Greenville, North Carolina, 5:45 p.m.
“I don’t feel safe,” said Etta as they left the police station. “He’s close, watching, waiting for his chance to kill me. I can sense him.”
Mac scanned the parking lot and the on-street parking as best he could. He saw no dark blue truck like Butch’s. “Etta, you’re exhausted and jumpy. Stop worrying. My guess is that he’s still searching the highway for you.” He opened the car door for her.
A hungry Mouser voiced his outrage at still being in the carrier. Etta stuck a finger in the carrier to console him. “Ouch!” she said as a claw swiped her finger, drew blood. She sucked her wound, twisted a tissue around it.
“When we get home we’ll put Mouser on our screened porch. Right now he’s one irritated cat. Don’t think I want him to have the run of our entire house when he’s in such a foul mood,” said Sue. “We can fix him a bed on the porch. It won’t be cold tonight. That okay with you, Etta?”
“Of course. Whatever you wish. I appreciate you and Mac helping us. If you hadn’t, Mouser and I would probably be dead. And a killer would still be loose. Actually, Butch is still free, and I’m not out of danger yet. Neither are y’all.”
Butch felt a little conspicuous sitting in a stolen vehicle so close to the police station, but he had no other choice. Besides, the cops would never guess a stolen car would be parked at their doorstep. He thought about the woman who owned the car. He probably should have pumped a few bullets into her instead of just throwing her on the ground and driving off in her car, but he’d figured somebody at the shopping center would hear the shots and investigate. He hoped no one saw her hit the pavement. Nowadays, though, most people would be afraid to help another human being. They’d just stand around and gawk or pretend they hadn’t seen or heard a thing. Now if an animal were in trouble….
He couldn’t believe his good luck when he saw Etta sitting in the back seat of some guy’s car right beside him at a stop light. She hadn’t even looked in his direction. Of course, if he hadn’t ditched his truck….
Mac drove away from the police station. “We’ll be at the house in about 20 minutes, Etta. You can relax then, get Mouser settled in, eat a good meal.” He glanced at Sue and smiled. “My wife’s a great cook.” He reached across the seat, patted Sue’s hand.
“Thanks,” Sue said. “Etta, sometimes Mac exaggerates. You can’t believe everything he says.” She twisted her head to smile at Etta in the back seat. “Mac, did you know there’s a car close behind us?”
“Yeah, but don’t worry. It’s a small one, not a monster truck like Butch’s.” He frowned. He didn’t want to worry Sue and Etta, but the car had tailed them ever since they left the police station.
Mac turned left, made a quick right at the next corner. The mystery car shadowed them. Three minutes and several unnecessary turns later, the car still hugged Mac’s bumper.
“Sue, call 911. Tell them we’re being followed. Give them our location. I think that’s Butch behind us. No, Etta, don’t look back. We don’t want him to think we’re suspicious.” He glanced at Sue, saw her dial.
“I knew he’d find me. He’ll kill me; y’all, too. Let me out, Mac.” She tried to open the door, but Mac had already pushed the child lock button for the rear seat.
“They’re on their way. Said they’d notify Detective Stein,” Sue said. “I’m still on the line.”
“Tell the operator I’m trying to double back to the police station, tell them what street we’re on. I doubt Butch knows Greenville. If I take him down the back streets he won’t recognize the station until we’re there.” At least I hope not, Mack thought.
Blam! Butch’s car slammed into the rear bumper. Etta screamed. Blam! Mouser screeched, clawed the carrier’s side.
“Get on the floor!” Mac said. He stomped the accelerator, ran a red light. At the last minute he hit the brakes, made a wild turn to the right at the next intersection.
Butch overshot the turn, stopped, backed up and followed Mac.
“He’s still behind us!” screamed Etta.
“I told you to stay on the floor. Don’t give him another target in case he has a gun.”
“Oh, I guarantee he has a gun.”
Coming toward them in the opposite direction, a police car turned on flashing lights. The siren blared. Butch stopped, put his car in reverse. Behind him another police car screeched to a stop. A second car followed. Police, their pistols drawn, ran toward Butch’s car.
“Get outta the vehicle!” a cop shouted. “Now!”
Butch grabbed his gun and sprinted from the car.
“Stop or we’ll shoot!”
Butch kept running, tripped over the curb. He fell to the sidewalk. His gun flew into the air and landed a few feet away. He crawled toward the firearm, stretched out his hand to reach it.
A foot stomped his fingers. A hand picked up the gun.
“Gotcha,” said Detective Stein.