Hudson (Men of Clifton, Montana #58)

Chapter One

Hudson Anderson sighed as the elevator doors slid open, the fluorescent light harsh against his bloodshot eyes. He pushed off the wall and stepped out. Another Monday. He swore he’d just gone to bed Friday night, the taste of whiskey still lingering on his tongue.

He usually took the stairs to get his blood pumping, but not today. His ass was dragging like a plow through clay soil.

Pushing through the glass door, Hud stepped into the Montana Department of Livestock office, the familiar smell of coffee and old paper files settling over him as he made his way to his desk. He nodded at the other agents, their faces already set, already deep in work.

His Stetson went on the brass hook. The creaking chair got hauled out and dropped into, scooting forward with a familiar squeak across the linoleum. The case files came up on the monitor, the blue light carving out the lines around his eyes.

The same files that had the whole department running around like chickens with their heads cut off.

He and Killian Doyle had inherited the case when Rawley Bowman took three rounds to his Kevlar vest. The vest saved his life, but a collapsed lung and two broken ribs meant every breath cost him something.

Rawley still came in a few days a week, face pale and hollowed out but healing.

There were still men out there they hadn’t caught.

Rustlers were moving through cattle ranches across the vast, windswept plains of Montana like they were nothing but paper targets.

Silently, they’d slip onto properties in the dead of night, make off with thousands of dollars’ worth of prime beef on the hoof, and disappear into the darkness while ranchers slept soundly in their beds.

Rawley had gotten close enough to smell their sweat.

Five men had been stealing in Clifton, and three of them were now dead.

One survivor had talked. The other refused, jaw set like granite, giving them nothing.

They needed more names because this was no small operation.

It stretched across the state like a spider’s web, invisible until you walked right into it.

Hud’s brother, Deke, eased onto the worn edge of Hud’s desk, the varnish creaking under his weight. Overhead, the fluorescent lights hummed, casting pale light across stacks of files and half-empty coffee cups.

“Hey. We missed you at dinner yesterday,” Deke said.

Hud leaned back in his chair, rubbing the bridge of his nose. “I know. Called Dad to let him know I couldn’t make it.”

Deke frowned, folding his arms. “What’s going on?”

“This damn case.” A slow exhale, fatigue carved into the dark circles under his eyes. “Every time I think we’re close, something pushes us two steps back. Rawley didn’t trust the guy, and honestly, who could blame him? That little prick set him up.”

Deke shrugged and dropped into one of the stiff-backed chairs across the desk, the vinyl seat squeaking under him. “Wish I could help, but you know Dave won’t let family work together.”

“I get it.” Hud’s fingers trailed over the manila folder in front of him. “Can’t blame him.”

“I can’t be out there with you, but if you need anything, intel, paperwork, whatever, just say the word. I’m sure Case feels the same.”

Hud nodded, tapping a pen against his knee. “I will. Killian’s on it, Eli’s been grinding away too, but three of us isn’t enough.”

Deke flipped through the folder, pages rustling. “Too bad Saunders had to head back to Autumn Falls.”

“Yeah. He was solid, knew this case inside out.”

Deke glanced out the window behind Hud’s chair. “You need more bodies.”

“Dave said he’d try to reassign some agents, but I need them here like yesterday.”

“We’re all swamped, Hud. But Dave will find you somebody. Maybe he can pull Saunders in for a stint.”

“Maybe.” Hud sighed, glancing up at the clock near the ceiling. Its ticking felt louder than it had any right to be. “I feel like I’m banging my head against a brick wall.” He tapped the folder. “This Harold White, Sr., he just vanished. No trace.”

Deke leaned forward, scanning the papers. “Is there a Mrs. White?”

Hud flipped another page. “Divorced, apparently.”

“Maybe someone needs to chat with her.” Deke raised an eyebrow. “Know where she is?”

“Kalispell. Remarried, according to this.”

Deke cracked his knuckles and stood. “I’ll see if Dave will send me there.” He strode toward Dave’s office, boots clicking on the linoleum, knocked on the glass door and disappeared inside when Dave waved him in.

Hud turned back to his files and waited.

A moment later his boss’s voice boomed through the office.

“Hud!”

He groaned, pushed his chair back and walked to Dave Merkle’s office. Dave sat behind his desk, reports stacked on every surface, fingers steepled. Deke stood by the door.

“Yeah?” Hud asked.

“I want you to go to Kalispell and talk to White’s ex-wife,” Dave said, leaning forward.

