Hungry Like the Wolf(63)

Gage dressed quickly and silently, then grabbed a copy of the apartment key Mackenzie had hanging on a hook in the kitchen. He checked his phone as he waited for the elevator and found that Mike had left a text with Hardy’s address. There were also notes about the layout of the place, like the number of guards and existing perimeter security systems. Efficient as always.

At that early hour, it took less than thirty minutes to get to Hardy’s residence just outside Southlake on a wooded section of Grapevine Lake. Gage stopped his car along a quiet lane near the shore. If anyone saw it, they’d assume it was a couple of kids making out down by the water. Few people, even cops, would get suspicious. Southlake wasn’t the kind of place where lowlifes hung out.

He weaved through the trees, letting his superior night vision guide him. Thank God Hardy liked his privacy. There were very few houses along this section of the lake. Not that Gage gave a damn. He would have found a way onto Hardy’s property without being seen if the man lived in the middle of a mall food court.

Gage found the perimeter fence quickly enough. It was an eight-foot high chain-link deal with a few sections filled in with older mortared stone. He prowled the length of it, checking for guards, cameras, and motion sensors. He found the only two cameras that covered this side of the property without even trying. They weren’t well hidden. It wasn’t difficult to stand out of their field of view since they seemed to be aimed to catch people on the narrow, paved pathway that ran just inside the fence. Apparently, security wasn’t too worried about someone hopping over the fence. But then again, who’d be dumb enough to trespass on property owned by Walter Hardy?

Next, Gage confirmed there were no passive infrared or microwave motion sensors, active infrared beams, or pressure pad sensors. He could have bypassed them, but it said a hell of a lot about Hardy’s arrogance. There was nothing to keep a person from slipping onto his property except a reputation for brutality and ruthlessness.

Gage had downplayed it for Mackenzie’s benefit, but he’d been worried about Hardy and what the man might do from the moment he’d learned his identity. Gage knew he was a powerful and dangerous man who wouldn’t hesitate to come after them if he believed they were responsible for his son’s death. By standing up to his thugs, Gage had hoped Hardy might back off. But from the bomb at the fake meth lab, it was obvious that plan hadn’t worked. Hardy was coming for Gage, and he didn’t mind killing the rest of the SWAT team to get him. For all Gage knew, the man intended to kill all of them anyway. Gage wasn’t going to let that happen.

There was a single light on in the back of the house. Probably where the security guard, or guards, stayed. Gage would hit that first. He’d do anything to protect his pack—and now Mackenzie. He didn’t want to kill Hardy in cold blood, but if that was the only way to stop the man and keep the people close to him safe, he’d do it without hesitation.

He only hoped it wouldn’t come to that.

Gage moved along the fence until he was in a dead spot between the cameras. He still didn’t see any guards, but he could pick up their scent. It was blanketed by the stronger smell of gasoline, which made him think they probably patrolled the property in a golf cart at night. Since both odors lingered heavily in the air, that meant they’d been through here recently.

He found a place where the fence was screened by the low-hanging limbs of a big tree and placed his hand close to the chain link, but not quite touching. He didn’t feel anything that indicated it was electrified.

Gage looked around one more time, then let the claws on his right hand extend to their full length. God, that felt good. He hadn’t done it in a while. There wasn’t a lot of call for it in his day-to-day work. But he missed being able to let go and shift like that.

He slashed at the fence, sending pieces of chain link flying and opening a gap large enough for him to step through. Once he was on the other side, he listened carefully, but there still weren’t any sounds coming from the house.

As he crept slowly through the trees along the rear of the property, he considered what he knew about Walter Hardy.

He owned three different houses in the Dallas area, the other two being penthouse apartments downtown. He used one mostly for business meetings and for those times he stayed in the city. He’d given the other to his twenty-six-year-old son, Ryan, the presumptive heir to the Hardy name, fortune, and business.

There was no Mrs. Hardy so Gage didn’t have to worry about that. Ryan’s mother had divorced Walter and disappeared back to someplace in Eastern Europe years ago.