Free Random Acts by J. A. Jance Page A

flat plateau approaching Sunset Point. Just then, Joanna caught sight of the Tundra, flying northbound in the opposite lanes.
    â€œThe suspect is now headed northbound,” Joanna shouted into the phone at Cami. “Call Camp Verde PD and see if they can establish a roadblock on I–17 somewhere north of General Crook Trail. In the meantime, Cami, you and Stuart need to get out of there.”
    In other places along that stretch of I–17, hundreds of feet of elevation separated the northbound from the southbound lanes. This was one of the few spots where crossing the median was even feasible.
    â€œHold on,” Ali ordered. “We’re turning.” She moved over onto the left-­hand shoulder and hit the brake so hard that the engaging seat belt slammed into Joanna’s shoulder and belly. Moments later they bounced across the median on a dirt track and then shot back into the northbound lanes.
    â€œCall Dave back,” Ali ordered, unnecessarily, since Joanna was already doing exactly that.
    â€œWe spotted him,” Joanna reported. “He’s northbound again.”
    â€œI know,” Dave replied. “Highway Patrol had a car parked just north of the Sunset Point exit to keep him from going in there. The guy took off as soon as he saw the patrol car. He’s headed northbound now.”
    â€œSo are we,” Joanna said. “We should be able to see him any minute.”
    Joanna glanced at the speedometer. With the needle now hovering at well over one hundred, that seemed more than likely.
    â€œThere he is!” Ali shouted. “We’ve got him.”
    It was true. The Tundra had been boxed in behind a slow-­moving semi passing another even slower semi on a steep grade. When the one vehicle finally moved out of the way, the Tundra shot around it, but the pickup had lost its momentum and it couldn’t quite regain its former speed.
    â€œWe’re closing on him,” Joanna reported to Dave.
    â€œYou two need to stand down now,” he replied. “We already know the guy is armed to the teeth. Camp Verde is in the process of assembling a SWAT team to block I–17 in both directions at the first Camp Verde exit. I should be there any minute. I’m on 169 only a mile or so from the freeway.”
    â€œOh, my God!” Ali exclaimed. “He’s losing it.”
    And it was true. With her heart in her throat, Joanna watched as the Tundra raced around a northbound RV and then slewed wildly first in one direction and then the other. As the out-­of-­control pickup skidded back and forth across both lanes of the roadway, the driver in the RV did his best to avoid an almost inevitable collision. After three more wild wobbles, the Tundra veered to the right. It shot off the road and onto the shoulder, tumbling down an embankment in a manner that was almost a carbon copy of what had happened to George and Eleanor earlier that morning.
    â€œHe’s off road,” Ali reported. “Just south of the Bloody Basin exit.”
    She pulled over on the shoulder just behind the stopped RV. A shaken and horrified older ­couple popped out of the RV, pointing to the spot where the overturned Tundra had landed on its roof with its wheels still spinning.
    Joanna darted out of the Cayenne. She had seen enough wrecks in her time to doubt this one was survivable.
    â€œCall for EMTs,” she ordered Ali, handing her back the phone. “I’m going down the hill to see if I can help.”
    â€œWhat if he’s still armed?” Ali asked.
    â€œSo am I,” Joanna answered grimly. “So am I.”
    She scrambled down the embankment to the spot where the Tundra had come to rest, upside down, against a sturdy barbed-­wire fence. Drawing her weapon as she went, Joanna heard the kid long before she saw him.
    â€œOh, my God!” he moaned. “It hurts. It hurts so bad. Help me! Someone, please help me out of