Chapter Fourteen #2
Cooper considered her for a long moment, then smiled, a smile that had once charmed her, but now only revealed the monster beneath. “No need to rush, Troy. We have all night.”
Sharon felt her pulse quicken but kept her face impassive. All she needed was to buy time. Just a little more time.
Because somewhere out there, Dusty was coming for her. And God help Cooper when he did.
The Chicago neighborhood where Madison lived was decorated for the holidays, an explosion of colors, the reds, greens, blues, and gold lights twinkling on every tree, bush, and house.
It was evident that the decorating had been done by professionals, because everything was too detailed, too symmetrical, too perfect.
Dusty checked his watch for the tenth time in as many minutes.
He’d been antsy from the moment they’d climbed into the SUV that met his team at the airport when the jet landed.
The entire trip had been spent mapping out plans to infiltrate the estate, but now they were here, in this wealthy conclave in the most expensive and exclusive section of Chicago, and the only thing he could think about was Sharon.
The thought of her scared, at the mercy of a monster like Madison, made him want to hit somebody.
The black SUV had parked on a tree-lined street just out of view of Madison’s estate, a sprawling property that seemed more fortress than home with its tall wrought-iron fences and patrolling security.
The man had to have a touch of paranoia to think he needed armed guards inside and outside of his palatial home.
“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 arrived at 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 muttered sotto 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 connected to 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.”
“I want to see her,” Dusty insisted, remaining standing.
“And you will. Once I have what belongs to me.” Madison set his glass down on an inlaid table. “I understand you brought the evidence she stole.”
Dusty carefully pulled an envelope from his jacket pocket—empty save for some printed pages that looked official but contained nothing of value, but Madison didn’t know that, and if things went according to plan, he never would. “First, I need to know she’s unharmed.”
“Five minutes.” Dean’s whisper sounded in his ear. He needed to stall for three more.
Madison studied him for a moment, then pressed a button on his desk. “Bring Ms. Wells to my study.”
The wait seemed interminable. Dusty could hear Dean’s occasional whispers through the earpiece—progress reports as the team disabled perimeter security and neutralized guards. Two men down. External cameras looped. Eastern access secured.
Finally, the door opened. Sharon entered, escorted by another guard. Her face was pale but unmarked, her posture rigid with tension. When she saw Dusty, her eyes widened in surprise, then unmistakable fear—not for herself, but for him.
“Dusty,” she whispered. “You shouldn’t have come.”
“I promised I’d always come for you.” It was impossible not to notice the joy that spread across her face, and he knew saving her, making sure she made it out of this alive, would be worth any price. “And you know I always keep my word.”
“How touching,” Madison remarked dryly. “Now, Mr. Warner, the evidence, please.”
Dusty held the envelope tightly. “My terms are simple. Sharon walks out of here, gets in a car. I have an associate waiting outside, and once I have confirmation she’s safe, you get this.”
Madison laughed, the sound devoid of humor. “You’re hardly in a position to dictate terms, Mr. Warner.”
“Maybe not,” Dusty conceded. “But you want what’s in this envelope badly enough that you had Sharon kidnapped and brought here. I’m guessing it’s worth hearing me out.”
“Seven minutes.” The words were whispered through his earpiece. Just one more. A single minute. He could do this.
Madison’s expression hardened. “What exactly do you think you have?”