The T-bird banked hard into another turn and at least one missile leaped from its rack. The barrel of his heavy pistol was less than a meter from her head as more rounds struck the T-bird's hull and ricocheted away. Hearing the sounds, Chase suddenly realized that at this range his pistol's armor-piercing slug wouldn't stop when it hit her. It would continue to travel, through her, and then into the electronics. Then, maybe, it would stop. If not, it would ricochet madly in the tiny cabin. He hesitated.