Page 7 of Hudson
“Twenty-one.” She shook her head. “Way too young. I’m thirty-eight. I have nothing against older women with younger men, but a seventeen-year gap? No thanks.”
“Why aren’t you married?” he asked, turning his beer glass slowly on the bar.
“I was. Divorced. Between studying and then the hospital hours, there wasn’t much left for a relationship.”
“Yeah, that can happen.”
“What about you? Married, engaged, seeing anyone?”
“No, no and no. My job keeps me busy.”
“Celine says Killian is constantly on a case.”
“It comes with the territory. A lot of rustling goes on across the state. I’m working one right now.”
“Missing livestock?”
“Cattle. I took over from another agent.”
“What happened to him?”
“Rawley took three rounds to his vest. Collapsed lung, broken ribs.” Hud’s expression sobered. “He’s back part time but field work is out for now. I stepped in.”
Blair shook her head slowly. “That’s a dangerous job.”
“It can be.”
“Did you get the cattle back?”
Hud shook his head. “Not yet. We’re hoping to find them, but it’s been a while.”
“Did you catch the rustlers?”
Hud smirked. “Not all of them.”
“I don’t know how you deal with that.”
“It’s tough. Years ago, I worked a case where thirty head were taken. All thirty were believed to have been slaughtered.”
“Oh, those poor animals.” She shook her head.
“Rustlers are in it for the money. Once they deliver the livestock to whoever hired them, they don’t care what happens after that.”
“Why would someone want them stolen in the first place?”
“It’s evolved way beyond moonlit raids.” Hud set his beer down. “Modern rustlers run stolen animals through black market networks that bypass inspections and paperwork entirely. Once they’re in that pipeline, they’re nearly impossible to trace. In Montana we see it two ways. Either the brands get filed off, documents get forged and the cattle end up at auction houses with lax inspection practices, or they’re butchered immediately at rural slaughterhouses, and the meat gets quietly distributed to small restaurants and markets that don’t ask questions.”
“Tell me more.” Blair propped her elbow on the bar and cupped her chin in her hand. She could listen to him talk all night.
“It’s become a complex criminal enterprise. Thieves trade beef for drugs, leveraging the full black-market value of the animals. When cattle prices rise, theft goes up with it, which is what keeps livestock agencies running undercover operations. Some rustlers are just desperate, but the organized outfits coordinate distribution networks across state lines. Limited enforcement, minimal consequences and frankly a certain romanticization of the whole thinglets it keep going. Drought makes it worse. Ranchers are already stressed and reducing their herds while thieves see an opening and expand. It leads to armed standoffs more often than people realize. It’s a centuries old crime that’s turned into a sophisticated industry.”
“Fascinating. Are horses stolen too?”
“All livestock is at risk.”
“It sounds dangerous.”
“Any law enforcement job is.”
