Page 35 of Dusty
His eyes frantically scanned the barn floor, spotting his gun lying halfway across the space. Too far. But he had no choice. Ignoring the spinning in his head, his vision blurry, Dusty rolled to his knees, groaning in agony from the bullet wound in his thigh, and lunged for the weapon, every movement sending fresh bolts of pain through his skull.
The barn door creaked open just as his fingers closed around the grip. In one fluid motion born of years of training, Dusty tucked into a roll, came up in a shooter’s stance, and pointed the weapon directly at the silhouette in the doorway. Pain shot through his leg, but he gritted his teeth and stayed in his crouch.
“Whoa! Easy, Dusty! It’s us!”
Rafe Boudreau stood in the doorway, hands raised slightly, his familiar voice cutting through Dusty’s adrenaline-fueled haze. Behind him, Dane and Antonio flanked the entrance, weapons drawn but pointed toward the ground.
Relief flooded through Dusty as he lowered his gun. “Rafe,” he breathed, the single word carrying the weight of his gratitude. He only wished they’d gotten here sooner.
“Dude, you look like you’ve been fighting with a wildcat and lost,” Rafe said, holstering his weapon and crossing the barn in quick strides. He crouched beside Dusty, examining the wound on his thigh before turning his attention to the gash on his head, his touch surprisingly gentle. “That’s going to need stitches.”
“Forget about me,” Dusty said, pushing himself to his feet despite the wave of dizziness that threatened to topple him. “They took Sharon. Lennox and his goons.”
“Lennox?”
“Troy Lennox. Top enforcer for Madison, according to Sharon.” Dusty moved to lean against the barn’s dilapidated wall before taking a deep breath. Dane checked the perimeter of the barn while Antonio secured the entrance.
“How long ago?” Antonio asked, his dark eyes scanning the area with the practiced efficiency of a federal agent.
Dusty checked his watch, trying to clear the fog from his mind. “I don’t know. I was out cold. Maybe thirty minutes? Could be longer. I’m not sure how much time passed after I called you.” The realization that precious minutes had slipped away while he was unconscious twisted in his gut like a knife.
“Your 911 call came in just over two hours ago,” Dane said, returning from his sweep. “We got here as fast as we could.”
“The evidence,” Dusty suddenly remembered, staggering toward the stack of wooden crates where Sharon had hidden the bag with the flash drive and other evidence. “She hid it before they got inside.” He dropped to one knee, ignoring the protest from his splitting headache and his thigh, still oozing blood, and reached under the bottom crate. His fingers brushed against the small canvas bag, and he nearly sagged with relief as he pulled it out. “They didn’t find it.”
Antonio stepped forward, his expression grim. “That what I think it is?”
Dusty nodded, handing him the bag. “Everything Sharon managed to download from Madison’s laptop. Account numbers, offshore holdings, blackmail material, proof of at least three murders. She said it’s enough to put him away for multiple lifetimes.” He met Antonio’s eyes. “Get this to Williamson at the FBI. See if you can call in Brian, too. No one else. Sharon says there are moles in the Chicago office on Madison’s payroll. The one she gave the original files to betrayed her and gave everything to Madison. That’s how he knew Sharon had stolen the information in the first place.”
Antonio tucked the bag against his chest, cradling it like it was a precious infant. “I’ll make the call. Derrick’s a good man. He’ll know what to do with this.”
“We need to move,” Rafe said, helping Dusty steady himself. “This place isn’t secure, and you need medical attention.”
“No hospitals,” Dusty insisted. “I’m fine. Nothing a couple aspirin won’t fix. We need to get out of here. Sharon needs our help now.”
“And you need medical attention. Dane, grab the first aid kit and let’s get that leg wrapped, slow the bleeding until we can get it looked at.”
“We don’t have time—”
“We’ll make the time. You won’t be any good to Sharon if you’re laid up in the hospital with an infection or worse.” Rafe crossed his arms and stared at Dusty, who knew it would take too much time arguing with him. He’d get his way in the end anyway. And any wasted time meant Sharon got farther away, closer to Chicago—and Madison.
Dane made quick work of wrapping a makeshift bandage around Dusty’s thigh, and Dusty gritted his teeth, wincing at the bite of pain when Dane tightened the knot to hold the bandage in place.
“It’ll hold until we can get you help.”
Rafe exchanged a look with Dane but didn’t argue. “Let’s get back to Shiloh Springs, regroup at the ranch. We’ll figure out our next move there.”
If he could have, Dusty would have rolled his eyes. “You just want Ms. Patti to get her hands on me.”
Rafe simply grinned.
The ride back to Shiloh Springs passed in a blur of pain and fear. While Rafe drove and the others made calls, setting their network in motion, Dusty stared out the window at the passing Texas landscape, his mind filled with images of Sharon.
Their conversation from earlier replayed in his mind—her voice soft in the dim light of the barn, her walls finally coming down as she admitted what was growing between them was real. That maybe, just maybe, when this was all over, they could find out what they might become together.
“We’ll get through this,” she had said, her fingers interlaced with his. “And after…”
“After,”he had repeated, the word both a promise and a prayer.
