Page 81 of Backtrack

“Thank you.” Cutter sighed. He worked his jaw back and forth, feeling like he might vomit at any moment.

Johnson walked up and down the roadway, studying the tire tracks. He grinned broadly and gave an emphatic nod. “You did aRockfordturn, didn’t you?”

The trooper tipped back his hat and canted his head. “What the hell is aRockfordturn?”

“You know,” Johnson said. “He did a J-turn. Like James Garner does on TV. A goin’-the-other-way maneuver.”

“Right …” the trooper said.

Cutter chuckled, wincing at the fiery pain in his ribs, then noticed for the first time that blood covered much of the right side of Johnson’s face.

“LJ,” he said. “You’re bleeding.”

Johnson reached to touch a wound on his forehead. “Glass,” he said. “I’m good.”

Teague strode over to check on the injured deputy, then turned and nodded to Cutter. “Yep,” he said. “Just glass. Looks like the kid should have been a weasel.”

Cutter pushed himself to his feet, gritting his teeth at the pain.

Teague handed off the rifle to Johnson and rushed over to help.

“I’m fine,” Cutter lied, waving him off. “I’m just not one to sit on my ass while y’all do the work.”

The highway patrolman took off his hat and held it at arm’s length, shading his eyes while he peered out across the field.

“Hell of a shot,” he said. “You know, D Wayne, it wouldn’t hurt you to leave some work for the rest of us sometimes.”

“Noted,” Cutter said.

Teague picked a stalk of wild Timothy grass growing by the side of the road and stuck it between his teeth. “How far do you think, three hundred yards?”

Cutter said. “About that.”

“I say again, that was a hell of a shot. You must have aimed at his head and hoped for the best.”

“He emptied his pistol at me. Twice.”

“You don’t need to justify yourself to me, old son,” Teague said. “It’s a fair bet we’ll find that hit list you put out over the radio stuffed in his pocket, or with the Jolly Bruised Giant over there. We don’t let killers run off. They’ll just keep doing what they’re doing until they’re captured, or someone puts them down. You got ’em.”

The radio on Johnson’s belt squawked. One of the deputies out in the field radioed back that Cutter’s round had struck Duvall just below the belt on the right hip. A couple of inches higher and it would have blown up his kidney. As it was, the wound struck in the wing of his pelvis. Not likely fatal.

Cutter popped his neck from side to side. This was really going to hurt in the morning.

“Yep, we got ’em,” he muttered, half to himself. “Now we have to put together a solid case that sticks.”

“And figure out what they did with the diamonds,” Teague said.

“There is that.” Cutter swayed in place.

The trooper offered a hand for support. “Ambulance is en route.”

“I’m fine,” Cutter lied again. He dabbed away the blood covering his upper lip.

“Sure you are,” Teague said. “Lucy will kill us both if you don’t get yourself checked out by an honest-to-God doctor.”

“And I will,” Cutter said. “But first I’m taking this Man Cub to jail.”

“Taking him to jail in what?” Teague nodded at the bullet-riddled Caprice. “I can tell you right now this thing’s not roadworthy. I’d have to write you a ticket.”