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hard. “I was more interested in the part where you threatened the woman who was trying to brush you off.”
    “Bullshit.” The word was released on a breath of disgust. “Bitch was probably exaggerating.”
    “The bartender backed her up. You like to burn women, Price, is that your thing? Light up a cigar and hold it to their skin? You like to put your brand on them?”
    Some of the man’s truculence seeped away. Now he just looked wary. “I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about. I smoke cigarettes, not cigars and I didn’t do nuthin’ to that bitch. She says different, she’s fucking lying.”
    Cam looked at the man’s hands again. “You put down three men and don’t have a mark on you? That’s a trick. You have any ID?”
    Price laced his fingers together and flexed them, popping the knuckles. “I got some skills. What’s a DCI agent doing here about a bar fight anyway?” He grinned, showing a chipped front incisor. “One of those pussies I put down work with you? Guess that’d make him a dick of Iowa pussy, wouldn’t it?”
    “ID, Price.”
    The man looked at Beckett. “Shit, you found me in my home with my pickup out front. What more do you need?”
    “A driver’s license for starters.” When the man didn’t move, the sheriff took a step toward the stairs. “Maybe I’ll find it up there.”
    “It’s in my pickup.” Price’s voice had gone sullen. “Just give me a second to get it.”
    “Oh, it’s a nice night.” Cam stepped aside to give the man room to pass. “We’ll go with you.”
    “Suit yourself,” the man muttered, brushing by him.
    They followed Price through the kitchen and out the front door. The sun had sunk below the horizon, throwing the area into elongated shadows. Cam quickened his stride. His was the first hand to touch the vehicle’s door handle. He looked at Beckett over the other man’s head. “I’ll check it out first.”
    “What the…” Cam ignored Price’s objection and opened the truck, leaning inside. He wasn’t about to stand there passively and give the ex-con a chance to pull a weapon from a hidey-hole inside to use on them. Something about the man was bad, and not just his record. Cam may not know this guy but he knew men like him. He’d spent his career bringing them to justice.
    More, he’d lived in their midst when he’d done undercover narcotics, most recently for nearly two years working to shutdown the pipeline of cocaine leading to the Midwest from Mexico. He’d lived like them. Learned to think like them.
    The trick was never giving them the advantage.
    “Step back,” Beckett ordered the other man. “Take it easy.”
    Cam did a quick but thorough check of the truck’s cab and the glove compartment. He didn’t find a weapon, but neither did he see signs of a wallet. Backing out of the vehicle, he said, “Don’t think your ID’s in there.”
    “I said it was, didn’t I?” The man scrambled inside the truck and climbed over the console to bend over the glove compartment. When he popped it open to stick his hand inside, a small light came on. It threw his profile into stark relief. “Right where I left it.”
    Cam read Price’s intent before he moved. “Cover the front!” he shouted to Beckett as he raced to round the back of the truck. Before he’d gotten past the tailgate Price was springing out of the passenger door and racing across gravel, rocks spewing behind him like tiny projectile missiles.
    The dog was back, barking crazily as it chased the fleeing man. He was going in the opposite direction of the machine shed, toward the tumble down outbuildings. Cam put on a burst of speed, veering to the right. The first structure looked like an old corncrib. Wooden slat boards placed four inches apart comprised the sides. The buildings usually had no doors, open in the front and back. Cam would cover one entrance. With Maxwell on the man’s tail, they’d have Price cornered inside.
    He turned to see the sheriff