LITMIR.BIZ

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him the phone. “Update the sheriff.”

      Showing restraint with the gas pedal, she didn’t waste momentum spinning the tires in the gravel parking lot. Yet once she hit the pavement, Kris accelerated rapidly, going through the gears of the manual transmission like she’d been raised on high-performance engines. This was the old highway, two narrow lanes worn by decades of traffic, but she took the corners right on the center line, not wasting a single foot of road, yet staying in their lane—barely.

      “Seat belt,” she said, without looking over. He’d forgotten in the rush, but she hadn’t.

      He reached over and brought down the belt, snapping it in place. Glancing over, he could see they were going eighty-five, whipping around slower-moving traffic on the old road, now more of a country lane passing through the rural community of Water-flow. The van, a bluish-green Chevy, was in sight now, and they were closing the gap.

      “Reach down beneath my seat,” she said, “and grab my Beretta. I can’t take my eyes off the road or my hands off the wheel right now.”

      He did as she’d asked, still trying to take in the fact that she was behind the wheel and doing some seriously skilled high-pursuit driving. The nine-millimeter pistol in a nylon tactical holster that was held high on the thigh was nearly identical to his own handgun. It would figure she’d make that choice, considering the military supplied a nearly identical weapon to its troops.

      “It’s got a key pad lock mechanism,” she said, noticing he’d retrieved the weapon. She called out the numbers—the date of her induction into the Corps.

      “And in case you’re wondering, I’ve got a concealed carry permit.”

      The road ahead rose sharply for a short distance, and humped up over an old irrigation canal. As they watched, the van left the ground slightly, brushing against the low branches of an ancient cottonwood. Dozens of golden leaves showered down onto the road.

      “There’s an elementary school ahead. What time is it?” she asked.

      He looked at his watch. “Ten-thirty. The children should be inside, and the parents gone by now.”

      “Hope you’re right. Those morons are going to be flying through a school zone at three times the limit.” She eased off on the gas as the low, one-story cinder-block building came into view. “Where’d they go? I can’t see the van.”

      “There!” He pointed. “They took a left on the side road. They’re heading for the main highway.”

      She took the turn at forty-five, but the tires held, despite the squeal of protest. The van, obviously souped up, accelerated down the straight lane like a drag racer, widening the gap.

      “That heap has some serious power,” Max commented. “Once they get to the good roads they’ll leave us in the dust.”

      The truck was going eighty, but they were still losing ground, and the four-lane highway was less than a half mile ahead. Max knew there was no entrance ramp, just a stoplight. “Think he’ll try and run it? There’s no way he’ll make the turn.”

      “He still hasn’t hit the brakes,” Kris yelled. “He’s gonna get hit for sure, or T-bone somebody.”

      Cursing, Kris let off on the gas, touched the brakes, then started gearing down, the transmission roaring in protest. The image ahead of them was surreal, like watching a train wreck about to occur, but in slow motion.

      Finally the brake lights on the van flashed as red as the traffic signal. The vehicle fishtailed violently, then entered onto the highway. The van slipped right in front of a big SUV, forcing the driver to practically stand on his brakes, then the lucky pair whipped across three more lanes of traffic like a bullet, untouched. Max could hear the scream of tires from an eighth of a mile away, and blue smoke and dust filled the intersection.

      “Hang on, it’s gonna be close,” she yelled as her pickup’s brakes pulsed and stopped them cold after three sharp jerks. By the time it was all said and done, they were on the crosswalk, just feet from the stream of cars hurtling past in front of them. Cars continued to whiz by, although the SUV that had been nearly transfixed by the van had pulled over by the shoulder farther to the west.

      The van, now racing up the hill toward an old natural gas plant, was nearly out of sight.

      “Any way we can get across?” Max yelled, looking both ways and seeing nothing but traffic.

      “Wanna run out there and blow a whistle? My truck and I will join you after the light changes.”

      He slammed his hand down hard on the dashboard and cursed, seeing that the van had disappeared. “Why did you insist on driving if you weren’t willing to do what had to be done?”

      “You would have played dodge car with my truck and my life? No way! I just saved both of our lives by not running that gauntlet. Instead of backseat driving you should be on the phone updating the police so they can pick up the chase.”

      He knew there weren’t enough officers around to cut off every avenue of escape, but he called it in anyway, updating dispatch, then hung up. “We’ll have to go to the sheriff’s office and make a statement.”

      The light finally changed, and she turned right, heading toward Farmington, the closest community with a sheriff’s department office.

      Turning to glance at him, she saw that he’d placed the trigger lock back on her pistol and was returning it to its place beneath the seat. “Who were those guys, anyway? They can’t be my enemies, so they must be yours.”

      Making a split-second decision, he decided she’d earned the right to know what was at stake. “Don’t be so sure of anything, not at this point. I believe those men were connected to the theft of the platinum.”

      “The what?”

      “The cargo, the merchandise, the stuff your sister and I were trying to deliver for the tribe. About a half-million dollars worth of jewelry-grade platinum was in that metal case, destined to be made into high-end jewelry by our craftsmen at the new tribal design facility.” He met her gaze. “And that’s for your ears only. The tribe doesn’t want half the state of New Mexico running around looking for the stuff. We’re searching for the raw material, not the finished designs. Tracing it would be impossible.”

      “Platinum is worth a lot more than gold, too. Finally you’re giving me facts. So how about another? Why would those men come after us?” she demanded, as she continued driving east. “Or were they just after you? And if so, why?”

      “Your sister hid the platinum before she died so it wouldn’t fall into the wrong hands. I’m guessing those men were hoping we could lead them to it.”

      “I get it,” she said, nodding slowly. “They want you, because you were there and knew my sister, and me, because they think I can second-guess her.”

      He didn’t answer right away. “That’s the way I see it,” he said, after a beat.

      His pause hadn’t escaped her. He was holding something else back—there was another secret tied to the mystery that had claimed her sister’s life. “There’s more to your story. Tell me the rest or you’re on your own from this point on.”

      “There is something else,” he said, giving her a look of grudging admiration. “Your sister left a note, but only managed to get one word down—Remember— before she had to make a run for it,” he said.

      “Remember what?” Kris asked, mulling it over in her mind. “That’s not much of a clue. Any idea what it means?”

      “No, and that’s why I came to you. I thought that maybe together we could figure things out.”

      “Was the note addressed to anyone in particular?”

      “No, but at the time she probably thought I was either dead—or as good as. It would have made sense for her to have left that message for you.”

      “And

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