Free Random Acts by J. A. Jance Page B

here.”
    Knowing that even gravely injured he could still pose a deadly threat, Joanna approached the wreckage cautiously. Then, much to her relief, she spotted the AR–15 on the ground nearby. It had been thrown clear when the tumbling vehicle came to rest. Having the rifle out of play was a huge relief, and it went a long way toward evening the playing field. Still, she worried that the rifle might not be the only weapon involved.
    â€œOh, God. It hurts. It hurts so bad, and I’m bleeding. Help me.”
    With the Glock still in hand, Joanna approached the cab from the rear driver’s side. “Sir,” she said. “Do you have a weapon?”
    â€œWho’s there?” he asked. “Can you help me? I need help.”
    â€œDo you have a weapon?”
    â€œNo. I’m hurt—­hurt real bad.”
    Joanna edged forward far enough to peer around the door frame. The overturned truck’s sole occupant, trapped by his seat belt, hung upside down inside the vehicle, bleeding profusely. Realizing he was too badly hurt to pose any threat, Joanna immediately holstered her weapon. Then she reached inside and attempted to release the seat belt. It didn’t work. The weight of his body on the belt somehow kept the release from responding. Her hand came away bloodied.
    It was a shock to realize that the sticky red stuff came from the man who had killed her mother. But Joanna Brady had sworn to serve and protect, even if the person she was protecting didn’t deserve it.
    â€œYou’ve got to get me out of here,” he pleaded. “It hurts so much. I can’t breathe. Please help me.”
    â€œSteady now,” she said. “We’re here to help.”
    The sound of falling pebbles behind her told Joanna that someone else had come scuttling down the embankment. “Can I help?” Ali asked.
    â€œI need a sharp knife,” Joanna told her.
    â€œRight back,” Ali said, disappearing the way she had come.
    Unable to free the kid, Joanna turned her attention to his wound. Most of the blood seemed to be coming from a deep gash in his lower calf. Shrugging out of her T-­shirt, she peeled off her bra and used it as a makeshift tourniquet around his leg.
    â€œAm I going to die?” the kid sobbed hysterically. “I think I am going to die. I want my mom. Where’s my mom? I need her.”
    How could a cold-­blooded killer sound so much like a little lost boy?
    â€œYou need to be quiet, Scott,” Joanna said. “Save your strength. You’ve lost a lot of blood.”
    His eyes focused on her face. “Do I know you? How do you know my name? Is my mom coming? Have you called her?”
    Ali came skidding back down the embankment and tapped Joanna on the back. “The RV guy had a seat belt scissors in his tool box,” she said handing the implement over to Joanna. “I didn’t know there was any such thing. And the ambulance is on its way, coming from Black Canyon City. I don’t know how long it will take.”
    With the powerful little scissors in hand, Joanna eyed the problem. “When I cut him loose, he’s going to drop like a rock and may end up getting hurt worse than he already is. Can you crawl in through the other side and help break his fall? Then we’ll try to lift him out onto the ground.”
    â€œWill do.”
    Joanna put her face in front of the boy’s. His eyes were closed. She was afraid they were losing him.
    â€œScott,” she pleaded. “Stay with me. Can you hear me?”
    His eyes blinked open. They were out of focus. He looked around in momentary confusion. “Where am I?”
    Joanna worried that if he’d suffered some kind of spinal damage, the very act of freeing him might make things worse.
    â€œListen to me,” Joanna ordered. “We’re about to cut you loose now. Can you move your feet?” He did. “Your arms?” He did that,