While Frank repeatedly attempted to contact the helicopter by radio, Joanna glanced in the rearview mirror and caught sight of a now dry-eyed Sonja Hosfield staring out the window. "Did one of my deputies come see you a few weeks back?" Joanna asked. "Somebody named Eddy Sandoval?"

"Yes. It wasn't very long after Ryan got here. Deputy Sandoval came by one afternoon while Alton and Ryan were working in the fields. The deputy didn't say straight out what he wanted or what it was all about, but he hinted around that it had something to do with Ryan. I put my two cents' worth in right then and there. I told him Ryan Merritt was an adult and responsible for his own actions; that if Ryan got himself in trouble again, he'd have to get himself out of it. I gave Ryan the same message later that night. I wanted him to know that if he screwed up, he was on his own. That his daddy wasn't going to fix it for him."

The speeding Blazer arrived at the first junction just out-side Redington. There was nothing for Joanna to do but pull over and wait for information from the helicopter while Sonja Hosfield went on talking and unburdening herself.

"It sounded good," she was saying. "I really read him the riot act. I told him if there was even a hint of any more trouble, he'd have to find himself some other place to live. I meant it, too. I meant every word. The only problem is, I never would have been able to make it stick."

"Why not?" Joanna asked.

"Because Alton wouldn't have backed me up on it. He would have come to Ryan's rescue again. He loves him, you see. Ryan is his firstborn son. Alton loves him to distraction, no matter what. And that's why my little Jake is dead now. It isn't fair. How can that-"

A voice cul in on them from the radio in the dash. "Sheriff Brady, can you read me?"

"Yes."

"This is Todd Kries with the Tucson PD," a voice said over the rattling racket of a flying helicopter. "Hold on. I think maybe we just got lucky."

“I’m looking down on a light blue, older model panel truck."

Awash in relief, Joanna rammed the Blazer into gear. "Which way?" she demanded. "Ask him which way." Frank relayed the question.

"Toward the pass," Kries answered. "Up Road Three-Seven-One, Redington Road, almost to Piety Hill."

"Can you find that on the map, Frank?" Joanna asked.

"It's right here," her chief deputy said, using his index finger to point to the spot. "According to this, it looks to be seven or eight miles beyond the Redington junction."

"Can you tell what the situation is on the ground?" she asked.

"I was told to make just a single pass," Todd Kries said, "so that's what I did. It looks like he's down in a wash. He may have a flat tire. The truck is sitting funny, like maybe it's jacked up or something."

"And the ATV is still in the back?"

"Can't tell. The back doors are open but I can't see inside. What do you want me to do now, Sheriff Brady? I’m alone at the moment, but if you'd like me to, I could go back as far as Tanque Verde Road, where Pima County is setting up a roadblock. They're supposed to be bringing in some sharpshooters. Maybe I could fly one of them out here with me, along with some additional fire power, too."

"Good idea," Joanna said. "Do that. It'll give my deputy and me a chance to get closer. But don't go in until I give the word, understand?"

"Got it. You don't have to convince me," Todd Kries said. "If the guy's packing a fifty-caliber, I'm not in the market to be a hero. I've got a wife and two point three kids at home."

Joanna jammed the gas pedal all the way to the floor. She was just getting up a head of steam when the Blazer rounded a curve and came face-to-face with a small herd of foraging cattle. The Herefords-wild-eyed yearlings, mostly-seemed astonished to find a vehicle bearing down on them on that seldom used road. They stood in the middle of it, stricken and staring, before finally kicking up their hooves and leaping out of the way at the last possible second.

Out of the corner of her eye Joanna saw Frank Montoya grip the hand rest as the last calf, bare inches from the Blazer's front bumper, dashed to safety. "Hold it there, fireball," he said. "If we're going to be in a fight, I'd as soon be alive when we get there."

Usually Joanna would have balked at the idea of some-body backseat driving, but this time she knew she was pushing the envelope. "Sorry about that," she told him. "I'll slow down."

"Thanks." Picking up the radio mike, Frank checked in with Dispatch. "Did everybody hear what's going on with Pima County?" he asked.

"We've got it," Larry Kendrick said. "We'll pass the word on to everybody else."

"What are you going to do?" Sonja Hosfield asked from the backseat.

Trying to listen to the radio transmissions, Joanna was annoyed to have Sonja talking to her. Carrying on a conversation was an unwelcome distraction. She answered all the same.

"We're going to try to get as close to Ryan's truck as we can. When we stop and Chief Deputy Montoya and I jump out, you're to stay put, Mrs. Hosfield. Understand? Under no circumstances are you to set foot outside the car until either he or I give you the all-clear."

Sonja, however, gave no indication she had even heard. "Is Ryan going to die?" she asked.

"That depends," Joanna said.

"On what?"

"On how well we plan the confrontation, for one thing," Joanna told her. "It depends on whether we're able to get there before he knows we're coming. And," she added pointedly, "it depends on whether Frank and I have any distractions."

"I don't want him to," Sonja said. "Live, I mean. If Jake's dead, Ryan should be dead, too."

"That'll be up to the courts," Joanna said. "To a judge and a jury. Based on what I know about Ryan Merritt, he sounds like a good candidate for death by injection. Or at least life without parole."

"I want to see him dead now," Sonja insisted.

"Please, Mrs. Hosfield. I can't talk anymore. I've got to concentrate. Frank, what are you carrying?"

"I've got my nine-millimeter," he said. "And my Glock."

"Great," Joanna said. "Between us we have two Glocks, a nine-millimeter, and a Colt 2000. That's not much when you're stacking them up against a deer rifle, at least one fifty-caliber, and God knows what else."

"So we're a little outgunned," Frank returned. "Maybe even seriously outgunned. We'll just have to play it smart."

"Great. Any bright ideas?"

"We could always wait," Frank suggested. "Give our reinforcements a chance to come on-line."

"Waiting would also give Ryan a chance to take up a defensive position and dig in. No, that won't work."

"So we keep going instead," Frank said. "We get as close as we can, then we ad-lib like crazy."

"Did you ever take any drama classes in school?" Joanna asked.

"Drama?" Frank echoed. "Me? Are you kidding?"

"Well, I did. At good old Bisbee High. Mr. Vorhees, the drama instructor, always used to tell us, 'Ad-libbing is for amateurs.' "

Even though she had to fight to keep the Blazer on the washboarded road, Joanna glanced in Frank Montoya's direction long enough to catch some of the heat from the scathing look he leveled in her direction.

"With all due respect," Frank returned, "when Mr. Vorhees said that, I doubt he was looking down the barrel of a Barrett fifty-caliber."

Surprisingly enough, Joanna and Frank both laughed then, hooting and giggling. Sonja Hosfield probably thinks we're nuts, Joanna thought. But she understood the tension-easing and lifesaving power of laughter in situations like this. It was a way to take the pressure off long enough to stay alert and alive.

"How much farther?" Sonja asked.

"We can't tell," Joanna said. "We probably won't know until we get there."