“I’m former FBI and HDD and I’m being engaged by two people in a navy-blue Ford truck, no license plate in front.” He reached a semistraight part of the road and grabbed the steering wheel with his left hand, turning to fire out his window with his right. He gave the operator his location.

The truck swerved behind him.

“We have units close,” the woman said. Less than a heartbeat later, sirens trilled from the direction in which he was heading.

The passenger behind him shot again, hitting his other tire. The truck jerked, and he tried to pull over, but the vehicle wouldn’t cooperate and he plowed into a tree. The airbag exploded into his face and he fought it, kicking his door open. He fell to the ground and leaned against his hissing car, trying to make the world stop spinning.

Digging deep, he edged to the back of the truck and spotted the taillights of the blue truck in the distance. He dropped his arm. “Roscoe?” His face felt as if it was on fire.

Roscoe jumped out of the truck, scattering more glass.

Angus slid down to his butt on the wet grass. “You okay?”

Roscoe moved toward him gracefully, his eyes clear; there was no blood on him. He licked the side of Angus’s face, and pain flared. Angus patted his head. “Sit for a minute, buddy.” Blood dripped into his eye and he wiped it away.

The sirens grew louder.

A Virginia State Police car skidded to a stop and a uniformed police officer jumped out, gun ready.

Angus lifted his hands and left his gun on the ground. “The bad guys went that way,” he said warily, putting his head back on the demolished truck.

The cop spoke into his radio and then scouted the area before approaching. “Do you require medical assistance?”

“No,” Angus said wearily.

“Kick your gun this way, sir. Now.” The kid had to be about twenty and was built like a farm boy. Blond hair, thick shoulders, serious eyes.

Angus reached for the barrel with two fingers. “How about I toss it?” The cop stiffened, and Angus flipped the gun close to the officer’s feet, so he could kick it behind himself.

“Thanks. Do you have any other weapons?” the cop asked.

“No,” Angus lied. He had a gun in his boot and a knife in his back pocket.

“Thanks. Now an ID?” The cop was good.

Angus twisted to reach for the wallet in his back pocket, and pain lashed down his side. He groaned and pulled out the worn leather, then threw it to the cop. He gingerly felt along his rib cage. Bruised but not broken.

The cop opened his wallet, took out his ID, and called it in. “Again, do you want me to request an ambulance?”

“No,” Angus said.