Dead or Alive Read Online Free Page B

appeared in his rearview mirror, coming up fast. He cut his speed in case it was a cop, and was quickly overtaken and passed by a black SUV with Texas plates.
    Another set of headlights soon appeared in his rearview mirror, and Larson winced when the car closed and he saw the emergency light bar on the roof and the telltale spotlight mounted on the driver’s-side door. On a straight stretch of pavement, Larson slowed slightly to give the cop car a chance to pass, but it hung back. He tried again at the next passing zone but still the cop stayed behind him.
    Larson’s mind started racing. If Trujillo had survived and the young family had been rescued, that would put the cops on to the Department of Corrections van and the Honda, but not Lenny’s truck. Had some cowboy with a cell phone on his way back to the ranch picked up Lenny in the desert and called the cops? He groaned in disgust at himself. He should have killed them all.
    He checked the rearview mirror, trying to see if the cop was talking on his radio, but he couldn’t make anything out. If it was a tail and the cop had called for backup, somewhere up ahead there was sure to be a swarm of police blocking the highway. He decided to get off the pavement to see what the cop would do.
    He crossed the bridge that spanned the railroad tracks near the village of Lamy, flashed his turn signal, and made a left onto a ranch road. He drove slowly for a quarter mile, constantly checking the rearview mirror for any sign of the cop car. The road behind remained empty, but that didn’t mean anything.
    Where the ranch road divided, he took the right fork, which dipped into a canyon and rose toward a house that sat on the crest. He topped out to find a truck and small SUV parked in front of the house. A horse barn with a corral stood about a quarter mile across a grassy field, and dirt tracks traveled up a small hill toward a big piñon tree. In the canyon below there was no cop car or sign of dust kicked up by tires.
    Larson decided to switch vehicles. He pulled to a stop, honked the horn, got out, and rang the front doorbell. After waiting a minute, he rang again. When nobody answered, he checked the SUV and truck, only to find them locked.
    Larson figured the ranch belonged to one of those rich easterners who liked to play part-time cowboy while the wife shopped Santa Fe. He smashed a glass patio door with the handgun and went looking for car keys. He snatched them from a wall rack in the mudroom just off the kitchen and came outside just as a pickup truck came down the dirt track.
    He stuck the car keys in his pocket, hid the weapon behind his leg, and waved as the truck skidded to a stop. A perturbed-looking cowboy in his twenties piled out.
    â€œWhat are you doing here?” the young man demanded.
    â€œI just stopped by to visit and found that patio door busted,” Larson said, bluffing.
    â€œHogwash. I was here twenty minutes ago and everything was okay.”
    â€œWell it ain’t okay now,” Larson replied as he brought the handgun up and shot the cowboy twice in the chest.
    The man coughed, clutched his chest, and collapsed to his knees. Blood stained his shirt and hands as he fell forward on his face.
    Larson stepped up and turned the man over. This one was dead. Now for sure he’d be facing a murder one charge if he got caught.
    He got into the SUV and drove back to the fork in the road where the vast Galisteo Basin spread out before him. The other branch of the road paralleled a broad, sandy arroyo. Should he return the way he’d come or take a chance on finding another outlet?
    He decided to find another way to Santa Fe. If necessary, he’d drive cross-country and bust through fences. Once he got to Santa Fe, he’d leave the SUV in the mall parking lot at the south end of the city, take a bus downtown, and walk to Jeannie Cooper’s South Capitol apartment.
    He’d given her a hefty sum of money to keep