Page 42 of More Than a Hero
A chill ran down Angie’s spine. She stepped closer to Pete and murmured, “Are you okay?”
Pete jerked slightly, as if snapping out of a trance. When he turned to face her, his expression was carefully neutral, but his eyes were dark with something unreadable.
He forced a smile, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Yeah, I’m fine. I’ll see you back at your office, okay?”
Angie hesitated. Something was off, but she knew pushing him for answers right now wasn’t the right move. Instead, she reached out, placing a hand on his arm and squeezing gently.
“Absolutely,” she said with a small smile. “I’ll be there.”
As Pete turned toward the vans, his body tensed with something unspoken. Angie couldn’t shake the feeling that the lighthearted joy of the afternoon had just shifted into something far more serious. And whatever it was, Pete knew what it was.
18
The traffic stop should have been routine. A North Heron County Sheriff’s Department deputy clocked the car—a sleek, dark sedan with blacked-out windows—barreling down the highway at nearly eighty miles per hour in a fifty-five zone.
But what should have been simple turned into chaos in an instant.
Pete heard the urgency crackle over the radio as multiple deputies joined the pursuit. What started as a single patrol car flashing its lights had escalated into a high-speed chase, sirens wailing.
He and Jeremy had been on their way to meet one of their informants when the call came in. Jeremy, hands steady on the wheel, flicked his gaze to Pete, already tracking the unfolding situation.
“If this idiot keeps heading south, he’ll hit the bridge,” Pete muttered, eyes scanning the dark highway ahead. “Between us, the CBBT, and Virginia Beach PD, he’ll have nowhere to go.”
Jeremy huffed a dry laugh, shifting in his seat. “What do you wanna bet he’s carrying drugs?”
They listened as the dispatcher’s voice cut through the radio again.Suspect has turned off the main highway. Now traveling at high speeds on rural roads.
Pete shook his head. “No way he’s local. He’s got no idea what he’s in for. These backroads? Hell, they’re more potholes than pavement. He won’t be able to keep up that speed for long.”
Jeremy keyed his mic. “North Heron, DTF Unit 17, we’re standing by near the southern end of the county.”
As they monitored the chase, the radio crackled again. The suspect had taken a sharp turn, heading straight for Baytown.
Pete and Jeremy locked eyes. In perfect unison, they growled, “Oh shit.”
A high-speed chase was bad enough, but Baytown was another level of danger entirely. No traffic lights, no wide highways. The town was just narrow streets and people out walking or riding bikes or in golf carts. A reckless driver plowing through town at these speeds was a disaster in the making.
Jeremy yanked the wheel to veer off the highway and gunned it toward Baytown.
Through the radio, they caught Baytown’s Police Chief Mitch Evans’s firm order to deploy the spike strips. A minute later, the radio crackled with an update.Driver attempted to evade—vehicle’s in a ditch. Foot pursuit in progress. One suspect in vehicle.
A beat of silence.Suspects in custody.
Pete exhaled sharply, raking a hand through his hair as Jeremy smirked. Pete grabbed the radio. “DTF Unit 17 en route.” Then, turning to Jeremy, he grinned, slow and knowing. “You asked what I’d bet?”
Jeremy raised a brow.
Pete leaned back against the seat, shaking his head. “I’d bet my last paycheck they’re carrying. Drugs, guns—something. But he’s carrying.”
Jeremy pulled the SUV to a stop near the wrecked vehicle, leaving enough space for the emergency responders still arriving on the scene. The flashing red and blue lights painted the ditch in erratic strokes, illuminating the sedan that had skidded off the road and landed on its side in the ravine.
Pete surveyed the wreck, his sharp gaze sweeping over the tilted frame. The car landed on the passenger side, which explained how the driver had managed to bail out and run, leaving his passenger behind.
The driver stood near the back of a deputy’s vehicle, handcuffed and mouthing off continuously. The passenger, once pulled from the wreckage, was sitting on the grass nearby as the EMT checked him out. He appeared young, and if his tears were anything to go by, he’d gotten into more than he’d planned.
Pete’s attention was diverted as a dog barked. “Good,” Pete muttered, spotting the familiar figure of Carly, the K9 handler, and her muscular black shepherd, Nero. “The K9 unit’s already here.”
Carly turned as they approached, her expression sharp and ready for business. “Took you long enough.”
