Gravel plumed behind the squad car as it turned right, roaring through the pines toward the light in the distance. The radio crackled. “Lyd. Lyddie, honey. Stop the car. I don’t know what you think you’re doing, but stop the goddamn car and answer me.”
The driver ignored it. She slowed only to fumble with the shells. It wasn't easy, loading a shotgun while driving. “You’re gonna get yourself killed,” the radio squawked.
A pothole sent the car lurching. Shells poured out of the box and rolled onto the floor, wedging themselves into the shadows under the pedals. Sweat ran down the valley between her shoulder blades. Her foot drove the accelerator to the floor.
The voice on the radio changed. “Officer Kelly. Special Control is en route to the scene. This is their baby, not ours. I expect you back here in—”
“Baby,” mouthed Lyd. She let go of the shotgun long enough to switch off the radio. It was a lot quieter.
She burned into the old quarry and stopped in a tornado of dust. But she was too late. Surrounded by a half dozen scruffy males, Maisie was being taken by the meanest-looking one of all. The first shot burst over their heads and scattered the onlookers, leaving only the rapist with his shit-eating grin. Could Lyddie take him down from here without hitting Maisie? Not with a shotgun. She dropped it and fumbled for her sidearm.
"Drop the weapon," came from behind her. She whirled, looking deep into the eyes of the Special Control team leader. “You were told,” he said. “Now hand over the weapon and your badge and your car keys, Lyddie. Do you know how much paperwork you’ve caused the department? How many tax dollars? And all for your damned dog?”
Continuation: J.E. Barnard