“But Deke—”

Dave shook his head. “Is not going. You’re not working the same case together. I don’t care how much time you think you’ll save. Family members do not work the same case.” He paused. “I’m not going to explain to your father why two of his sons were killed because they ignored protocol.”

“We thought it would help,” Deke murmured.

“I understand, but it’s too risky. It never happens. Ever.” Dave tapped the manila folder. “You stay here, Deke. You have your own case. Eli can keep combing through the files. I’ll find another agent or I’ll call Autumn Falls myself about Saunders.”

Hud nodded. “Thanks, Dave.”

He released a breath and left the office, returning to his desk, the weight of the case pressing down on his shoulders. Three agents weren’t enough. But soon, he hoped that number would change.

The week ground on the way bad weeks did, slow and stubborn, every lead either going cold or doubling back on itself. By Friday, all Hud wanted was to go home, crack open a beer and fall into bed.

He glanced around the office. Just him and one other agent left, the rest long gone for the weekend. He shut off his monitor, pushed back his chair, stood and stretched, then reached for his Stetson.

“You heading out, Hud?”

He glanced over at Briggs. “Yeah. You need to go too. Your wife won’t be happy with you.”

Briggs grinned. “I can change her mind.”

Hud chuckled, settling his hat on his head. “Head home. I’ll see you Monday.”

“On my way. Just need to find out what she wants me to bring home for dinner.”

“Alright. Lock up. Have a good weekend.”

He pushed through the glass door, walked to the elevator, and tapped the green button.

The entire building had gone quiet. The sheriff’s office would be running round the clock as always, but every other office was dark and locked up tight.

The building buzzed during the week, but when Friday hit most people were gone before quitting time.

Hud wasn’t one of them. This case just wouldn’t quit.

He was glad Rawley had survived. If those rustlers had been using armor-piercing rounds, it would have been a completely different story.

Three shots to the vest had knocked him back a step each time, and if he hadn’t gone down when he did, the next one would have found his skull.

Hud had stood there watching it happen, helpless, praying his friend was still breathing.

They’d lost an agent a few years back. A good man, experienced, careful, and it hadn’t mattered. The job turned on you without warning and you either accepted that or you found another line of work. Hud had accepted it a long time ago. He loved this job. But he never forgot what it cost.

The elevator opened into the lobby, the marble floor catching the last of the evening light through the tall front windows.

The building was emptied out, the usual daytime hum of lawyers and clerks and agents replaced by the particular silence of a large building after hours.

He pushed through the heavy front doors and out into the fall air, cool and clean after the long grinding week, and pulled in a slow breath before crossing the parking lot to his black Silverado.

An empty house could wait a little longer.

He pulled out onto Main Street and pointed the truck toward Dewey’s. A beer and some music. Nothing complicated. Just an hour of not thinking about Harold White Sr. and spider webs that stretched across the state and a friend who still came to work pale and careful with his breathing.

One beer. Then home.

****

Perched on a barstool beneath the amber glow of the bar lights, Blair pulled her phone from her pocket, found Celine’s number and pressed call.

“Hey, Celine.” Her voice was low beneath the murmur of the bar, the clink of glasses, the band tuning up in the corner.

“Hi, cuz. Are you having a good time?”

Blair tucked a strand of dark hair behind her ear. “Not really. Tori bailed on me at the last minute. Food poisoning, she says, and I only found out after I’d already ordered my drink.”

“Oh no, that’s awful.”

“Yeah. She’s really sick, poor thing.” Blair’s eyes drifted across the room to the three young cowboys by the jukebox, circling her with toothy grins.

“I hope she feels better soon. I’ve had food poisoning before. It’s brutal.”

“It really is. So, what are you and Killian up to?”

“Nothing much. Getting ready for movie night. Why don’t you come over?”

Blair’s hand tightened around her phone. “Thanks, but I’m kind of stuck here. There are three greenhorn cowboys who won’t leave me alone, and I’m too skittish to slip outside until they move on.”

Celine’s tone softened. “Do you want Killian to come rescue you?”

Blair laughed, though it came out a little shaky. “No thanks. You two enjoy your night. I’ll figure something out.”

“If they’re harassing you, we’ll both come in there.”

“I appreciate it, really, but let me ask Scarlett if Noah’s coming in tonight. I’m too freaked to walk out by myself.”

“If Noah comes in, you know he’ll walk you to your car.”