Free Endangered by C. J. Box

Gadsden flag flew from the radio antenna.
    “That’s his?” Joe said. “Yeah—I’ve seen it around town. But I guess he’s not a hunter or a fisherman, because I’ve never run across him out in the field in my district. I’ll run a license check, but if he was a sportsman I think I would know it. I thought survivalists hunted at least. How else would they survive?”
    “Some, like Tilden Cudmore, buy their five years’ supply of food and have it delivered by UPS,” Reed said. “We should assume Cudmore is armed and dangerous. He’s an open-carry type—wears a .357 revolver in a holster over his coat. He’s been thrown out of county commissioners’ meetings because he refuses to take it off.”
    “Any sex crimes on his record?” Joe asked softly, looking over to make sure Lucy was still in his pickup. She was.
    “No,” Reed said with a sigh. “No felonies at all. A few DUIs, resisting arrest, refusing to comply—that sort of thing. I think he’s in the middle of a tax dispute with the IRS, but they haven’t involved our department. So his misdemeanor convictions have been for civil disobedience stuff—except for the DUIs. But, as I told you earlier, we’ve had a few calls about him cruising way below the speed limit out on the interstate. He alarms people when they see him driving around in that Humvee of his. But we’ve never had a reason to arrest him for it.
    “I sent an officer out here once to ask him why he drives around like that. Cudmore claimed he was looking for beer cans and bottles to claim the deposit on them. That doesn’t exactly square with his personality, but that’s what he said.”
    “Is he prowling for hitchhikers?” Joe asked.
    “That would be my guess,” Reed said. “But again, the first time we’ve ever received a report of him forcing someone into his car came a few hours ago. Thank goodness the RP put two and two together and let us know.”
    Joe asked, “Who is the reporting party?”
    “A female. I’m not sure she identified herself to the dispatcher.”
    “Can we find out?” Joe asked.
    “We’ll have a recording,” Reed said, looking skeptically at Joe. “Why—what are you thinking?”
    Joe shrugged.
    “Anyway,” Reed said, “we’ve put out a statewide BOLO on him and his Humvee. He won’t get far if he stays in that vehicle. It’s a rolling billboard.”
    Deputy Boner appeared from the dark and held a cell phone out to Reed. “Chief Williamson for you.”
    Reed frowned and shook his head before taking it.
    “Yes, Rocky,” Reed said.
    Joe could only hear Reed’s side of the conversation, but he got the gist of what was going on.
    “No, we’ve got it handled. There’s no need for that now . . .
    “I’d say sit tight and put your resources into finding Cudmore . . .
    “I know he’s always armed, but sending that thing out here might play into his worldview and set him off, you know? I’d rather not do that . . .
    “I understand. You’re just offering help and I appreciate that. But we’ve got the situation under control.”
    Reed punched off and handed the phone back to Boner. To Joe, he said, “Our overeager police chief offered to send out his new toy. I politely declined.”
    Joe rolled his eyes.
    The Saddlestring Police Department, like so many police departments across the country, had received a twenty-ton military MRAP—a mine-resistant ambush protected vehicle—from the Pentagon and the Department of Homeland Security the month before. The vehicle had been designed for and used in the Iraq War. Although it had cost the government more than a half-million dollars, it was given to Chief Williamson and his six-person police department free of charge. Helmets, body armor, combat boots, and camouflage uniforms were also provided. Williamson, who was as eager to make a show of force as Sheriff Reed was to refrain from it, had also procured a .50-caliber machine gun for the turret on top.
    To Joe’s knowledge, the MRAP