Free Cry Wolf by J. Carson Black Page A

maybe it was the shape—but everything said woman.
    All in black, balaclava covering the face.
    The car engine revved. Laura saw the figure running to the car, saw the driver turning his head to face her, the hood pulled tight by the drawstring at his chin. His face pale in the gloom.
    The car clunked into reverse and slalomed backward, the running figure trying to open the passenger side door, scrambling to catch up. Still in reverse, the car swerved in a wide arc—Laura was in its path. She dove behind the Dumpster at the edge of the lot.
      Where was Matt?
    She looked around and saw him crouched behind a tall row of mission cactus that lined the dirt parking lot. He sat on his heels, phone to his ear and gun resting on his knee.
    Laura yelled, “Police! Stop! Do it now—”
    The reverse lights came back on and the car sped backwards, fishtailing as it came. Laura darted to the opposite side as the car rammed into the side of the Dumpster. Dust rose up, choking her. Through the scrim she saw the brake lights go off as the car ground gears and then shot back the way it had come. Meanwhile the woman was still running after the passenger door, which swung back and forth, almost knocking her away. The car shuddered to a stop, the engine revving. The woman scrambled for the passenger side and launched herself in, trying but failing to pull the door closed behind her. Laura, standing foursquare and straight-armed, squeezed off a shot between the thuds of her heartbeat—blowing out the back window. The car took off again, this time swerving for the lot exit and taking out half a large cactus. Laura aimed, fired, and yelled. “Stop! Police!”
    She could hear sirens.
    The car managed to straighten out and peeled away, wheels churning up more dust. Laura fired off another shot but it went wide.
    “Laura! You okay?” Matt.
    “Check on Ruby!” Laura shouted.
    She ran down the alley, following the Plymouth as it bumped over potholes and swerved to avoid another Dumpster. She was almost out of range, but did manage to set for a second and get off a shot at the tires.
    Expecting a miss.
    But the left rear tire blew, and the Plymouth jounced onto the cross street just as another car shot by.
    A blare of horns and shriek of tires, manic high-pitched screaming, and then Laura saw the car run into another car parked at the curb and suddenly it was airborne, tipping end over end, smacking down on its roof in the street with a shrieking clash of metal.
    Laura’s arms were still out in front of her, a death grip on her SIG. Her heart going a thousand miles a minute. The sight of the car going end over end like a domino blotted out everything else.
    She heard the loud whoop of sirens ending, and more sirens in the distance. Trotted to the cross street. Her legs were shaking just a little, but her hand was curled hard around her SIG.
    The police were already out of their cars, guns drawn and moving around the Plymouth. One of them looked in her direction and she pointed to her badge.
    It took a moment for her throat to gain purchase, otherwise she’d just squeak instead of talk. “Laura Cardinal—detective—DPS—there’s a woman down—All Souls Shoppe! We need an ambulance. Now!”
    A cop car peeled away and turned into the alley as two more black and whites pulled up. She could hear them working the radio. She looked at the officer nearest the Plymouth, his gun now holstered.
    “Dead?” she asked. Although she knew. Joel Strickland’s head and part of his torso had gone through the windshield.
    She walked over and peered in.
    Alex Williams was jammed up under the dash like an accordion. She looked dead, too.
    Laura said, “Should have worn your seatbelt.”

    By the time she made it back to All Souls Shoppe, the ambulance was just pulling out. Siren going—a good sign. Matt was there, covered in blood. He’d staunched Ruby’s wound with a towel. Laura watched the ambulance bump away down the alley. “You think she’s