Page 29 of Dusty
He nodded but remained standing, his eyes fixed on the door Sharon had disappeared through, getting that itch he usually got when something was about to go horribly wrong. The drive from the truck stop had been mostly silent, Sharon retreating into herself after they’d ditched her phone. While he wasn’t sure Madison’s people had managed to track it, it had been a case ofbetter safe than sorry. They’d grabbed gas while there, and he’d ditched Sharon’s phone in the wheel well of an eighteen-wheeler getting set to leave the truck stop.
He replayed their earlier conversation, the one from the night the whole Boudreau clan had descended on Sharon’s little cottage, and they’d decorated Christmas cookies and the tree. Sharon had finally opened up about what she was carrying: financial records that proved Madison had been embezzling from his investment firm, with the help of the company’s assistant vice president. He’d also been laundering money for some dangerous people. The man was mobbed up, connected to some of Chicago’s biggest gangsters. The kind on the FBI’s ten most wanted list. The evidence Sharon had copied would be more than enough to put him away for decades, along with some of his mobster allies.
“How long has it been?” he asked, checking his watch. Eight minutes since Sharon had gone inside. If she wasn’t back in five minutes, he was going back there, rules or no rules.
Marla sighed. “Sir, this happens all the time. The women need to feel safe here. I wish I could make an exception for you, since you work in law enforcement, but—”
“I understand,” Dusty cut in, pacing toward the window. “I just don’t like being separated.”
The small waiting area felt suffocating. A few worn chairs, outdated magazines, and pamphlets providing info about domestic violence resources littered a side table. Through the window, he could see the neighborhood Sharon had described. Even in daylight, it had an edge to it that made his skin crawl. Yet she’d survived here alone.
Twelve minutes now.
A flicker of movement outside caught his attention. A black SUV cruised past the shelter, slowing slightly before continuing around the corner. Dusty’s instincts fired warning signals,flashing like the red warning lights of a fire alarm. Could be nothing. Thousands of people owned black SUVs. But he got the feeling this was the same one he’d spotted on the road toward San Antonio. The one who’d followed them to the truck stop. Guess they hadn’t managed to lose them after all.
“Does this place have a back exit?” he asked, keeping his voice casual.
“Of course,” Marla replied. “Safety protocol.”
The SUV appeared again, making another pass. This time, Dusty caught a glimpse of the driver—a man with dark sunglasses and a Bluetooth earpiece.
Fifteen minutes.
The door to the women’s area finally opened, and Sharon stepped through. Her face was pale, but she clutched a small canvas bag to her chest. Relief flooded Dusty until he caught her expression, a mixture of triumph and terror.
“You got it?”
“Got it,” she whispered as she reached him. “It was right where I left it, in the ceiling in the ladies’ room. I stashed it there in the middle of the night before I left. I couldn’t think of what else to do. I knew Cooper’s men were getting close, and I didn’t want to have anything on me if they caught me. The most they’d have gotten was the letter I gave to Antonio days ago. The ceiling in the ladies’ room has one of those drop ceilings, and I moved aside one of the panels and hid it up there. Figured nobody would think about looking up there. At least none of the residents. But we need to leave. Now.”
“What happened?”
Sharon shook her head, her eyes darting toward the window. “I’ll explain in the truck. I just…I have a feeling. We need to get out of here right now.”
He turned to Marla. “You said there’s a back exit. Can you show us?”
She studied his face for a long moment, then nodded and came around from behind the desk. “Follow me.” Pushing open the door separating the lobby area from the back, she quickly led them through a common room where several women stared at them. Dusty couldn’t help noticing how they moved away from him as they quickly walked through the room toward the back of the building. Dusty knew there was an alley behind it, because he’d driven down it, making sure the way was clear before he and Sharon had entered the shelter.
Dusty placed his hand on her lower back, guiding her toward the exit. “Don’t look, but there’s a black SUV,” he murmured. “Made two passes while you were inside.”
The color drained from Sharon’s face. “You think Cooper’s found me again?”
“Don’t know, but I think it might be the same ones we thought we lost at the truck stop. I’m not taking any chances, though.”
Dusty kept his hand on her lower back, guiding her toward his parked truck, the whole while scanning the street for the black SUV. Being the paranoid type, he hadn’t wanted to park directly in front of the shelter. Instead, he’d parked around the corner, outside of the direct view of the front door, but he figured if they had to, they could use the back exit and still get to the truck. Looked like that might have been a wise decision.
He wasn’t surprised when he spotted the SUV coming around for a third pass. Wasn’t surprised when the SUV accelerated suddenly, heading straight for them.
“Run!”
Dusty grabbed Sharon’s arm, breaking into a sprint toward his truck. Behind them, tires screeched as the SUV picked up speed. They reached the pickup just as the passenger window of the SUV rolled down. Dusty caught the glint of metal in the sunlight.
“Get down!” he shouted, pushing Sharon behind the truck as the first shots rang out. Bullets pinged against metal as Dusty fumbled for the keys, adrenaline making his fingers clumsy. “Get in! Now!” He wrenched open the driver’s door, providing cover as Sharon scrambled across to the passenger seat. A bullet shattered the side mirror, sending glass fragments spraying across the asphalt.
Dusty threw himself behind the wheel and jammed the key into the ignition. The engine roared to life as another volley of shots peppered the truck’s tailgate.
“Dusty—”
“Hold on!” He slammed the truck into reverse, tires smoking as he backed up, then cut the wheel hard, shifting into drive. The pickup lurched forward, engine screaming as Dusty floored the accelerator.
