Flirting with Disaster by Jane Graves Page A

180 degrees, then hit the gas, tires shrieking against asphalt. In his rearview mirror he saw the cop get back into his car. He took off after them, lights flashing and siren wailing.
    “What the hell is happening?” Lisa shouted.
    “We’ve got a cop after us.”
    “You’re kidding.”
    “Tell me this is how they treat traffic offenders in this town. Tell me he’s not chasing us because Ivan made a phone call.”
    “I think Ivan made a phone call.”
    Shit.
    Dave sped down the street, heading back into town, but traffic thickened, slowing them down. When he came to a stop sign, he wheeled around the car in front of him, barely missing another car coming across the intersection from his right. Tightening his grip on the steering wheel, he stomped the gas pedal to the floor. A shot exploded, blasting the rear window of the car, showering glass on both of them.
    “Stay down!” Dave shouted.
    The moment the traffic cleared on the opposite side of the road, Dave hit the brake and wheeled hard to the left, spinning the Mustang around in a one-eighty to head back north. When he passed the police car still traveling south, the cop took another shot. The bullet narrowly missed them, taking out a storefront window instead in an explosion of glass. In his rearview mirror Dave saw the cop pull the same one-eighty he had, and within seconds he was half a dozen car lengths behind them again.
    “Damn it!” Dave said. “I can’t shake him!”
    “Any cars between us and him?”
    “Nope. He’s coming right up behind us.”
    “Is that gun up there loaded?”
    “I have no idea.”
    “Let’s find out.”
    Suddenly Lisa rose from the backseat, leaned over into the front seat, and grabbed the gun. Before Dave knew what was happening, she’d spun around and pointed the gun out the back window. Three shots exploded in quick succession.
    “What the hell are you doing?” he shouted. “Get down!” A second later, Dave heard a crash behind them. Looking into his side mirror, he saw that the police car had crossed traffic, jumped the curb, and smashed into a lamppost.
    “Bingo,” Lisa said, turning back around and slumping wearily in the seat. “Got his tire. And his radiator for good measure.” She was breathing hard, still clinging to the gun. “Adrenaline. Amazing stuff.”
    “Give me that!” Dave reached over the seat and yanked the gun out of her hand. “You could have gotten your head blown off!”
    “It was that or have him chase us all the way to Monterrey. I prefer a leisurely drive, thank you.”
    Unbelievable.
    Dave floated the next stop sign, wheeling the car hard to the left to avoid hitting vehicles crossing the intersection, then stomped the gas again.
    “Well, since my cover’s blown,” Lisa said, climbing into the front passenger seat and plopping down with a weary sigh, “I might as well ride shotgun.”
    “From now on, you’d better mean that figuratively.”
    “I took out the bad guy and you’re complaining?”
    Dave couldn’t believe this. On a normal day, he’d be back in Tolosa, stopping speeders and breaking up domestic disputes. Instead, he was playing car chase with crooked Mexican lawmen who were just dying to blow his head off, partnered with a woman who made Bonnie Parker look like a kid with a water pistol.
    “Where the hell did you learn to shoot like that?” he asked.
    “When I’m home in San Antonio, I go to the shooting range once a week.”
    “Oh, yeah?”
    “Yeah. I have a license to carry concealed in Texas. But they’re funny about you bringing guns into Mexico. Drugs, they get a little pissed. Guns, they toss you in jail and throw away the key. Makes no sense, but there you go. I feel downright naked without my Glock.”
    “So why the handgun proficiency?”
    “A girl’s gotta protect herself.”
    “So you can hit a paper target at a shooting range. Who taught you to how to blast away at the bad guys?”
    “Bruce Willis. Arnold Schwarzenegger. Sylvester