As Harley reached the yard, she discovered the true reason for Medranos circuitous route to the front door: piles of scat, some fresh and glistening, some as dry as coal. It appeared her friend was a dog lover.

Out of habit, she reached into her waistband for the Glock she usually kept there. She felt a stab of fear as she remembered she was unarmed. No mattershe had apprehended plenty of suspects without drawing her service weapon.

Harley scanned the yard for any further signs of canine trouble. A long, rusted chain lay flopped in the withered grass, pinned down by a railroad spike. Farther left, where the edge of the house leaned into a nearby mesquite, stood a small box made of plywood.

Harley stared at the doghouse but saw nothing: no gleaming eyes, no protruding paw, no restless tail. Maybe it was empty. If it was empty, however, that meant the dog was probably in the house, which was worse. Whatever had left those giant piles of scat, it sure wasnt a cute little Chihuahua.

Harley crept up to the door. She could hear Medrano rattling dishes in the kitchen. Then the microwave hummed.

Just as Harley prepared to knock, she sensed movement to her left. A long, haggard, loose-lipped monstrosity slunk out from the doghouse, regarding her with cloudy eyes. For a few seconds they stared at one another: the dog evaluating, Harley willing the dog to stay where it was.

Then the dog bounded forward. Harley threw the door open, slipped inside, and eased it shut behind her just as the dog tried to force its nose through the gap. The door closed with an audible click, and Harley spun around.

The microwave stopped humming and beeped several times. She waited for the sound of the microwave door opening, but nothing happened.

Mike? she called as she crept toward the kitchen. Are you in there? I just wanted to ask a few questions.

Several more seconds passed in silence. She reached the open doorway of the kitchen, paused at the corner, and then stepped out. The fan spun overhead, but otherwise the kitchen was empty.

To the right, the back door stood open.

Shit! Harley exclaimed, racing through the doorway.

She spotted Medrano climbing a chain-link fence. Grateful for the exercise bike she had ridden so often at the gym, Harley gave chase, jumping on top of a pile of bricks and then using the platform to leap over the fence.

Medrano raced around the left side of a convenience store. Harley went right, hoping he would double back. As his pounding footsteps approached, she stepped out and tripped him. He landed hard on the cement, skinning his palms.

Next time, dont run from a federal agent, Harley said, pulling him up by the back of his shirt.