Page 148 of The Grave Artist
Heron swore under his breath.
Back onto the faded asphalt and braking fast.
“Where’d you learn to drive like that?” he asked, as she made a quick three-point turn.
A pause. “Frank.”
“Tandy?”
“It’s how we met. He teaches the tactical driving course for LAPD, and the Bureau and DHS sometimes do in-service training in Los Angeles when it’s not practical to go across the country to FLETC.”
Peering over the side and the rocky gulf that might have been their grave, he said, “I’ll have to thank him.”
“Call it in,” she instructed and hit the accelerator once more, sending up a plume of dust and gravel and tire smoke behind them.
Heron tapped in the last dialed number—Grange. The tactical team leader picked up at once, and Heron told him where they were and that they were in pursuit of Lauren Brock.
Grange agreed to send a tac team to cut her off and alert the highway patrol.
Lauren had the more agile vehicle, but Sanchez was the better driver, and she narrowed the distance.
“Heron,” she said, frowning. “You see Garr?” She didn’t think there was anyone in the passenger seat.
“No. She’s alone. He’s already dead.”
After a longstanding moratorium on capital punishment in California, the death penalty had been reinstated, but only in special circumstances. This situation wouldn’t qualify, but there were those who strongly advocated expanding the list of crimes justifying the ultimate punishment.
Carmen maneuvered the SUV through a series of tight turns and was soon on the Camry’s tail. The Suburban’s blue-and-white grille lights were flashing, and she could see Lauren glance into her rearview.
Lauren accelerated, and her car surged ahead on a straightaway.
Carmen caught up again when the road began to twist once more, and Lauren had to fight to control the vehicle. Carmen bleeped the siren.
Lauren didn’t slow in the slightest.
Until they rounded a curve where the road was blocked by Grange’s big tactical SUV and two CHP cruisers.
In addition to Grange, two of his agents and two men in highway patrol uniforms stood beside the vehicles, weapons out.
Lauren skidded to a stop.
Carmen braked and slid sideways, coming to rest across the road, blocking the Camry in. Canyon walls were on either side. Lauren wasn’t going anywhere.
She climbed out, unholstered her weapon and approached. She gestured Heron to stay back, and he stopped about twenty feet from the Camry.
Carmen checked the back seat. Empty.
“Engine off, Lauren. Pop the trunk.”
She did as instructed.
With a click, the lid lifted.
Garr wasn’t inside.
“Get out,” Carmen said. “Keep your hands where I can see them.”
A pause, and Lauren slowly climbed out. Grange approached, along with his men and the CHP officers. They covered her while Carmen stepped close and frisked her. No weapons.
