Outlaw Mountain

we’d have the whole funeral laced with plainclothes officers.”

Becker shook his head. “Even if we succeed-even if we catch whoever they’ve sent this time-who’s to say they won’t try again? They’ll just turn around and send someone else.”

“Maybe not,” Joanna said. “Maybe if we nail the messenger, he’ll lead us back to whoever sent him, and we’ll get those guys, too.”

A long silence followed as Jonathan Becker seemed to consider Joanna’s idea. At last he sighed. “Tell me what to do,” he said. “I’m tired of running. I don’t want to do that anymore. When Alice let me move into her little place at Outlaw Mountain, I finally started feeling like I was alive again. For the first time since my son died, I felt like life was worth living. Maybe someday I’ll feel that way again, but not if I’m forever on the run.”

“Come on, then.”

“Where are we going?”

“Back to my office at the Justice Complex. I need to make some calls. Where’s your car?”

“I ditched it. It was too distinctive. I drove it into a wash out east of town, right along the border. I thought maybe I could trick people into believing that I’d crossed the line into Old Mexico. All I have left is this.” Becker held up a small single suitcase Joanna hadn’t noticed before. “When you’re on foot,” he added, “you have to travel light.”

Joanna smiled. “You’re not on foot now. We’ll go in my Bronco.” She pointed. “It’s over there on the corner.”

Leading the way, Joanna climbed in the driver’s door and then used the electronic lock to let Becker in on the other side. Once they were both strapped in, she started the engine and eased into the sparse late-evening traffic on G Avenue. She had barely started up the street when a car pulled out of an alleyway and fell in behind them.

Concerned but unwilling to show it, Joanna made at least three separate turns, following the old truck route back to the highway and keeping her eye on the narrow pair of headlights that duplicated her every maneuver. By the third turn, Joanna knew she was in trouble. She realized that the men tracking Becker must have worked their way through the same assumptions Joanna had and decided that they, too, would attend Alice Rogers’ visitation. The question now was: What to do about them?

Had Joanna been in her own Blazer, she would have had a spare Kevlar vest for Jonathan Becker to slip on and wear. As it was, she didn’t.

“Don’t turn around, Mr. Becker,” she said evenly, “but someone is following us. I’m going to call for backup. As soon as we have another car or two to make a squeeze play, I’m going to pull over and try to trap this guy. When I do, you’re to hit the floor and stay there. Is that clear?”

“Yes.”

Calling into Dispatch, Joanna learned there were no county units available anywhere in the near vicinity, other than the two deputies who had been left guarding Dena Hogan at the hospital. One could be spared, but at best he would be a good ten minutes away.

“What about Douglas cops, then?” Joanna asked. “Are any of them available?”

Two minutes later, just after Joanna had crossed the road to Pirtleville, a city of Douglas patrol car met Joanna. The cop flashed his lights briefly, and then pulled a U-turn as a second car came sliding to a stop in the left-hand lane and cut off all means of escape. Joanna jammed on the brakes, and so did everyone else. Within seconds, the desert lit up with the glare of flashing red lights.

Joanna remained in the Bronco long enough to make sure Jonathan Becker had hit the floorboard and would stay put. By the time she stepped out of the vehicle, the Douglas cops had already wrestled the suspect out of his vehicle and had him pinned flat on the pavement. One of them was just snapping shut a pair of handcuffs when Joanna arrived on the scene.

“Here he is, Sheriff Brady,” one of the Douglas cops announced proudly, shining a flashlight down on the suspect’s shiny bald head. “He never had a chance.”

“I’ll say!”

Joanna recognized Butch’s voice the moment he spoke. Finally, without the headlights glaring in her eyes, she recognized his Outback, too. “Butch, what on earth are you doing here?” she demanded.

“I was following you,” he said sheepishly. “I was worried. I wanted to make sure you were all right.”

“You know this guy?” one of the Douglas officers asked. “Unfortunately, yes,” Joanna Brady said. She was grateful that in the pulsing glow of lights it was impossible for anyone to see the vivid blush that had flooded her face. “His name’s Butch Dixon. He’s my fiance.”

“I guess that means we should let him up?” the patrol-man asked.

“I guess so,” Joanna said.

Furious and embarrassed both, Joanna turned on her heel and marched back to the Bronco to tell Jonathan Becker that everything was under control. Meanwhile the two Douglas officers helped Butch to his feet and removed the cuffs. They were still apologizing and brushing the dirt off Butch’s clothing when Joanna returned.

“It’s all right,” Butch said to them impatiently. “I’m fine.”

“You only think you’re fine,” Joanna corrected. “What the hell were you thinking of?”

“What were you thinking of?” Butch returned. “You said you were going to the hospital, but when you left there, instead of going home you took off in the opposite direction. What was I supposed to think?”

“That I was doing my job.”

“And I suppose that includes laying a trap for me-having a whole squad of cops pull me over, handcuff me, and throw me on the ground?”

“I happen to have an endangered witness in my car,” Joanna told him. “A witness somebody’s gone to a lot of trouble to get rid of. When I saw your car, I thought someone had followed me and was going to try to kill him.”

“So who is he?” Butch grumbled. “Shouldn’t I at least get to meet the guy?”

Something in the way he said the words touched Joanna’s funny bone. She stopped being mad and started to laugh. The release of tension was catching. Within moments, Butch was laughing uproariously too, as were the two Douglas cops.

Holding her sides, Joanna staggered up to the door of the Bronco and opened it. “Jonathan Becker,” she gasped. “I’d like you to meet Butch Dixon-the man I’m going to marry.”

Butch temporarily stifled his laughter. With dead-pan seriousness he shook Jonathan Becker’s hand. It was enough to make Joanna giggle that much harder. Only when two cars came by, passing carefully and gawking, did Joanna realize how ridiculous they all must have looked.

“We’d better get out of the road before someone does get hurt,” she said.

“Where to?” Butch asked.

“Let’s go to High Lonesome Ranch instead of my office,” Joanna said. “And if Dick Voland happens to be there, it’ll make it that much more interesting.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

Friday dawned clear and cold. Joanna awakened bone-tired and completely alone. After hours of strategic planning, Butch had taken Jonathan Becker into town and booked him into a room at the Copper Queen. Both Junior and Jenny had spent the night with Jim Bob and Eva Lou.

During the contentious discussions that followed their arrival at High Lonesome Ranch, Butch Dixon hadn’t been shy about voicing his opinions. With Becker and possibly Joanna in danger, Butch had been in favor of scrubbing the whole idea. To be fair, Joanna herself had wavered back and forth a dozen times. On the one hand, using Becker as bait seemed like a daring enough plan that it just might work. On the other, if Alice Rogers’ funeral was stocked with cops on loan from jurisdictions all over southeastern Arizona, how would it be possible to tell all the strangers apart? How would anyone be able to separate good guys from bad guys?

The drug-selling activities of the rogue North Las Vegas cops were enough to justify calling in the DEA, and in