Pit Stop Read Online Free

said to the man, “I think he had radar. You’re gonna get a ticket,” with a hint of satisfaction, like he was really in trouble now.
    â€œSon of a bitch,” Kristoff said, tossing the phone into a tray in the console. He glanced in his mirror. The police car was shooting out of its hiding spot and hitting the highway, back tires drifting.
    Siren on, lights flashing.

    IN THE VEGA, REILLY SAID , “Son of a bitch.”
    â€œWhat?” Garber said. “He’s got the cops after him. Isn’t that a good thing?”
    Reilly said nothing.

    â€œLOOKS LIKE WE’RE GOING TO have some fun,” Kristoff said.
    The cruiser was one of those souped-up Crown Vics, an Interceptor. Kristoff knew he could outrun Reilly’s commandeered Vega, but the cruiser was another matter.
    It was gaining on him. Gaining on him fast.
    He couldn’t outrun it, and he couldn’t outhandle it. But one thing this Ford had over the Crown Vic was bulk.
    Maybe Kristoff could run it off the road. But he’d have to let it catch him first.
    Kelly was twisted around in her seat, watching the cruiser close the distance.
    â€œYou better pull over,” she told him. “You’re gonna get a huge ticket. And he’s going to put you in jail for stealing my dad’s truck.”
    â€œShut up.”
    The cruiser was coming up in the passing lane, siren continuing to wail. When it was only a car length behind, the officer behind the wheel was pointing to the shoulder, ordering Kristoff to pull over.
    Kristoff hit the brakes. Once, hard.
    The Interceptor was suddenly alongside.
    Which was when Kristoff cranked the wheel suddenly to the left, ramming the pickup truck’s front fender into the cruiser.
    The Interceptor swerved over to the left shoulder, the left wheels rolling over the rounded edge. At that point, the driver couldn’t right it, couldn’t regain control and get the car back onto the pavement.
    The cruiser barreled into the grassy median, spun around twice before coming to a halt in a spray of dirt and dust and grass.
    Kristoff was looking in the driver’s door mirror, smiling. “I think your dad’s gonna be pissed about his fender,” he said, and glanced over at Kelly.
    He didn’t like what he saw.
    Kelly was holding the cylinder. While Kristoff had been occupied with the cruiser, she’d reached over the console and grabbed it.
    Now she was clutching it in her right hand, holding it up by the open window.
    â€œLet me out,” Kelly said. “And give my dad back his truck.”

    â€œCHRIST!”
    Half a mile back, Glen Garber’s heart imploded as he watched the police cruiser’s high-speed tussle with his pickup truck. He watched helplessly, his fingers squeezing the armrest until all the blood had rushed out of them, as the cars collided—then he breathed out as the cruiser spun off to the side and disappeared in a cloud of dust in the median.
    He glanced left at Reilly, who was also fixated on the drama up ahead. “You need to call your people and get them to back off. You can’t put Kelly at risk with another face-off like that. Thisguy—what was it you called him, Faustus?—he’s not gonna give up lightly, is he?”
    â€œI didn’t expect him to.”
    Glen pointed angrily at the phone. “Then call your people. They need to steer clear of him. We’ve got a phone link into him, we can speak to him. Negotiate. I don’t know, just—no more of this Fast and Furious bullshit. My kid’s in that truck.”
    Reilly peeled his eyes off the receding pickup truck long enough to take in Garber’s scowling face, then stared ahead again and nodded.
    â€œI’ll send out an alert. Make sure no one engages him. But we can’t just let him ride off into the sunset. Even if he does let your daughter go. We need to make both things happen. We need to get her back, but we also need to grab