Page 11 of Wanted by the Lawman

“The woman who just left.”

“Is there a problem?” Yeah, he definitely had one too.

The woman swiveled around on worn Converse and waved the bill through the air. “That bitch just passed off a fake twenty. Now I’m going to have to call the cops and have my wages docked. Worse, I’ll be fired. Randy told me if I screwed up one more time my ass was gone. I’m lucky to even have this shitty job.” She stomped back to her position at the register, pressing her fingers into her temples. “I hate this job.”

“Are you sure there hasn’t been a mistake? Maybe she wasn’t the one who handed you the money.” He wasn’t sure why he needed to defend Miss Huff who’d made it obvious she wasn’t friendly.

“I know what I’m looking for.” Cat must have realized what she admitted to because she turned pale. “I think I know what I’m looking for. Here, look for yourself.” She tossed him the bill with a scowl.

He held the twenty up in the light and tilted it back and forth. Sure enough the numeral in the lower right-hand corner didn’t shift colors from green to black. Although the paper felt crisp like real money, it definitely was counterfeit. Although he didn’t know Miss Huff, and probably wouldn’t see her again, being a good judge of character was a major reason why he was skilled at his job. But something didn’t seem right that the mystery woman would hand off a fake bill, right here, and so easily. She could have received the counterfeit from another business, however that didn’t seem likely this far from a metropolitan city. Cheyenne was sixty miles away and most counterfeit was found further up north, way north…

Most counterfeit money was created in rural facilities in Peru, hoarded in stash houses until packed up and shipped. Zander had investigated a case involving counterfeit money and the goods were coming into the country hidden in luggage, pottery, and even children’s toys. A few large criminal groups were known to pass the product off to “splinter groups,” those that control the streets. They were skilled at getting a huge financial gain in a short amount of time, before the FBI could respond and catch them. Once agents moved in, the criminals were long gone, and the goods were dispersed. Zander and his team had located several factories where the money was manufactured. The undercover team moved in quickly to shut it down, but others popped up within days.

“It is fake, right?” Cat asked.

“Yeah, it’s fake.”

“My boss is going to kill me. I’ll lose my job for sure,” she swiped a hand through her short, pink hair.

“I tell you what, how about I trade a real twenty for the fake one?” He withdrew the bill and plopped it onto the counter. Her eyes lit up.

“You’d really do this?”

“Sure. I wouldn’t want you to get fired over a mistake.”

Cat grabbed the money and clutched it tightly. “You won’t tell him, my boss…you know…about this. I’m turning my life around and don’t want any trouble.”

“No worries.” He wasn’t sure what trouble the girl had been into in the past, but everyone deserved a second chance.

Once the transaction was made, he grabbed his bag of items and before he even climbed into his truck, he dialed his brother Cullen. After the second ring, his brother answered. “Hey, you’ll never guess what I just come by?”

“That you’re a shithead for taking all the leftovers?” Cullen drawled.

“No. A Peruvian note.”

“What the fuck? Serious? In Crooked Creek?”

“Yeah.”

“Where exactly?” Cullen asked.

“The gas station a few miles from my place. And by the way, I took the leftovers because when you’re hungry you can walk down the street and grab a burger. I don’t have that luxury.”

“No one said you had to move all the way out there to nowhere land, buddy.”

“You’re just jealous. I’ll think of you while I’m eating the leftover casserole.” He clicked off, tossing his phone onto the passenger seat next to the leftovers that his mom had packed up.

The snow was falling hard and he could barely see ten feet in front of him by the time he pulled up next to his cabin. He climbed out of the truck and raced for the door, stepping inside to wipe his boots when his ten-year-old Golden Retriever greeted him. “Hey there, Susie-Q. I got you those biscuits you love.”

The brown-eyed girl looked up at him, tongue hanging out, lopping back and forth. It was much better than the snarl he received from the brunette at the gas station.

“Not that you care, but I met an ice queen on the way home. What did you do of importance today?” The dog continued to stare. He nuzzled her behind the ear and she rewarded him with a satisfied whimper. “Yeah, I know. It gets lonely out here in the boondocks, doesn’t it, girl? Thankfully, that’s why I stopped off and bought a few items before the snow really hits. I even grabbed those cookies with the big chocolate chips.” He hoped the Ice Queen was enjoying her peanut butter cookies.

He'd heard the weather forecast and since the weatherwoman predicted a foot of snow by morning, he gathered those who lived in Wyoming were now holed up indoors after grabbing a loaf of bread and milk earlier. Traffic had been congested near his parents’ house. What should have been an hour’s drive turned into an additional thirty minutes because of the snowy conditions which included the time he spent shooing a heifer who decided she wanted to stand in the middle of the road. Thank goodness she was the only one out on the country road.

Toeing off his boots on the welcome mat, he removed his weapon and placed it on the closet shelf and unhooked his leather belt to place it next to his hat on the hook. He gave Susie-Q one more scratch. “You hungry, girl?” The dog bounced and wagged her tail, her long tongue seemed to take on a patterned wave too. Susie-Q followed him into the kitchen and she took a well-behaved seat at her food and water bowls. He filled the first bowl with water and scooped a large tin can with food and dumped it in the second bowl. The dog dug in, chewing on the special beef and vegetable blend for a good five minutes before lapping up half the water.

He stepped down the hall, grabbed his laptop and came back feeling a mite hungry himself, anticipating the leftovers, when he found the container of food on the kitchen floor with Susie-Q licking the last of the potatoes. Somehow Zander felt this was karma after he’d taken all the leftovers. Opening the refrigerator, he frowned. Because he was always working, it was easy to forget he had a refrigerator and a stomach to fill. He searched the contents. A bottle of beer. An expired carton of eggs. A dried up brown lemon which he couldn’t remember why he had it in the first place, and a half-eaten block of Colby Jack. Popping the lid to the bottle and breaking off a chunk of the cheese, he munched. Susie-Q was waiting patiently by the backdoor. “I hope you enjoyed my mother’s cooking. Alrighty. Go and have fun in the snow.” The dog’s tail wagged and she twirled. She did tricks if it meant she’d get to play. He opened the door and she barked. “Want me to throw your ball?” Again, she twirled. He stepped out onto the deck, found the ball buried in the snow and gave it a toss. Susie-Q happily trounced after it, kicking up slush as she went along.

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