across, using his passport to get him past the immigration people on both sides.
They had been driving south first on Campbell and then on Kino. He was glad she was sticking to the posted speed limit. So far they hadn’t encountered any law enforcement vehicles, and once they merged onto the freeway system, Jonathan figured they’d be a lot more difficult to find.
They were nearing the intersection with I-10 where Kino widened to lanes. The Honda was still in the middle lane.
“The freeway is coming up,” he told her. “You need to get over.”
“I was planning on getting on I-19 at Ajo Way,” she said. “There’s all kinds of construction on I-10 right now. That intersection might not even be open.”
“I said get on the freeway,” he insisted. “Do it now.”
He saw her check in the rearview mirror for traffic. Even so, she didn’t pull over right away, and the entrance ramp was coming up way too fast. The last thing he needed was for this dumb broad to wreck her car with him in it.
“Get over,” he ordered again. “You’re going the way I tell you. Understand?”
She nodded. At almost the last moment, she jammed on the brakes and slewed the Accord into the right-turn lane.
“You stupid bitch!” he yelled at her. “You almost took us out just then. What the hell were you thinking?”
Naturally the abrupt lane change woke up the kid, and he immediately started howling again.
Great, Jonathan thought. But at least they were entering the freeway now and could blend into traffic there. He breathed a sigh of relief. Things were finally starting to go in his favor.
It was about time.
Tucson, Arizona
Sunday, June 7, 2009, 1:52 p.m.
88? Fahrenheit
Ginny knew that each passing telephone pole and each passing bridge abutment were missed opportunities.
She understood that she needed to choose one and use it before they got on the freeway, but she just couldn’t summon the nerve. All her instincts and all her experience were screaming at her: Do not wreck your car! But in these dire circumstances, wrecking the car was exactly what she needed to do. What she had to do.
Pepe was still asleep. If she did it while he was asleep, chances were he wouldn’t be tensed up and frightened by the impending crash. In the mirror she caught a glimpse of his bare little neck with the tiny dark curls blooming around it. What would happen to that precious little neck, the one she kissed at night when Pepe was sleeping? Would it snap to pieces in the collision? Would she be dooming her child to death or, worse, to life as a quadriplegic? Pepe would never forgive her for doing that to him. Neither would Felix. Neither would her mother-in- law. In other words, Ginny needed a slow-speed crash, not a fast one.
Hoping to see a possible crash site-an appropriate crash site-Ginny wanted to stay on surface streets and at surface street speeds for as long as possible. She saw the street signs and knew the intersection with I-10 was coming up, but she didn’t want to take it. She stayed in the middle lane.
“The freeway is coming up,” he told her. “You need to get over.”
If he was from out of town-his license plates had said California-he probably wasn’t up on the latest news concerning highway construction projects around Tucson. At least she hoped he wasn’t.
“I was planning on getting on I-19 at Ajo Way,” she told him. “There’s all kinds of construction on I-10 right now. That intersection might not even be open.”
“I said get on the freeway,” he insisted. “Do it now.”
They were driving past the yard-shed sales lot. Reluctantly complying, Ginny glanced in the mirror. Just then she saw a car in the opposite lane, a vehicle that looked like a Pima County sheriff’s car, jam on its brakes and jerk into a sudden U-turn. There were no flashing lights, no sirens, but as soon as Ginny caught sight of the brake lights, a spark of hope bloomed in her heart. Maybe someone was coming to help them after all.
While that was happening, though, she very nearly missed the merge onto the freeway.
“Get over,” the gunman ordered again, shouting at her. “You’re going the way I tell you. Understand?”
He sounded angry, but he was looking at her-staring at her. He wasn’t looking in the mirror. Ginny swung the car into a hasty right-hand turn. They were going fast enough that the Accord almost didn’t make it. Tires skidded on the pavement. The rear end of the car washed sickeningly from side to side. It was all Ginny could do to get it back under control and onto the entrance ramp.
“You stupid bitch!” he yelled at her. “You almost took us out just then. What the hell were you thinking?”
Jarred by the abrupt turn, Pepe awakened with a start and immediately began crying. Ginny ignored him and forced herself to look straight ahead. She wanted to know if the cop car was behind her, but she couldn’t risk staring in the mirror. The guy might read a telltale expression on her face and would know that help was coming. The only thing Ginny could hope for now was that between the two of them-Ginny and this unknown police officer- they could find some way to surprise the gunman and take him down.
“Can’t you go any faster than this?” he shouted now. “If you merge at twenty-five, some eighteen-wheeler doing eighty is going to run right over us.”
Ginny didn’t want to, but she stepped on the gas. He was right. Traffic on the interstate was moving right along. If she wasn’t careful, they would be run down before they made the merge.
Ginny dared a quick glance in the rearview mirror. To her immense relief she saw what appeared to be an unmarked cop car turn onto the entrance ramp and come racing up behind them. The lights still didn’t come on. He didn’t signal her to pull over, but he stayed right there, a few feet off her rear bumper. Unfortunately, by then she had brought the Accord up to highway speed and made the merge. She had also passed the last of the light pole masts for the intersection. That meant that she had also driven past her last chance of making a partially controlled, low-speed crash.
“Mommy, Mommy,” Pepe howled at her from the backseat. “Mommy, Mommy, Mommy!”
Every time he called to her it was like a stone through Ginny’s heart. Her little boy needed her comforting presence and assurance, but she couldn’t afford to look at him. She didn’t dare. And she couldn’t tell him she loved him, either. All she could do was hope she could find a place to wreck the car without killing both of them.
Moments later-at least it seemed like moments to her-she saw the first exit signs for southbound I-19. She knew as soon as she saw them that the exit ramp itself would be her last opportunity to do what had to be done. Once they started up and over the overpass and onto the other freeway, she would immediately resume highway speed. If she was going to do this, she had to do it now-before the overpass, not after it.
When she switched on her turn signal, she could see the gunman nodding in agreement.
“Good,” he said aloud. “I guess you finally wised up.”
Tucson, Arizona
Sunday, June 7, 2009, 1:54 p.m.
88? Fahrenheit
Brian was driving like hell and trying to get through to Dispatch at the same time. Before he made any kind of move, he wanted to have backup units in place. To do that and because they were still inside the city limits, he needed to coordinate with Tucson PD.
“And tell them no lights or sirens,” he rasped into the radio as he charged up behind the fleeing Honda on the I-10 entrance ramp. “I’m pretty sure the driver knows I’m here, but the bad guy doesn’t. I want to keep it that way.”
“Do you know where they’re headed?”
“All I know right now is they’re westbound on I-10.”
“Which means they won’t be able to exit again until Prince Road,” the Dispatch operator said. “Do you want us to have someone lay down tire strips?”
“Negative on that,” Brian said. “Too risky. There’s a baby in the backseat.”
But then, as if to show the Dispatch operator how wrong she was, the Accord’s turn signal came on again,
