Sanjay and Devin politely stepped off the trail as they approached. Cara crouched, pretending to tie her shoe. Had they seen her face?
“Howdy,” the man said, pausing when he should have kept going past.
“How smoky is it up there?” his wife asked. “I have asthma.”
Cara herself could barely breathe.
“Blue skies on the eastern side,” Devin said. “But the smoke is coming in fast from the west.”
Cara wondered how long she could possibly fiddle with her laces. She could feel eyes on the back of her head but didn’t want to give them a better look. Surely they’d been listening to the radio and learning all about the dangerous fugitive terrorizing the hills.
“Hear that, Rob?” she said. “Maybe we should turn around.”
Keep going, Cara beseeched the woman silently. Nothing to see here. Just three friends hiking.
“It’s not that bad, Joan,” said Husband Rob. “Just a little bit further.”
Joan assented in silence as they finally moved on.
“Be careful,” Sanjay called after them.
Cara hung back so Sanjay and Devin wouldn’t see how badly her legs were shaking.
That was, until she heard the sound of barking dogs in the distance. Then she began to power walk.
NINE
JORDAN
This whole thing would make a great women-in-prison movie. Rated X, I hope.
—@TarantinoIsGod
Jordan led the way into the repurposed RV that served as the department’s mobile command post and saw Wen take in the pictures of hot rods and gun-toting women in bikinis that covered the walls. None of his deputies had bothered to take down the decor chosen by its former owner, a local tax attorney serving a twenty-year sentence for distributing drugs, because they found it amusing. Or maybe they liked it. Jordan hadn’t bothered to weigh in—a decision he now regretted.
“Give us a minute,” he told the surprised-looking members of his communications team.
While they stepped out, leaving the crackling radio unmonitored, Wen opened the fridge and helped herself to a bottled water.
“Want one?” she asked.
Jordan shook his head. “I’m good.”
“Suit yourself.” Wen sat down and tucked her knees under the small table. “So, do you remember five years ago, when an LA County Jail bus got hijacked by inmates and there was, like, that slow-motion chase down the 405?”
“Sure.”
She unscrewed the cap of her water bottle and took a small sip. “Yeah, so, the lead on that particular situation had the bright idea to just let them keep driving. You know, let them get out of rush-hour traffic and box them in in a less populated area. Obviously, no one was going to let them drive to Tijuana, right?”
Jordan, still standing, didn’t answer. Even he remembered how that one had ended.
“I mean, they were trying to escape. So why would they ram a church bus that was trying to pull out of their way? Why would they crash and burn when most of them were chained to their seats?”
Wen’s tone had changed from matter-of-fact to something like wonderment.
“That was horrible, but it wasn’t the good guys’ fault,” said Jordan. “They weren’t driving the bus. And I’m not sure how that relates to our situation. We have one badly injured woman, on foot in the woods.”
“My point is that everyone is watching and waiting for you to blow it.” She swallowed more water, then screwed the cap back on the water bottle. “But I can help stop you from, like, letting your case explode? So to speak.”
