffic thinned considerably. “If I remember correctly, this road hooks left, then makes a quick right as it goes up the mountain toward the reservoir, correct?”
“Good memory.”
“Think the driver knows that?”
“Yes on the road, no on suspects knowing the layout. You’re doing great.” Nick pressed one hand against the dash and spun the car-mounted laptop with the other so he could access the records on the suspects and the previous bank robbery.
“I’m going to…” Sarah started to say. As if their quarry realized they had no way out, they screeched to a halt, spun around and headed back toward the cruiser, black smoke billowing from the exhaust pipes.
“Aw, nuts!” she spat.
She hit the brakes and backed across the road, leaving her the option of going either direction. “Hang on!”
THREE
Nick couldn’t believe the way Sarah handled the car, the chase and—if he were honest with himself—him. As the suspects raced closer, she stared them down, one hand on the wheel, one on the gearshift.
Once they’d left the city limits, Nick had alerted the sheriff’s office that the chase was moving into their jurisdiction. Now, as they straddled the road, he heard another officer call in their exact location. “I haven’t played chicken before, but this isn’t looking good,” Nick muttered.
“Show no fear,” she whispered. Still focused on their quarry, she spoke with authority. “That car is souped up to the max. They aren’t going to wreck it.”
The suspects slowed almost to a stop as Roberts shimmied the cruiser forward, then back again when they attempted to get around it.
“They stole that vehicle,” Nick reminded her.
She didn’t bat an eye. “They could have stolen any number of cars in the Omaha area that would have garnered a lot less attention than an orange collectable car in pristine condition. They aren’t going to damage it.”
She said so with such confidence, he found it difficult to refute her reasoning. “And what makes you think that?”
She didn’t answer.
Nick didn’t wait. “So we can assume they’re not from around here. That must be why they didn’t want to go into the mountains on a two-lane road once you caught up to them.”
“Don’t you think they meant to turn toward the interstate and head for Denver?” she asked. She backed the cruiser up when they eased to the left, forward again when they tried once more to go around them to the right. “They don’t know the area, they don’t want to wreck the vehicle. They’re up a creek without a paddle.”
Nick jumped out of the cruiser and drew his gun. “Pop the trunk. I want to show them we mean business. Maybe they’ll come to their senses.” He made his way to the rear, his handgun zeroed in on the orange car’s radiator.
“Careful,” she said.
He lifted the trunk lid and pulled out both of their rifles. “Lord, knock some sense into these two before we have to use our weapons.” Backup had arrived, forming a line two deep behind the Chevelle. Sheriff’s deputies came down off the mountain, forming a V-shaped blockade. The borrow ditches were ten feet deep, so the suspects weren’t likely to take that route—in any car. They were blocked in totally, unless they used the vehicle as a ramming iron.
“Nick!”
He returned to the passenger’s open door and handed Sarah a rifle. “Yeah?”
“The shift supervisor wants to talk to you.”
“My hands are a little full right now. Can you put him on speakerphone?”
“Sure, Rambo,” she teased.
Nick heard the phone beep as it switched to speaker mode. “Yeah?”
“These two are wanted in the murder of a security guard, injuring one of the bank tellers, and two officers in Nebraska. A car belonging to Ricky Turrow was found a block from where this car was stolen. Do what you have to, but we want to make sure it’s the right guys. I’ve posted Turrow’s mug shots from previous arrests on the system. Be careful, Matthews. The man has an ugly rap sheet.”
“No kidding,” Nick muttered. He leaned against the squad car, trying to figure out what Turrow and his partner were planning.
Sarah pulled up the photo on the laptop screen. “It’s Turrow.”
Captain Thomas broke in to ask what was happening.
Nick raised his voice as he aimed his rifle. “For now, they’re weighing their options—none of which are good. Any connection between the suspects a
nd the owner of the car?”
“How’d you know?” the captain asked.
“It’s Officer Roberts’s belief that they have some attachment to it. They seem hesitant to take any risk of causing damage.”
He heard a chuckle on the other end. “Welcome back, Matthews. See you soon.” The cell phone went dead.
“Come out of the car, one at a time, and put your hands on your heads,” he heard his trainee’s authoritative voice bellow from the bullhorn under the hood of the car. “Driver first, Mr. Turrow.”
Guns pointed at the car from every direction.
The orange Chevelle’s engine revved and its tires squealed, sending smoke into the air again; obviously, the driver was racing the motor with his foot on the brake.
“You’re not sitting in a very good position, Roberts,” Nick warned. “Get out here.”
“If they see a five-foot-one officer get out of the cruiser, they’ll lose all fear, and you know it. Besides, someone needs to be ready in case they try to charge the barricade.”
“No, you don’t. Tell them we’re going to shoot if they don’t give up. I’ll take out the tires, then the radiator, then the gas tank, in that order.”
“What?”
“You heard me. Talk them out.”
She cleared her throat, then got back on the bullhorn, speaking into the mike. “Give up, before someone else gets hurt.”
The driver revved the engine again.
“Officers, prepare to open fire. On the three count, shoot out the tires!” she ordered over the mike.
The passenger waved his hand out the window. “Don’t shoot the car! We give up!” He swore at his partner, obviously trying to convince him to surrender.
“Roberts, get out of the car,” Nick said, as he inched around the cruiser and opened her door. “Hurry, while they’re distracted.” He kept his rifle aimed at the Chevelle’s radiator. Someone was going to cry if he shot it, but it wouldn’t be him. Roberts was his responsibility; he wasn’t about to let her get hurt.
Badge of Honor Page 2
