Page 41 of Dusty
“Everything’s in place,” Dean said, his voice low and steady as he handed Dusty an earpiece. “Remember, we need at least eight minutes to get into position once you’re through the gate. Ten would be better, but minimum of eight.”
Dusty nodded, slipping the nearly invisible device into his ear. The weight of the Glock at his ankle offered little comfort. If everything went according to plan, he wouldn’t need it. But nothing about the past twenty-four hours had gone according to plan.
“What if she’s not here?” The question had haunted him since they’d left Texas.
Dane glanced up from checking his tactical gear. “Destiny hacked into Madison’s security feeds. The footage shows Lennox bringing Sharon here at roughly six p.m. Carpenter’s contacts also confirmed a woman matching Sharon’s description arrivedat the estate about the same time. No evidence that she left. She’s in there.”
Relief and dread twisted together in Dusty’s gut. She was alive, but in the hands of a man willing to kidnap and kill to protect his secrets. He knew Madison had killed in the past—and framed Sharon for murder. Between the evidence she’d found and the fact she was wanted by the police, it had been enough to make Sharon run for her life.
“Remember,” Dean said, clasping Dusty’s shoulder, “we know you’re a trained law enforcement operative, but now isn’t the time for you to try and arrest Madison. Not your jurisdiction, and it will only complicate matters. Right now, your only job is to keep Madison talking and distracted. We handle the rest.”
“I’ll do whatever it takes,” Dusty replied, his jaw set with determination.
“That’s what worries me,” Dean mutteredsotto voce. He checked his watch. “Chicago PD will maintain position three blocks out. We shouldn’t have a problem; these are all people on the force that have been vetted and check out. None of them have any connection with Madison. They’ll move on our signal, not before. We don’t want Madison’s people spooked by police chatter if they’re monitoring the police bandwidth.”
Dusty took a deep breath, picturing Sharon’s face—the intelligent eyes that had captivated him from the moment they met, the quiet strength she’d shown even when terrified. He wasn’t leaving Chicago without her.
“It’s time,” Rafe announced.
The men exited the vehicles in practiced silence. The team of six split into two groups—Rafe, Dean, and two local Carpenter Security men heading toward the eastern perimeter where the security was lightest, according to their intel. Antonio and Dane took off in the other direction. Dean would stay connectedto Dusty via the earpiece, coordinating the timing of their infiltration.
“Good luck,” Antonio whispered before disappearing into the shadows with the others.
Dusty straightened his jacket and walked purposefully toward the main entrance of Madison’s estate. The wrought-iron gates loomed ahead, security cameras tracking his approach. He pressed the intercom button and waited.
“State your business,” a gruff voice demanded.
“My name is Dusty Warner. Tell Madison I’m here with what he’s been looking for. I’ve got his stinking evidence, and I’m willing to make a deal.”
A long pause told Dusty the guard was probably contacting the house, so he crossed his arms over his chest, staring straight at the security camera. “Wait there,” the distant voice muttered through the speaker. Dusty feigned nonchalance as he stood under the scrutiny of the cameras. The intercom remained silent for nearly two minutes before crackling back to life. “Approach the gate slowly. Keep your hands visible.”
The gate slid open with a mechanical hum. Two armed guards stepped forward, their expressions professionally blank.
“Arms out,” one ordered.
Dusty complied as they patted him down, finding the ankle holster.
“He’s carrying,” the guard announced, removing Dusty’s weapon.
“Mr. Madison appreciates the honesty of your approach,” the other guard said with cold amusement. “Follow me.”
As they escorted him up the curving driveway, Dusty whispered under his breath, “I’m in.”
Dean’s voice came through the earpiece, barely audible. “Clock starts now. Keep him talking for at least eight minutes.”
The mansion was a modernist masterpiece of glass and steel, jarringly beautiful against the night sky, yet so out of place in a neighborhood filled with pristine architecture constructed decades earlier. From the records they’d found, Madison had bought the property, and immediately torn down the previous residence, building this conglomeration of modern excess. Dusty hated it on sight. Inside, the opulence bordered on obscene—marble floors, museum-quality art, and furnishings that probably cost more than Dusty had made the entire time he was on TV.
The guards led him through a series of rooms, each more impressive than the last, before stopping at a set of double doors. One guard knocked twice, then opened the door.
“Mr. Warner to see you, sir.”
Madison stood at a floor-to-ceiling window overlooking an illuminated garden. Though darkness had fallen, the garden was lit to showcase the fountain and walkways. He turned slowly, a tumbler of amber liquid in his hand. In person, he was taller than Dusty had expected, his thousand-dollar haircut and tailored suit projecting the confidence of a man accustomed to power.
“Mr. Warner, I’ve heard quite a bit about you.” Madison’s voice was cultured, almost pleasant, betrayed only by the coldness in his eyes. “The Texas sheriff’s deputy who’s been harboring my thief.” His eyes slid across Dusty, his gaze filled with disdain. “I’m honestly surprised you came. Trust me, Sharon’s not worth it.”
Dusty fought to keep his expression neutral. “Where is she?”
Madison smiled, gesturing toward a chair. “Straight to business? No pleasantries? Very well. She’s perfectly safe, I assure you.”
