There was radio silence for a beat before Alvarez broke squelch again. “Copy that,” she said. She’d not seen Cutter throw the rock, and though she surely had her suspicions, didn’t quiz him for any details. She let APD know the US Marshals were already on the scene, and requested a single marked unit to keep Honest Sam honest when he arrived to check on his dealership. The rest of them would stay in the shadows until he left, following him back to wherever he was staying, hopefully with Twig.
Anchorage was Alaska’s largest city, but the law enforcement community was small enough that Cutter had worked with many of the same APD officers on multiple occasions over the months since he’d transferred in from Florida. Officer Leon Cho rolled up in his SUV two minutes later. Cho had what Nancy called swing-shift hair—full and expertly cut, unlike the buzz cuts of her cohorts on mid-shift, where she’d worked before coming to the fugitive task force. His Ken-doll do notwithstanding, Cho was no pretty boy. He was a sniper with APD SWAT and was built like a sprinter, a welcome trait when hunting fugitives.
Nancy Alvarez’s boyfriend, Theron Jensen, was in the area, knew Nancy was there, and dropped by with K9 Zeus when he heard the call. Jensen was a muscular thirty-something who’d served with Army Special Forces before joining APD. Easy to like. It was difficult to tell who was more devoted to whom, Zeus to Jensen, or vice versa. Cutter had watched the agile Belgian Malinois work before, and was more than happy to see the dark face and amber eyes peering out the side window of Jensen’s patrol car.
Everyone met on the side street next to Honest Sam’s lot. The rain had slowed to a cold spit. Vapor filled the night air each time anyone spoke.
Cho canted his head in disbelief at the shattered window.
“So you guys just happened to be here when the window broke?”
“No,” Cutter said, nodding to the tire tracks in muddy gravel where Lola had spun out. “It’s a hundred percent our fault. The Marshals Service will pay for the damages.” He would not have actually said the tires had thrown the rocks, but he didn’t mind implying it. Thankfully, Cho didn’t press any further, whether he made the inference or not.
“This is what broken window policing has come to . . .” Cho shook his head smugly and said, “That’s convenient.”
“So,” Officer Jensen said, “you got no paper on Sam Ripley, just his cousin, Trig?”
“It’s Twig,” Nancy said, giving Jensen a mock punch in the arm. Alvarez was a compact woman, reaching just below Jensen’s shoulders. He outweighed her by at least eighty pounds. But that didn’t matter. Zeus saw her as a threat and went berserk in Jensen’s back seat, ears pointed forward like targeting radar.
Lola grinned. “I think somebody’s jealous.”
“Tell me about it,” Alvarez said. “That dog’s batshit crazy . . . in a good way. He’d do anything for Theron, so you gotta love him.”
Cutter tapped the powder-blue warrant folder in Lola’s hand to get things moving. She folded back the face sheet and showed Twig Ripley’s Nevada driver’s license photo to both Cho and Jensen.
“Seriously?” “Jensen scanned the folder. “This guy’s actual name is Twig Ripley?”
“Seems so,” Alvarez said. She touched him on the arm, inciting another round of frenzied barks and growls from Zeus.
Jensen chuckled. “Don’t worry about it,” he said. “I’ll let you throw the Kong for him tonight and he’ll be your bestie.”
APD dispatch advised over the radio that the owner of Honest Sam’s was en route, ETA ten minutes.
Everyone pulled well back from the building, except Cho, who waited out front as the officer responding to the alarm.
Six minutes later, they’d just taken up their previous positions when Sam Ripley skidded a white late-model Dodge crew-cab to a stop in front of Cho’s police car—and he wasn’t alone.
“Boss . . .” Lola’s voice buzzed against her hands as she peered through her binoculars. “That big dude in the passenger seat look like Twig to you?”
“Yep,” Cutter said, looking through his own binoculars.
Honest Sam got out and strode quickly toward the door of his business. He swung a lanyard full of keys as he walked. The passenger stayed put in the Dodge.
Cutter keyed his radio. “Let’s let Cho get Sam away from the truck.” He called out a play by play of what he knew the others would do. None of them needed the direction, but it helped to keep everyone on the same page as the situation progressed. “Nancy, Sean, go ahead and roll up. Lola and I will come in from the east.”
“I’ll approach from the south,” Officer Jensen confirmed over the radio, mixed with Zeus’s excited barks. “We’ll box him in.”
“Good deal,” Cutter said.
Half a block away, Nancy Alvarez started her engine and pulled into the street—evidently a little 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!”