Read Online Blood Will Tell by Jean Lorrah - Free Book Online Page A

the first car on the chase now, having just come up on the 1713 turnoff when they got the message. Those ahead of them had to come back to the turn, but in the rearview mirror Brandy could see the blue light of at least one black-and-white behind them.
    The road wound, then bounced over low hills. They waved as they passed a green Chevy with a CB antenna, pulled over to the side—their informants.
    “Where does this go?” asked Church.
    “Take your choice,” said Brandy. “Most of the roads on either side will lead back to 94. Straight ahead, we'll come to a split in about three miles, right to the university biological station, left to Red Hill Landing."
    “So unless they take a turn somewhere along here, they'll dead-end at the lake."
    “I think they're trying to get far enough ahead so we won't see them turn,” Brandy told him, gunning the car again. “They may be trying to reach a hideout, or a hidden vehicle. Maybe even a boat."
    The truck was now in sight, the police car slowly gaining—but as Church picked up the bullhorn to tell them to pull over, Jenny Anderson leaned out the passenger's window with a shotgun.
    Brandy swerved, heard the shot, but nothing hit the car. Church pulled his gun, but did not fire, speaking calmly into the bullhorn. “Cease firing and pull over.” He was the coolest cop under fire Brandy had ever known.
    As Brandy fought to stay on the narrow road, Jenny Anderson discharged the second barrel. A thrrruunnnch! of shot hit the roof and top of the windshield, but the safety glass did its job. A couple of cracks extended downward from the crazing, but Brandy could still see to drive.
    Church fired at the fleeing truck. Mrs. Anderson drew back inside, but there was no other perceptible effect. The truck sped on as fast as ever.
    “Dammit, they know they can't escape!” said Brandy.
    “They're desperate,” replied Church. “I'll try to get the tires."
    On his third shot, one of the pickup's back tires blew, and the vehicle swerved into the ditch.
    Brandy screeched their car to a halt, and she and Church remained inside as the black-and-white drew up.
    “Give yourselves up,” Church ordered through the bullhorn. “Throw out your guns."
    The driver's side truck door opened. Anderson dropped into the ditch and began firing.
    “Shit!” whispered Church as he and Brandy ducked below the dash. The windshield was rendered opaque, then gave and fell in on them. Brandy grabbed the rifle out of its case and knocked the remaining glass out of the frame.
    Anderson's next shots were accompanied by sounds of glass and metal shattering as he peppered the front of the car. The radiator spat steam and boiling water.
    Two other cars with lights and sirens rolled up and stopped. The suspects should have known it was hopeless, but both husband and wife continued shooting.
    “Goddamn Bonnie and Clyde!” said Church. “They want us to kill them!"
    “Probably,” Brandy agreed. Rifle lined up through the steering wheel, she entered her private world, sighted carefully, entered the zone—and fired.
    Chase Anderson screamed.
    Jenny Anderson scrambled back through the truck and out on her husband's side, crying, “Chase! Oh, my God! Chase!"
    The police converged, guns at the ready.
    Chase Anderson sat in the ditch, nursing a bloody hand. His rifle lay next to him, and his wife finally surrendered her shotgun.
    “Great shooting, Brandy,” said Church.
    A state patrol officer asked, “You meant to hit his hand?"
    “I had a rifle with a sight,” Brandy explained. “There was no reason to kill him."
    “And no reason not to,” commented Melissa Blalock. In her late thirties, she was the oldest woman on the Murphy police force, a plain, no-nonsense, hard-working cop. She looked at Brandy for confirmation of her feelings about the trash now being read their rights. “Brandy—you're hurt!"
    “Let me see!” Church said, turning her toward him.
    Only then did Brandy feel the burning sting of