Badge Of Honor. Carol Steward

the city limits, Nick had alerted the sheriff’s office that the chase was moving into their jurisdiction. Now, as they straddled the road, he heard another officer call in their exact location. “I haven’t played chicken before, but this isn’t looking good,” Nick muttered.

      “Show no fear,” she whispered. Still focused on their quarry, she spoke with authority. “That car is souped up to the max. They aren’t going to wreck it.”

      The suspects slowed almost to a stop as Roberts shimmied the cruiser forward, then back again when they attempted to get around it.

      “They stole that vehicle,” Nick reminded her.

      She didn’t bat an eye. “They could have stolen any number of cars in the Omaha area that would have garnered a lot less attention than an orange collectable car in pristine condition. They aren’t going to damage it.”

      She said so with such confidence, he found it difficult to refute her reasoning. “And what makes you think that?”

      She didn’t answer.

      Nick didn’t wait. “So we can assume they’re not from around here. That must be why they didn’t want to go into the mountains on a two-lane road once you caught up to them.”

      “Don’t you think they meant to turn toward the interstate and head for Denver?” she asked. She backed the cruiser up when they eased to the left, forward again when they tried once more to go around them to the right. “They don’t know the area, they don’t want to wreck the vehicle. They’re up a creek without a paddle.”

      Nick jumped out of the cruiser and drew his gun. “Pop the trunk. I want to show them we mean business. Maybe they’ll come to their senses.” He made his way to the rear, his handgun zeroed in on the orange car’s radiator.

      “Careful,” she said.

      He lifted the trunk lid and pulled out both of their rifles. “Lord, knock some sense into these two before we have to use our weapons.” Backup had arrived, forming a line two deep behind the Chevelle. Sheriff’s deputies came down off the mountain, forming a V-shaped blockade. The borrow ditches were ten feet deep, so the suspects weren’t likely to take that route—in any car. They were blocked in totally, unless they used the vehicle as a ramming iron.

      “Nick!”

      He returned to the passenger’s open door and handed Sarah a rifle. “Yeah?”

      “The shift supervisor wants to talk to you.”

      “My hands are a little full right now. Can you put him on speakerphone?”

      “Sure, Rambo,” she teased.

      Nick heard the phone beep as it switched to speaker mode. “Yeah?”

      “These two are wanted in the murder of a security guard, injuring one of the bank tellers, and two officers in Nebraska. A car belonging to Ricky Turrow was found a block from where this car was stolen. Do what you have to, but we want to make sure it’s the right guys. I’ve posted Turrow’s mug shots from previous arrests on the system. Be careful, Matthews. The man has an ugly rap sheet.”

      “No kidding,” Nick muttered. He leaned against the squad car, trying to figure out what Turrow and his partner were planning.

      Sarah pulled up the photo on the laptop screen. “It’s Turrow.”

      Captain Thomas broke in to ask what was happening.

      Nick raised his voice as he aimed his rifle. “For now, they’re weighing their options—none of which are good. Any connection between the suspects and the owner of the car?”

      “How’d you know?” the captain asked.

      “It’s Officer Roberts’s belief that they have some attachment to it. They seem hesitant to take any risk of causing damage.”

      He heard a chuckle on the other end. “Welcome back, Matthews. See you soon.” The cell phone went dead.

      “Come out of the car, one at a time, and put your hands on your heads,” he heard his trainee’s authoritative voice bellow from the bullhorn under the hood of the car. “Driver first, Mr. Turrow.”

      Guns pointed at the car from every direction.

      The orange Chevelle’s engine revved and its tires squealed, sending smoke into the air again; obviously, the driver was racing the motor with his foot on the brake.

      “You’re not sitting in a very good position, Roberts,” Nick warned. “Get out here.”

      “If they see a five-foot-one officer get out of the cruiser, they’ll lose all fear, and you know it. Besides, someone needs to be ready in case they try to charge the barricade.”

      “No, you don’t. Tell them we’re going to shoot if they don’t give up. I’ll take out the tires, then the radiator, then the gas tank, in that order.”

      “What?”

      “You heard me. Talk them out.”

      She cleared her throat, then got back on the bullhorn, speaking into the mike. “Give up, before someone else gets hurt.”

      The driver revved the engine again.

      “Officers, prepare to open fire. On the three count, shoot out the tires!” she ordered over the mike.

      The passenger waved his hand out the window. “Don’t shoot the car! We give up!” He swore at his partner, obviously trying to convince him to surrender.

      “Roberts, get out of the car,” Nick said, as he inched around the cruiser and opened her door. “Hurry, while they’re distracted.” He kept his rifle aimed at the Chevelle’s radiator. Someone was going to cry if he shot it, but it wouldn’t be him. Roberts was his responsibility; he wasn’t about to let her get hurt.

      “Cut the engine and get out. I’m not calling them off until you’re both out of the car and on the ground,” she bellowed as Nick tugged on her shirtsleeve.

      They could hear yelling from inside the car. Thirty seconds later, the driver turned off the Chevelle and gave himself up, followed by the passenger. Sarah burst out of the car, keeping her gun on the latter, Turrow, as Nick went to cuff and search the driver.

      One of the sheriff’s deputies nodded to her. “I think this is your arrest, Officer.” He stood nearby as Sarah moved the suspect to the car to pat him down.

      Nick wondered if he should turn his guy over to another deputy so he could help her. Nope, she’s just one of the guys; she’s gotta do the job like all of us. He glanced over, surprised that she didn’t hesitate with any of her duties, even though the arrested party was a good foot taller than her.

      “Get that cut on your forehead when you dived into the car?” she asked Turrow. “Take pictures,” she said, motioning for another officer to snap some photos before she cuffed the man. “You’re lucky that’s all that happened to you, with your friend’s driving habits, not to mention your bad choices,” she added. “Keep your hands on the roof of the car.”

      Instead of obeying, the suspect threw an elbow into her chest, and again Nick fought the urge to intervene. The sheriff’s deputy was there immediately to assist as needed. He kicked the suspect’s legs farther apart.

      “Is getting charged for resisting arrest and assaulting an officer part of your game plan?” Nick bellowed. He tightened his grip on his own suspect.

      “C’mon, Turrow, you’re not going anywhere, so how about acting like a gentleman?” Sarah said, trying to sweet-talk the guy into cuffs.

      The man spit.

      Stoically, Sarah pushed him against the car, finishing her search, removing a knife and two guns from the cargo pocket of his pants in the process. “You have the right to remain silent….”

      He fidgeted, making it difficult to get the steel bracelets on him.