WANTED: EVELYN HART For theft and murder in San Antonio. Reward offered for information leading to capture. Wade’s stomach went heavy. The date on the poster was only a week old. He stared at it until the letters blurred and his thoughts tried to outrun each other.
The woman in his spare room looked like someone who’d been hunted, not someone who’d hunted others. Yet there it was: ink and accusation, neat and official, the kind of paper that could turn a lie into a rope. He tore the poster down, folded it, and shoved it into his pocket like he could hide the problem by hiding the proof.
On impulse, he stepped into the sheriff’s office, where Sheriff Amos Kline sat behind a desk that looked like it had absorbed decades of sweat and decisions.
“Calder,” Kline said, lifting his gaze. “Don’t often see you in here.”
“Just passing through,” Wade replied, forcing casual into his voice. “Heard anything about trouble on the roads? Bandits. Outlaws.”
Kline shrugged. “Nothing we can’t handle. Why?”
“No reason,” Wade said, then added, “Any news from San Antonio? Heard it’s noisy lately.”
“Always noisy,” Kline answered, eyes sharpening. “There was a banker got himself killed a week back, though. Folks say it was ugly. What’s your interest?”
Wade smiled the way men did when they wanted to look harmless. “Just making conversation.” He tipped his hat. “Good day, Sheriff.”
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