Stone Cross (Arliss Cutter #2) - Marc Cameron Page 0,13

too slowly for Twig Ripley.

Fugitives didn’t get to stay fugitives for long unless they were endowed with a healthy dose of paranoia. Paranoia had been Twig’s daily companion since he’d jumped bond almost eleven months prior. His head snapped up as soon as Alvarez pulled the SUV onto the street. He jumped behind the wheel of the white Dodge before she could close the gap. Instead of running, Twig threw the pickup into reverse and stomped on the gas, slamming into the oncoming SUV with enough force to deploy both airbags, stunning both Blodgett and Alvarez.

Sam Ripley spun at the noise of the crash, saw what was happening, and decided to take up for his cousin. He growled and ran directly for Leon Cho, who sidestepped deftly and stomped on the back of the big man’s heel as he went by, following him to the ground to wrap him.

Cutter pounded on the dash. “Get him stopped!”

“On it,” Lola said, speeding down the street to plow into the pickup’s left rear wheel with the push bumper. The Dodge spun, folding up the side of the Expedition to slam driver’s door to driver’s door, so Twig and Lola were looking directly at each other. The outlaw mouthed something unintelligible and then lay down in the seat, disappearing from view. The passenger door flew open before they’d even stopped moving and he hit the ground at a dead run.

Officer Cho had Honest Sam well in hand. Alvarez and Blodgett were obscured from view by their air bags, still inside the idling SUV.

“You check on Sean and Nancy,” Cutter yelled over his shoulder to Lola as he flung open his door. “I’ll back up Jensen and the dog.”

* * *

Along with luck and paranoia, Twig Ripley had incredible speed for a man of his hulking size. He’d made it almost to the end of the block by the time Jensen released K9 Zeus. Target in sight, the dog tore down the street like a growling missile, claws clicking on the wet pavement. Twig had disappeared, but the dog veered left, cutting through the parking lot behind a Korean church.

Cutter sprinted to keep up with Officer Jensen, staying a half step behind so he didn’t risk getting in between handler and dog—a surefire way to get bitten.

Frenzied barking echoed through the darkness ahead, bouncing off the walls of the church.

The K9 officer called out encouragement to his dog as he ran. “Get him, Zeus! Hold him, Zeus!”

Jensen and Cutter homed in on the riot of threatening shouts and growls. Uncomfortable with the dog out of his sight, Jensen picked up his pace, still shouting. “Hold him, Zeus. I’m coming, bud. Twig Ripley! Do not move!”

The outlaw screamed something unintelligible. Cutter heard banging, like a trashcan or metal building. They were close now. Then the dog broke into a series of frustrated, high-pitched barks.

“He’s climbed up high,” Jensen said as he ran. “Zeus is trying to get to him.”

Cutter and Jensen were shoulder to shoulder when they rounded the corner of the church. Fifty meters away, Twig Ripley stood on top of a large metal dumpster alongside an eight-foot chain link fence, just out of reach of the dog.

Zeus was incredibly athletic, able to scale ten-foot walls if he had a running start, but the sides of the dumpster were angled outward and a fraction too tall to get a toe hold. He bounced up and down, growling and whining in frustration.

Cutter scanned for other routes, hoping to find a way around and make up some time. Twig put both hands on the fence as if to vault, and then he stopped, grabbing something that was hanging on the chain link. It took Cutter a half second too long to realize it was a crowbar. Instead of running, Twig turned and stepped to the edge of the dumpster to peer down at the dog.

Jensen attempted to call Zeus off, his voice tight with worry, nearly as high pitched as the dog’s whines.

“Stop!” Cutter yelled.

Twig ignored him, stooping slightly, holding the crowbar like a golf club. He waited, timing his movements with the Malinois’s bounce, and then swung hard, directly to the side of the dog’s head with a sullen thud. The powerful K9 yelped pitifully at the horrific impact, and fell to the grimy pavement like a sack of sand.

Jensen let loose a guttural yowl.

Twig dropped the crowbar, seemingly aware that holding it gave the officers cause to shoot him. Then he turned and made for