The wheels hiss as they spin over grass and mud; then the vehicle jumps forward, crashes over something unseen that scrapes the undercarriage, but I don’t slow down. Flipping on the wipers, I squint through the rain-streaked windshield. Ahead, I see the red flash of brake lights.

I snatch up my radio. “In pursuit. White Chevy pickup.” The vehicle reaches the road and goes left. “Northbound Old Germantown Road.”

“Roger that.”

The Explorer bumps over potholes and debris and old vegetation. I’m fifty yards behind her. I reach the road, haul the wheel left, and floor the accelerator.

Another voice cracks over the radio. “I got a visual.”

A glance in my rearview mirror reveals flashing lights of a Holmes County cruiser. My speedometer registers 80 mph. It’s a dangerous speed in such poor conditions, but within seconds, I catch up with her. I nose the Explorer to within a few feet of the bumper. The road here is poorly maintained; the asphalt is pitted and uneven. The ditches on either side are filled with water. I’m thinking about attempting a PIT maneuver when Weaver takes the decision away from me.

The truck makes a hard left toward the gravel entrance of a field, but she’s traveling too fast. I stomp hard on the brake. The Explorer slides out from under me. My training kicks in, and I turn into the skid, keeping my eyes on the truck. It spins 360 degrees and slams into the ditch. Water cascades twenty feet into the air.

Jamming the Explorer into Park, I throw open the door. Then I’m running toward the truck, my .38 poised, finger on the trigger. “Get out of the vehicle! Get your fucking hands up! Get on the ground! Right fucking now!” I scream the words in rapid succession. Overwhelm the target. Take control of the situation. Stay alive.

“Drop that weapon!” I scream. “Show me your hands! Do it now!”

My pulse is a jackhammer inside my head. I’m vaguely aware that it’s pouring rain, but I don’t hear it. I don’t feel the wet or cold on my skin. Every ounce of my focus is on the driver’s-side door.

“Show me your hands!” I come up behind the vehicle, staying out of her line of vision. Out of the line of fire. My gun hand is steady, but my heart is like a fist punching my ribs from inside my chest.

I reach the rear of the truck, check the bed. Nothing there. Keeping close to the truck, I sidle to the driver’s-side door. I look through the window. I can see the silhouette of her inside. Reaching out, I try the door, but it’s locked.

“Open the door! Do it now!” My finger snugs more tightly against the trigger, my aim steady at her center mass. “Open the door!”