Out of Control. Julie Miller

       1

       Nashville, Tennessee Seven months ago

      “GET OUT OF THE VEHICLE. Get out of the vehicle!”

      Detective Jack Riley pulled his Glock 9 mm and pointed it, along with his flashlight, at the three-hundred-pound behemoth who ignored his badge and his command and started the engine. Shit.

      As the drug dealer shifted his customized Chevy Suburban into gear, Jack jumped back inside the cab of his pickup and slammed it into reverse, hoping to block his target’s exit from the convenience store parking lot. But Lorenzo Vaughn slipped past him, burning an acrid trail of black rubber onto the pavement as he swung out into the street.

      “Screw that.”

      Silently apologizing to the truck’s big bruiser engine, he shifted into drive and ruthlessly gunned it.

      Jack flipped on the siren and warning lights of his unmarked truck, praying Vaughn would take this pursuit to the open road. With a long, straight stretch ahead of them, Jack’s years of training behind the wheel would give him the advantage. But it might already be too late. There were too many hills, too many trees and houses blocking his line of sight—too many things wrong with this takedown.

      The original plan he and his drug enforcement team had worked weeks on had gone way beyond south.

      “Come on, baby.” He urged as much speed out of the engine as he dared this time of night with so many cars still on the streets.

      “Jack? You in trouble?” His partner Eric Mesner’s voice crackled over the radio. “We’re hung up in traffic at least five minutes away from your location.”

      Jack swore, yanking his steering wheel to the left to swerve around a car pulling out of a driveway. “We’re already a day late and a dollar short, buddy. Vaughn didn’t stick to his regular schedule. He got away from me. I’m in pursuit.”

      “Son of a bitch. Did you see the drugs?”

      “Didn’t get a chance to. But the Chevy he’s driving has been modified like the others. Looks like a monster-sized race car. If it’s street legal, I’m your Aunt Fanny. Whatever he’s selling was either transported in there or is still hidden inside.”

      Rather than risk their lives or any innocent bystanders’ lives by confronting Vaughn at his house—where guns, drugs, lieutenants and a reputed fighting dog stayed—they’d wanted to arrest him when he slipped out to pay a nightly visit to one of his girlfriends. “You watch your back, Jack. Don’t take this guy on by yourself.”

      “Too late for that.” Jack had been spying on Vaughn’s house, tracking his routine for weeks. The closest they could figure was that Vaughn was getting his drugs stashed inside one of the new vehicles that seemed to show up at his house about once a month. The plan had been to grab the man, grab the car, and break both down until NPD had the proof necessary to bring down one of the city’s biggest drug rings. But their precisely timed plan was turning into a flat-out road race. “You’re coming to save my ass, right?”

      “We’re