Scanning the grounds with the layered attention I've developed over these past weeks. Not just the rider's eye that reads a space for danger. The other eye, the one that has been trained by necessity to see the things people don't want seen.
The crowd is big tonight, bigger than the other two rodeos. The kind of turnout that happens when word gets out that someone will be crowned Champion tonight.
I spot my brothers without looking for them. The awareness of each other in a space so ingrained, it operates below conscious thought.
Brooks is near the south entrance, positioned where he can see the stock contractor area and the equipment shed at the same time, his phone in his hand and his expression carrying the focused calm of a man who has done his homework and is ready for the test.
Luke is on the far side of the grounds near the officials table, close enough to the record keepers to hear anything that needs to be heard.
Wade is near the chutes. Wade has never in his life positioned himself anywhere other than the place closest to whatever is about to go wrong so he can be the first one to meet it.
Their wives and families are in the stands looking nervous, knowing what is going on, with the exception of Quinn who is on duty tonight. Dressed in her police uniform and watching everyone and everything.
My brothers don’t look at me when I pass.
They don't need to.
We covered everything this morning. Every contingency, every angle, and every possible move Dusty might make when he understands that the net has been closing around him since before he took that evidence and felt safe about it. There is nothing left to communicate that hasn't already been said.
Tonight we execute.
I stop near the entry gate and look out at the arena floor, the dirt freshly raked, the lights cutting hard through the evening air, the chutes lined up along the far side with the particular contained violence of animals that know what's coming and are already responding to it.
I know what's coming too.
And for the first time since this started, I am not two steps behind it.
I am exactly where I need to be.
Wade finds me first.
That's not a surprise. Wade has always operated on the principle that standing still and waiting for something to come to you is a waste of time when you can close the distance.
He comes around the side of the chute area with the particular energy he carries when he's been patient longer than feels natural.
"Dusty's here," he says, low and without preamble, falling into step beside me the way he's been doing since we were kids. "Arrived about twenty minutes ago. He's working the stock contractor area, talking to handlers, doing exactly what he always does like nothing is different about tonight."
"Good," I say.
"Colt's here too," Wade continues. "Far side of the grounds near the sponsor tents. He's been making the rounds, shaking hands, doing the champion thing." He pauses just long enough to make the next part land with the weight he intends it to. "He looked right at me and smiled like we were old friends."
"He doesn't know what we have," I answer.
"No," Wade says. "But he knows something is different. I can see it under the smile." He glances at me sideways. "You know what you're doing tonight?"
"I know exactly what I'm doing tonight."
He nods once, the kind of nod that means he believes me and is choosing to stand behind that belief completely.
Wade does not extend that kind of trust easily or automatically even to the people he loves most.
Brooks appears from the direction of the south entrance, sliding into our path with the smooth unhurried movement of a man who planned exactly where he was going to be and arrived there on schedule. That is the only way Brooks McCallister has ever done anything in his life.
"Financial records are with the investigator," he says, addressing both of us but looking at me. "Everything I pulled from the circuit accounts over the past four years, the discrepancies, the transfers, the accounts that received money they can't legitimately account for. All of it is documented and in the right hands." He holds my gaze. "Whatever happens tonight, the paper trail exists independently of anything else. The money tells the story."
Something in my chest loosens at that, not completely, not enough to drop my guard, but enough to confirm that the foundation we've been building under this is solid and doesn't depend entirely on tonight going perfectly.
"Luke?" I ask.
