Free Witness to Murder by Franklin W. Dixon Page A

"Forget it," the man barked. Glancing in the rear-view mirror, Joe noticed a single pair of lights behind the van. He wondered why the car wasn't passing. No one drove forty on the turnpike — not even little old ladies.
    "Speed up," came the voice from behind him. "Drive about five miles over the speed limit but no more. We don't need the highway patrol pulling us over."
    Joe pressed his foot down on the accelerator and sped up. As he guessed it would, the car behind them kept pace.
    "Just as I thought," the tall man said, looking worried. "Trouble."
    Annie looked in the side-view mirror. All she could see were a pair of headlights. "It's Cutter," she said. "Hurry, Joe. Don't let him get me again. He threatened me before. If he catches me again, he'll kill me, Joe. I know he will.
    "Annie." She was practically hysterical. "Stay calm, Annie. I won't let them get you."
    In compliance with the tall man's orders, he continued slowing down and speeding up, sometimes placing his foot on the brake abruptly. As the cat-and-mouse game continued, Joe tried to relieve his impatience by reviewing the situation.
    He'd made a mistake bringing Annie upstate. Both of them could have been safe in the Hardys' home right then. Now it looked as if Joe might be responsible for her death—and possibly his own. If Cutter's men were following, they'd be playing hardball this time. There'd be no easy escape.
    Had their escape earlier been a farce, anyway? Had Cutter let them go, planning to tail them until Annie led him to the diamonds? Joe realized with a sudden shock that he now believed she had the jewels. He must be tired. The only thing he knew for sure was that they wouldn't stop at anything to regain that fortune.
    The next time Joe slowed down, the car behind them pulled up beside the van. The driver tried to force Joe off the road. But Joe swung left onto the shoulder, then swerved hard to the right and speeded up, leaving the other car behind.
    "Any suggestions?" Joe asked, sarcasm in his voice. "You're in charge of this little game."
    "I hadn't planned on Cutter's following us," the man answered.
    Joe was tensed for action as he sped off into the tunnel of light that his headlights cut into the dark. He pulled into the passing lane and drove faster.
    "One of them has a gun, Joe!" Annie screamed. The car had pulled up beside them on her side. "An Uzi. He's going to shoot."
    Joe didn't think the guy would shoot Annie if he believed she knew where the diamonds were. But better not take chances. Flicking a switch, he brought bulletproof panels down to cover all of the windows. Now Joe could use the van almost as a tank. He slowed, then glanced into the other lane. Speeding up, he left the smaller car far behind. Now the only thing he had to worry about was their shooting out his tires. , Annie said, glancing at Joe, "I'm starting to believe maybe you can take care of us."
    Deftly weaving from lane to lane so the guys behind him couldn't get a clear shot at his tires, Joe became aware of every muscle in his body. He hungered for action, a real confrontation to end this chase. But instead he called up his powers of patience.
    He knew that eventually the state police would have to pull him over. The way he was driving he had to attract attention — at least that was what he was hoping. And when the police did stop him, the car behind them wouldn't stick around. But with the kind of luck Joe was having lately, the trooper on duty would be taking a coffee break. Not much action in the wee hours of the morning.
    Joe pressed his speed higher and higher, continuing to weave back and forth. He guessed the guys pursuing them weren't going to shoot because they would have gotten off a couple of rounds already. They didn't want to risk Annie in an accident.
    "Good idea, Joe," the voice behind him commented. "Attracting the state police is smart. In fact, the police do seem to be the perfect answer here. Take the next exit."
    The man had to be bluffing.