Free No Honor Among Thieves: An Ali Reynolds Novella (Kindle Single) by J.A. Jance

warily as the Yukon’s speedometer headed for the stratosphere, making her wish Joanna would pay more attention to her driving and less to her radio.
    “Is Deputy Stock on the scene in Palominas?”
    “He’s about five minutes out,” the dispatcher said. Ali thought the dispatcher’s name was Larry, but she couldn’t be sure.
    “Can you patch me through to him?”
    “Hang on.”
    Moments later a different voice came through the radio. “Deputy Stock here.”
    “When you set up your roadblock, I want it to go from fence line to fence line,” she said. “Don’t deploy the spike strips until you’re sure all oncoming traffic has been stopped. Try to lay them out as far to the west of the roadblock as possible, out of sight of it if possible. It’ll be better if they hit the spikes before they see you.”
    “You want strips laid out on the shoulders, too?”
    “Absolutely, but only if you have enough,” Joanna answered. “Otherwise they might try driving around. We need these guys stuck on rims before they hit either of the roadblocks.”
    By then Ali noticed they were speeding along beside what was evidently a huge mine tailings dump. Up ahead, Ali could see buildings on either side of the highway. Ali and Cami had come this route earlier on their way to the Justice Center. Knowing they were fast approaching the town itself as well as a complicated roundabout, Ali was more than ready for Sheriff Brady to lift her lead foot off the damned gas pedal . . . which she did, but only at the last moment. When they swung into the traffic circle, Joanna was still driving way faster than Ali would have liked, but she was relieved to see that uniformed municipal cops had cleared the way for them by shutting down all adjoining intersections.
    “Pulling up at the scene now, Sheriff Brady,” Deputy Stock said. “Over and out.”
    Larry’s voice immediately came back on the line. “Anything else?”
    “Yes. Call Frank Montoya in Sierra Vista. Tell him what’s up and let him know we’re asking for mutual aid. I have way more people on the roadblock on the Bisbee side than I have on his side. Ask him if he can send backup.”
    “Will do.”
    Ali watched out the window as the town flew past, starting with a few residential neighborhoods on either side. Beyond that, the road was mostly empty desert. When they came to another area of businesses and housing, the houses seemed to be set back from the highway, while the various businesses were not. Ali knew that if the bad guys somehow made it past the roadblock, the people in those businesses—a taco stand, a gas station, a grocery store, an insurance agency—would all be at risk, customers and proprietors alike. She wanted to shout “Take cover!” out the window to warn them, but she didn’t. It wasn’t her place. Sheriff Brady was calling the shots here, not Ali Reynolds.
    They came to what seemed to be the edge of town. Joanna slowed abruptly just short of a growing traffic jam. After pausing for a moment at the back of the line, Joanna veered off the pavement and onto the shoulder, dodging around the stopped vehicles and going to the front of the line, where four other cop cars were already parked across the roadway. With only one try, Joanna deftly pulled the Yukon into the single remaining open space, a spot so tight that her back bumper was almost on top of the front bumper of the car just behind hers, while her front bumper was nosed up against a barbed-wire fence.
    “As I said,” she cautioned as she opened the door and started to climb out, “you’re both to stay here.”
    Just then Cami’s phone rang.
    “Okay, Stu,” Cami said when she answered. “Put him through when you can.”
    Joanna climbed back inside, shut the door, and waited. An oversized heavy-duty Sprinter with the sheriff’s office logo on the door and the identifying letters TT painted on the side was parked in front, parallel to the four blocking cars.
    TT, Ali told herself.