The Faded Dust
The truck idled on the gravel shoulder, the engine a low, grinding growl that vibrated through the steering wheel and into Elias Thorne’s bones. He was forty-five, a border patrol agent with twenty-two years of service etched into the lines around his eyes, and he was driving to retrieve a shipment of counterfeit currency that had been seized the night before. The wind picked up, kicking up a...
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