Page 125 of The Last Close Call

But she had a dog.

WCR never picked houses with dogs, but everything else fit.

Jack went back through the gate, retracing his steps around the back of the garage. Anderson was here. Call it a hunch or gut instinct or whatever, Jack could practically feel him lurking nearby.

His phone vibrated with a text from Bryan.

Fence jumper!! Two houses over.

Jack shoved his phone in his pocket and raced through the yard and out the back gate.

He stopped by the fence, looking for movement in the trees. Two houses over which way?

A large dog barked, and Jack took off toward the sound, plowing through branches. Thorns stabbed at him as he pushed through the bushes.

Rustling in the trees to his left. A shadowy figure darted through the brush.

Jack took off after it. “Police! Stop!”

The person ducked into the thicket, and Jack sprinted after him. No creek bed this time, no uneven rocks to turn an ankle. Jack plunged through the scrub brush, batting at leaves and branches as he tore after the figure.

Jack’s heart thundered. The guy was fast, elusive, moving in and out of the shadows as Jack struggled to stay in pursuit.

Jack’s toe caught on a rock, and he crashed to his knee, cursing, but immediately scrambled back up.

He couldn’t miss this time. Not again.

Jack charged through the thicket, using his left arm to shield his face from the sharp points as he pulled out his gun. Once again, he was so close, so close, and yet he knew that he was losing ground, missing his chance.

Branches rustled ahead. Then the tree cover disappeared, and the dark figure dashed into the clearing.

Jack poured on the speed, pushing himself to the limit. Anderson was thirty yards away, then twenty yards... ten... five.

“Police! Stop!”

On a surge of adrenaline, Jack tackled him, and they crashed to the ground. Jack caught an elbow in his ribs as he tried to wrestle Anderson’s arms behind him. He cursed and kicked, trying to heave Jack off. A fist connected with Jack’s jaw, snapping his head back, and he saw red suddenly. He jammed a knee into Anderson’s spine and shifted his weight onto him.

Suddenly Bryan was there, pinning his ankles, and Jack managed to get the cuffs on his wrists.

“It’s him?” Bryan asked as Jack roughly patted him down for weapons.

“Yeah.”

Jack felt something hard tucked into the back of Anderson’s waistband. He reached in and pulled out a long leather sheath.

His hunting knife.

Jack glanced at Bryan as he flung the knife away, and Anderson’s struggling intensified.

Sirens sounded in the distance.

“I called for backup,” Bryan said, handing Jack a second set of cuffs, and he clamped them on, just to be sure, as the wailing sirens got closer. Jack sat back on his knees, catching his breath as Anderson scowled up at him.

“Hey, fuck you,” Anderson snarled, and Jack battled the urge to punch him in the mouth.

Instead, he took a deep breath and said the words he’d been saving for years.

“You’re under arrest.”

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