Chapter One

      Sheriff Jericho Crockett didn’t have time to react. The SUV flew out from the side road and slammed right into the side of his truck.

      The jolt was instant, tossing him around, and the seat belt snapped like a vise across Jericho’s body. It knocked the breath out of him and dazed him for a couple of seconds.

      He couldn’t say the same for the driver of the SUV.

      No dazed moments for the person behind that heavily tinted windshield. The driver backed up a few yards and came at Jericho again. This time, the front end of the SUV collided with his pickup’s engine and then pulled back before coming onto the main road behind Jericho.

      Much to Jericho’s surprise, the guy didn’t bolt. The SUV stayed put, the driver revving up the engine as if it were some kind of wild animal on the verge of pouncing for an attack.

      What the hell was going on here?

      Was someone trying to kill him? Or at least put him in the hospital? Jericho wasn’t about to let either of those things happen. He drew his Smith & Wesson from his waist holster and threw open his door.

      The blast of December air came right at him, spiking a chill in him that went bone deep. But the cold didn’t stop him. Jericho leaned out just enough so that he’d still have some cover but so this clown would see his gun.

      What Jericho still couldn’t do was get a glimpse of the person inside. Of course, the darkness didn’t help. Nor did the fact that the driver didn’t even have on his headlights.

      “I’m Sheriff Crockett!” Jericho shouted. “Get out of your vehicle now!”

      Since this crazy attack had come out of the blue, Jericho wasn’t sure what to expect, but he braced himself in case someone in that SUV tried to take shots at him.

      But that didn’t happen.

      The SUV came at him again, slamming into the back of his truck and causing Jericho’s arm and shoulder to bash against the steering wheel. He held on to his gun, thank God, and he used it. Jericho sent two bullets into the SUV’s engine, but they ricocheted off. Obviously, it’d been reinforced in some kind of way, because the front fender wasn’t even crushed.

      “The next shot goes through the windshield,” Jericho warned him. Easier than putting bullets through metal, anyway. “And right into you.”

      The warning must have worked because this time the guy didn’t crash into him. The driver threw the SUV into Reverse and hit the accelerator, the tires kicking up smoke and stench as they squealed away.

      Since this was a farm road, less than a quarter of a mile from Jericho’s family ranch, there wasn’t much traffic, but he didn’t want an innocent bystander hit by someone who was either drunk or just plain dangerous. He was more than ready to go after the idiot, but the spewing steam from his engine stopped him. The radiator had probably been busted in the collision, and he wasn’t going to get far. Best to try to get to the ranch and regroup.

      Cursing, Jericho took out his phone and pressed