Page 58 of River Legacy
“Instead, you bought an old pickup with what cash you had and came back.”
Vicky grinned. “I did because I couldn’t stay away from you. Also, I had to warn you about my father.”
“I already knew the lengths he’d go to. I just wasn’t sure about his daughter.”
Vicky kissed him, then pulled back. “Are you sure now?”
“Oh, I’m sure,” he said, rolling her over so he was on top. “I’m sure I want you in my life no matter what.”
CJ had never seen so much money. Forester had advised him to get it into a foreign bank account as quickly as possible. But he had other plans. It hadtaken time, but he’d had the money transferred to his bank account. Then he’d driven to Miles City, walked into the bank and demanded all of it in cash.
“We don’t keep that kind of money here,” the bank manager had told him.
“What’s the most I can get today?”
“Under the Bank Secrecy Act, you are limited to $10,000 of cash per day.”
CJ told the manager what he thought of that, but took out the ten thousand. “I’ll be back tomorrow.”
He’d moved out of the apartment, not sure what to expect. He didn’t think his mother would do something foolish like set the law on him, but he wasn’t sure. Also, he had a feeling that his brother Ryder might not take the news about the ranch well and would come looking for him.
So he’d made himself scarce before going back to the bank and picking up his cash. Now back at his hotel room, he poured the bills all out on the king-size bed. The money floated like dried leaves around the bed. Not nearly enough, but he’d add it to each day until he could cover himself with the cash.
CJ told himself that only then could he die a happy man. He took a couple of selfies with his money. He wanted to gloat, but there was no one he could really gloat to. Nor could he put the photo up on social media. He wasn’t that reckless.
When Treyton called wanting to be paid, he hated that he was going to have to give away any of these beautiful bills. He took a handful hundreds,then called Treyton back and set up a meeting place. Then he checked to make sure that his gun was loaded—just in case Treyton got greedy. They might have been partners in crime, but Treyton was still a McKenna, and after this their business dealings would be over.
Claude called his boss again. “I need to get paid,” he said on the message this time. “Otherwise, I’m going to start talking to the press, the cops, anyone who’ll listen.”
Five minutes later, Wen called back. “Talking, huh? You sure you have anything interesting to say?”
“Try me.” He touched the cool metal of the gun in his jacket pocket. “Where would you like to meet?”
“You’re right, we should get this over with so we can move on,” his boss said. “I’m on my way to talk to a geologist about doing some methane drilling at my new ranch property. I just passed the fairgrounds. There’s no one around. Why don’t you come out here, since it sounds like we have some things we need to settle.” He told him how to get there.
“See you soon,” Claude said, wondering why Wen would want to meet in some place so private or if it was just handy for the tycoon. Either way, he was fine with private, he thought and patted the gun. He’d found he was a pretty good shot knocking old tin cans off the fence behind the abandoned house. Not that he would be shooting anything that small—or that far away, he told himself.
He would never have thought he was capable of murder. But working for Wendell Forester had changed that. The man had humiliated him for the last time. Wen would pay him, or he would be sorry or worse.
CJ had given him the gun, he realized. Hopefully it was registered to him. Claude couldn’t help but grin. If push came to shove and he did what he really wanted to do—put a bullet in Wen’s black heart—then he would wipe his prints from the gun and leave it at the scene. He especially liked the idea of CJ going down for the murder. Wouldn’t that tie things up neatly?
Ahead, he saw the outline of bleachers and several large buildings. A large SUV was parked next to one of the buildings. He hoped Wen had been waiting for a while, knowing how much he enjoyed it.
Don’t get too cocky, he warned himself. Shooting tin cans was one thing. Actually killing Wendell Forester was another—as much as the thought made him feel better than he had in a long time.
Claude parked and climbed out. He didn’t see Wen until he approached the vehicle that his boss must have rented back in Billings. The man was standing on the far side in the shade.
“Took you long enough,” his boss snapped, then reached into his pocket and pulled out a wad of bills and thrust them at him.
“What is that?” he asked, looking at the wrinkled bills but not touching them.
“Money. That is what you want, isn’t it?”
Claude laughed. “It’s going to take a hell of a lot more than that.”
Wen narrowed his eyes. “I’m not going to let you shake me down, Claude. I’ll give you your paycheck when we get back to Dallas. In the meantime, this is the best I can do. Take it or leave it.”
He put his hand on the gun resting in his pocket. He realized that if he pulled it out, he would be forced to use it. He snatched the money out of the man’s hand. “I want you to call your pilot and tell him to fly me back to Dallas today just as you promised.”
