Chapter 45
Con hadn’t seen what Alex had, but the conviction in her voice was enough to convince him that Edward Samuelson was hiding in the desert.
And sure enough, when they made it to the road, they heard the sound of a door slamming closed. An engine revved and creosote bushes fell to the ground as Edward’s green Ford Mustang revved.
They weren’t going to make it in time, not even close.
By the time they got to their cars, Edward was already racing across the desert, not heading toward the road but away from it, driving due west across the Mojave.
AA’s squad car was closer, and both the police chief and Alex quickly got in.
Con went to his own vehicle, the Audi rental, and sprinted around to the driver’s side.
He opened the door and then paused.
A coyote screamed loudly.
Con turned his head, but it wasn’t a mangy animal that he saw.
Instead, it was a woman.
Tall, with dark hair.
It was the same woman that he’d seen in the video.
She was behind them, about fifty yards down the road, just standing there, her arm resting on the hood of a pale blue sedan.
Con shielded his eyes with the blade of his hand.
Who are you?
The woman got back in her car and made a quick U-turn, spraying dust and sand into the air.
In front of him, AA was already pulling away, cutting a perpendicular track onto the compacted desert sand.
Con jumped into his Audi.
I should go after Edward , he thought. I should stay with Alex .
But he didn’t.
He had to know who the woman was.
Had to.
Con hammered on the gas and swung the wheel all the way around, quickly closing ground on the strange woman and her old sedan.
***
“Where the fuck is he going?” AA growled as he pressed the pedal down and picked up speed. The ride was bumpy, and Alex was forced to hold onto the safety handle above the door.
Edward didn’t seem to have a destination, he just drove.
As they moved further and further from the road, the sand dunes started to grow taller.
Like his house, Sam drove a fancy car. A newer model Ford Mustang.
But AA was behind the wheel of an LAPD cruiser. It may not be as flashy, but it had better tires and a suped-up engine.
They were gaining on him.
“Hold on—hold on tight,” AA warned through gritted teeth.
Alex was gripping the safety handle with one hand and the side of her seat with the other. Her knuckles were white, and her fingers throbbed.
AA was almost level with the Mustang now, and Alex could see Edward hunched over the wheel, his chin jutting forward, his hair swept back.
“Here we go!” AA shouted.
The man seemed excited and for good reason. He was a police chief now, not a beat cop. It wasn’t often that he was involved in adrenaline-fueled high-speed chases.
But the man's zealousness posed a problem, one Alex recognized right away.
AA was trying to perform the precision immobilization technique, the PIT maneuver. It was simple enough, something they perfected in basic training.
Alex knew it well.
The cop would use the front bumper of his vehicle to push the ass end of the chase car, sending it into a wild tailspin.
This was highly effective on the road, maybe even on grass.
But out here, far from the road, the sand was loose, soft.
And the Ford Mustang was halfway up the largest dune that they’d come across yet.
“No! Wait!” Alex screamed.
But it was too late.
AA was committed.
And, to the man’s credit, he executed the PIT maneuver perfectly. Alex would think later that if it hadn’t been so well performed, things might have been different. The squad car might have just spun out. Sure, Edward would have gotten away. But that was a far better result than what actually happened.
AA’s cruiser nudged the Mustang’s rear bumper, and Edward reacted as most people did, naturally turning the wheel in the opposite direction of contact. Sand peppered the windshield, blinding them.
It didn’t matter.
There was nothing they could do; the cruiser’s tires had lost their grip.
Alex felt her arms go slack as their vehicle started to roll.
***
Con was gaining on her. He was gaining on the woman.
And he would catch her. His Audi was faster than her rust bucket.
She came into focus.
Dark hair hanging past her shoulder blades. Narrow frame.
Con was within just a car’s length when lights lit up his dash and the engine started to knock.
What the fuck?
He took his eyes off the road for a second and glanced down.
The low gas indicator wasn’t just on, but it was flashing frenetically.
He thought back to how much he’d driven since renting the car prior to Martin’s party. He’d picked up Alex from her hotel. He’d gone to the party, then dropped her off afterward. Later, Con had driven out to the desert, to this very spot, which had taken him nearly two hours. Then he’d returned.
Next, to OC Post to visit Dwight, then to the field office.
San Quentin.
Back out to the Mojave.
And not once had he gassed up.
No, please.
He pushed the Audi even harder and tried to pull up right next to the pale blue vehicle. She swerved to block his path, but Con predicted this action and quickly reversed course to the other side.
One final, aggressive acceleration and he was directly beside her.
Con turned his head and looked through the passenger window at the driver.
And then his heart stopped.
It was her .
He didn’t understand how this was possible and thought maybe his fatigued mind was just playing tricks on him.
But then the driver swiveled her head and their eyes met.
It was her.
It was his twin sister, it was Valerie.
Valerie Striker.
How?
And then, just as this question entered Con’s brain, the Audi’s engine cut out and the car died.