Time to Run by John Gilstrap

laughed.
    Darla ignored him, keeping her eyes on the quiet one. “Jeremy Hines,” she said, reading the license. “You Sheriff Hines’s son?”
    Where just a moment ago stood a stoned, defiant young man, a little boy had taken his place, his complexion gray with fear. She wondered if he might begin to cry. “Yes, ma’am.”
    Darla sighed. Things were suddenly a little trickier.
    â€œI think this is where you tell us to behave ourselves and send us on our way,” said Peter.
    Ah, but therein lay the problem. If it were anyone else in the world, under any different circumstances, she might have done just that—almost certainly in the case of the quiet one, if only to show the loud one the price of being an asshole. “Both of you, have a seat there on the ground.”
    Peter looked stunned. “Yeah, right.”
    Darla glared. “Sit.” Back home, her dog would have recognized the same tone of voice.
    â€œPlease don’t call my father,” Jeremy said. “He’ll kill me.”
    Darla pointed at a spot on the sandy ground. “Don’t make me use pepper spray and handcuffs, okay?”
    Jeremy hesitated, then folded his legs beneath him to sit Indian-style in the sand.
    Darla’s eyes darted to Peter. “You, too, mouth,” she said. “And if you want to guarantee a face full of spray, start flapping your gums again.”
    Peter clearly was confused. He thought about another smart-ass comment—Darla could see the words forming behind his eyes—but he thought better of it and sat on the ground next to his friend.
    â€œMust be interesting growing up as the sheriff’s kid,” the deputy observed, her gaze boring straight through the sullen son. “My guess is, you must get away with quite a lot.”
    Jeremy shrugged, unable to make eye contact.
    â€œIt depends on who catches him,” Peter offered. Darla’s instinct was to tell him to shut up, but she sensed that the kid had finally rediscovered sincerity. “You guys—the deputies—are usually too scared to do anything. But if the sheriff catches him himself, there’s hell to pay. For smoking weed, the dude’s not exaggerating. His old man will kill him.”
    â€œIs that so?” Darla mused aloud, suppressing a smile. So much for sincerity. How terribly convenient that young Peter should show such heartfelt concern for his buddy at a time when that same concern served his own interests so well.
    â€œThese are things you should think about before you break the law,” she said. Jeremy had begun to tremble, and while she couldn’t see his face anymore, she could hear his snuffles.
    Goddammit, she hated this shit. Crying women didn’t bother her a bit, but there was something about a crying man—a crying boy in this case—that just tore her heart out. The kid was scared and clearly remorseful, even if his buddy was a class-A asshole, and she knew in her heart that the sheriff’s reaction to this would be huge, especially in an election year. Jeez-o-peez, if it were anyone else in the world . . .
    Screw it. At the end of the day, this was about choices, and the worst one made here was selected by Jeremy Hines when he lit up his joint. Maybe a hard lesson was the very thing he needed. Besides, either the kids in this community were going to respect her as a law enforcement officer or they weren’t.
    Come to think of it, the decision wasn’t that hard at all. She brought the portable radio to her lips and keyed the mike.

Chapter Seven
    C arter Janssen had just passed the Maryland House rest stop on I-95, heading south at eighty miles an hour, when his cell phone chirped. He flipped it open and brought it to his ear. “Janssen.”
    â€œHey, Carter, it’s Chris Tu.”
    â€œYou’ve got news for me?”
    â€œI do, but you might want to pull over before I give it to you.”
    â€œFrom the