I scrambled backward so fast I tripped over a limestone rock and fell into the ditch. My heart was hammering against my ribs like a trapped bird as I stared at the dark opening. This wasn’t a lost treasure; this was a “drop” for someone very dangerous who was likely coming back.
I grabbed Max by the scruff of the neck and tucked him under my arm, ignoring his indignant protests. I didn’t run back through the fields; I stayed in the shadows of the treeline, moving as fast as my legs would carry me. Every set of headlights on the highway felt like a searchlight.
When I reached the safety of my farmhouse, I locked every door and drew the curtains tight. I sat in the dark for an hour, clutching my old shotgun and watching the driveway. The chemical smell from the bills on the counter now seemed to fill the entire house, cloying and toxic.
I realized then why the money was wet and why the dogs in the area hadn’t found it. It wasn’t water; the bills were coated in a specific masking agent used by cartels to hide the scent of drugs and cash from K9 units. The “lemon” scent I smelled was a high-grade chemical deterrent.
Ironically, the very scent meant to repel police dogs had acted like catnip to Max. He hadn’t been hunting for money; he had been attracted to the pungent, oily pheromones in the masking agent. I picked up the phone, my hands shaking as I dialed a number I never thought I’d need.
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