Free Random Acts by J. A. Jance

across General Crook and onto southbound I–17.
    â€œLet’s go,” Ali shouted, sprinting toward her Cayenne. “Cami, call it in, and then you keep watching from here to make sure he doesn’t pull a U-­turn and come back northbound.”
    Ali and Joanna clambered into the Cayenne at the same moment.
    â€œAre you armed?” Ali asked as she fastened her belt and put the Porsche in gear.
    â€œA Glock is all,” Joanna said.
    â€œMe too,” Ali said grimly. “Up against an AR–15 those won’t be worth much, but I don’t want to lose him.”
    After a gravel-­spraying U-­turn, Ali sent the Cayenne racing down the freeway entrance. It seemed to Joanna that the vehicle shot from zero to eighty-­plus in the blink of an eye.
    â€œWe called it right,” Joanna breathed, scanning the northbound roadway to see if the suspect had maybe doubled back and dialing 911 at the same time. “We called it right. He did come back.”
    â€œAnd it almost worked, too,” Ali added. “The problem is, he got there a moment too soon, and now he knows we’re on to him.”
    â€œNine-­one-­one, what are you reporting?”
    â€œA suspect in last night’s double homicide is southbound on I–17. He entered the freeway at General Crook Trail.”
    â€œMay I ask your name and number? And where are you right now?”
    â€œMy name is Joanna Brady. I’m the sheriff of Cochise County. I’m currently in a Cayenne pursing the suspect who is most likely armed and dangerous.”
    â€œCan you give me your mileage marker?”
    As soon as one appeared, Joanna did so.
    â€œI’ve just notified the Highway Patrol, but I must advise you to leave off your pursuit. You’re putting yourself in harm’s way.”
    â€œThis guy is someone who blasts ­people in their cars from freeway overpasses,” Joanna said tersely. “That means there are innocent ­people out on the road today who are in far more danger than we are.”
    â€œCall Dave,” Ali said.
    Ending the 911 call, Joanna did as she’d been asked and was gratified that Dave didn’t bother telling them to mind their own business.
    â€œYou’re sure he hasn’t doubled back?” Dave asked on speakerphone.
    â€œNot so far, but we’re watching.”
    â€œIf he makes it as far as the Sunset Point rest area which is usually full of tourists . . .” Ali said in the background.
    â€œAll hell breaks loose and no telling how many innocent civilians could be in danger,” Dave replied. “I’m on it. I’ve got ­people working on putting up a southbound roadblock before the Sunset Point exit.”
    â€œWe’ll need one northbound, too,” Joanna added. “Somewhere on the far side of Camp Verde, just in case.”
    Joanna glanced at the speedometer. It was hovering around ninety-­five as the car darted past lumbering trucks and slowpoke RVs and minivans. All Joanna could do was hope the high-­powered Porsche and Ali’s driving skills were both up to the task.
    Ali’s phone rang. She nudged it across the seat for Joanna to answer and then returned both hands to the wheel.
    â€œAli’s phone,” Joanna said.
    â€œIt worked,” a voice Joanna recognized as Cami’s reported. “We caught the plate and Stu ran the number. The vehicle is registered to Norma Braeburn of Cave Creek, Arizona.”
    â€œThey caught the plate,” Joanna reported to Ali. “And the vehicle belongs to a woman?”
    â€œYes,” Cami replied, “but there was a male at the wheel. It’s likely the vehicle is being driven by Norma’s seventeen-­year-­old son, Scott.”
    â€œHas that information been forwarded to the Department of Public Safety and Dave Holman?” Joanna asked.
    â€œDone and done,” said Cami.
    By then the Cayenne was on a relatively