I hear a vehicle skid to a halt behind me. Lights glint off the truck windows. I don’t take my eyes off the suspect. “Open the door!”

Movement inside the cab. The passenger door flies open. I stumble back, keep my weapon steady. “Stop! Drop the weapon!”

Then she’s out of the truck. She looks at me over her shoulder, and I get my first glimpse of Ruth Weaver’s face. Features pulled into a snarling mask. Crazy light in her eyes. And I know she’s not going to obey my command.

“Stop or I will shoot you!” I scream.

She hauls ass toward the gravel lane that will take her into the field and, beyond, a wooded area. She’s not a bad runner for a woman, but I’m faster. And I’m pissed. I round the front of the truck, splash through the ditch, go up the other side. And then I’m six yards behind her, running full out and closing in fast. “Police!” I shout. “Stop! Now!”

She doesn’t slow. Doesn’t look behind her. It’s too dark for me to discern if she’s got the gun in her hand. But I know she’s armed. She’s already shot a cop. Tried to kill me. One wrong move on her part, and I’ll cut her down.

I catch her thirty yards into the field. I dive and throw my arms around her waist, ramming my shoulder into the small of her back. A scream tears from her throat as she goes facedown in the mud. She tries to turn over, but I’m faster and stronger and I’m able to use my body weight to pin her.

“Stay down!” I shout. “Give me your hands!”

She writhes, twisting in an attempt to get her knees under her, but she’s not strong enough to dislodge me. Holstering my weapon, keeping my eyes on her hands, I grind my knee into her back. “Stop resisting!”

A cry of rage erupts from her throat as I clamp my left hand around her left wrist. I reach for my cuffs with my right. “You’re under arrest.”

“Get off me!”

“You shot a cop,” I snarl as I crank the cuff down tight. “A friend of mine.”

“I hope he dies!”

I shove her face into the mud. I’m still trying to get a grip on her right hand when the deputy arrives. He’s panting like a dog as he drops to his knees beside me and helps me snap the cuff into place.

I sit back on my heels, go for my lapel mike, only to remember it’s dead.

Noticing I’m without communication, the deputy speaks into his own radio. “Ten ninety-five.” He looks at me, taps his left temple to indicate mine. “You okay?”

I get to my feet. “My deputy’s been shot. He needs an ambulance.”