Seeing the kid there unnerved Eli a little. He was a creepy sight, hunching his shoulders and beaming like a crazy man.

“I can handle the sheriff, Dad,” he called to Fred.

“I’m coming out,” Fred insisted.

“Shut the dogs in,” Eli instructed the older man, still holding the screen door closed.

Fred swore, spoke to the pit bulls and, when Eli allowed him to pass, stepped out onto the rickety porch, the door firmly closed behind him.

When Fred would have followed Eli down the steps and through the hard-crusted snow to the SUV, Eli gestured for him to lead the way.

He didn’t turn his back on men like Fred Lansing, or their sons.

As Eli and his father approached, Freddie slid down off the hood of the SUV with a telling scraping sound, still grinning. The little bastard had probably keyed the paint.

Inside the rig, Festus was still barking.

“Quiet,” Eli told the dog.

“You shouldn’t leave a nice animal like that alone, Sheriff,” Freddie drawled. “Somebody might feed him poison, or cut his throat.” He paused to shrug expansively. “You just never know.”

It was literally all Eli could do not to grab Freddie Lansing by the lapels of his army surplus coat, hoist him off his feet and fling him hard into the grillwork of the SUV, but he knew, from long experience, that losing his temper would put him at a real disadvantage, sooner rather than later.

Still, he didn’t have to let the veiled threat pass, either.

“Somebody who hurts my dog—or anybody else’s—might just find himself crawling around on the ground, looking for his teeth.”

Freddie gave a rough guffaw, but the glint in his eyes was at once predatory and wary. “Why, Sheriff, was that a threat?” he asked in a singsong. “You heard that, didn’t you, Dad?”

“I sure did,” Fred, Sr., blustered. He was a wiry little man, probably quick in a fight and stronger than he looked.

Eli kept him in his peripheral vision, took his phone from his coat pocket and held it up for both men to see. “Would you like me to play back the part of this conversation where you mentioned poisoning my dog or cutting his throat?”

Freddie sighed. He must have known Eli had been recording the conversation from the get-go, but he didn’t seem overly concerned. “Let me guess, Sheriff Badass. You’re here because your girly little nephew got a text and figured it was from me. Bet he wet his pants.”