Hunt Her Down (16 page)

said, oblivious to the storm of emotions whipping through her. “Even the dishes are still in the

cabinet. The booze in the bar. The chairs around the table where he held every meeting.”

The table where she’d sat next to Ramon and across from Dan while her teenage heart took

flight.
Get a grip, Maggie
. She was no better now than then.

“What are you looking for?” she demanded, her voice harsher than she’d intended.

“Clues. Hints. A reason to explain why there are all those locks, but the place has been

untouched. I want—” He froze for a minute, listening to a loud pop from outside.

Her heart jumped at the sound of gunfire, but then she realized what it was. “A boat,” she

said. “On the canal.”

“I know.” He took a few steps toward the doors that lined the back. “That’s a go-fast, a

Cigarette boat.”

The low, staccato throb of a racing boat rumbling up the waterway got closer and louder. It

almost masked the sound of a car pulling up to the front of the house.

“Did you hear that?” she asked, just as the boat stopped with one loud thump of a mighty,

unmuffled engine. Right in the back of the house. “Someone’s in the front, too.”

Dan grabbed her arm and twirled her toward the utility room, pulling out his gun as he

shoved her into hiding. The second she stepped into the room, the front door opened, followed

by heavy, male footsteps on the terra-cotta tile, punctuated by the soft digital ring of a cell

phone.

“I’m in. I don’t know. It could be another fucking false alarm.”

Had they set off a silent alarm?

“Get up here, now. I’ll search the place. It’s probably another goddamn squirrel in the third

floor.”

She inched farther behind Dan, who looked over his shoulder and pointed to the door.

“Go.”

Together, they moved soundlessly past the washer and dryer to the door; then Maggie

touched the knob. She twisted the handle, praying the door didn’t squeak.

The footsteps grew louder, closer. Biting her lip, she pushed. It silently opened as the man’s

footsteps crossed the kitchen.

Dan nudged her forward, closing the door behind them without making a sound.

“Go!” he urged quietly, shoving her toward the path, rounding a huge row of bushes that

provided the same cover as when they’d slip away for a midnight tryst by the water.

They couldn’t risk crossing the yard to reach the gate they’d used to get in; parts of the

property were too open. She knew instantly where they were going.

The tool shed.

As they darted forward, she heard movement on the other side of the bush. Someone was

coming up from the water, blocked from view. With his arm still around her, Dan kept her low

as they ran, slowing occasionally to try to get a peek at whoever was out there, but more

focused on hiding.

They rounded a curve in the property, followed the thick treeline, and Dan dove them both

over the first small hill, and rolled to the shallow valley. Stiff crabgrass poked at her face and

arms, as his hard, solid body held her tight. The smell of earth and oak and brackish canal

water punched her nose, her breath whooshing out as they landed.

“Stay down!” he ordered, crawling up the side of the hill the minute they stopped moving.

She caught her breath, steadied herself, and watched him get into position.

They’d used that lookout before to check the lights in the house, to make sure they were

completely alone. They’d made love under the stars on this very hill.

He reached his hand out, indicating that she climb up next to him. She did, her jeans

dragging over the grass, her fingers digging into the dirt.

Through the greenery, they could see the dock, a starburst-painted racing boat bobbing on

one line. In the other direction, the foliage blocked their view of the house.

“Move it!” The man’s voice echoed from the house. “We might as well do it, now that

we’re both here.”

Closer. Coming right toward them.

“The shed!” Dan said, rolling them both in the direction of the small metal shed twenty feet

away.

They ran, staying low, reaching it in seconds, but stopped at the sight of a massive sliver

bolt and a fist-size padlock holding the small double doors together.

“Behind.” Dan pushed her around to the back of the rectangular structure, then pressed her

against the warm metal, covering her completely.

“Why don’t you just confront them?” she whispered. “You’re armed.”

“I don’t want them to know we’re here until I find out why they are. And I want you safe.

Stay quiet and still.”

The tiny building shook as someone worked the heavyduty lock, the bolt grinding noisily,

then one of the two doors thudded open.

Maggie listened for any clue to what they were doing, protected by the strength of Dan’s

body. Inside the shed something scraped the flooring, the gritty, earsplitting sound of metal

against metal.

“Christ, that makes my teeth itch,” a man said.

The response was a grunt of raw male exertion.

“Son of a bitch, this fucker’s heavy.” Same guy.

“Just get it in the boat. And quit complaining. The one coming tomorrow’s going to be

twice as bad. This shit has to move, and fast.”

Their voices shifted outside the shed now, moving away. Maggie stayed stone still, braced

for the possibility that someone would suddenly pop around the corner and shoot them. Dan

remained pressed against her, the front of her body warmed by the sun-drenched corrugated

metal. He kept his right arm up, his weapon poised to fire.

But the men’s voices were down at the dock, and there was a loud thump as something hit

the wood. Then the thunder of the racing-boat motor starting up.

Dan inched his head to the side of the shed, holding Maggie in place.

“Only one’s on the boat,” he whispered. “The other one’ll probably go back to the house.”

They waited, ready, breathing softly, the sun burning and the bitter boat exhaust mixing

with the humidity. In the distance a door slammed, followed by the sound of a car motor

starting up, then disappearing.

“Think he’s gone?” Maggie asked.

“Possibly. Probably.”

“But he didn’t come back and lock the shed.”

“I know. Let’s check it out.” Dan led her around the front, where one of the doors gaped

open. He stuck his head in and Maggie tried to see around him.

“What’s in there?”

“Absolutely nothing.” He ducked to get into the opening, and she followed.

The place was so full of memories, she almost choked.

In reality, it was just eight by five empty feet, with nothing but a crumpled piece of trash in

the corner. Dan bent to get it, smoothing the paper and holding it toward the light to read it.

“Enclosed items,” he softly read. “Five wrenches, sixteen hammers, fourteen boxes of

shank nails . . .” He skimmed the rest of the list. “It’s some kind of packing list.”

“Look,” Maggie whispered, indicating the recipient’s name at the top of the list.

Michael Scott
.

“Something tells me …” Dan said softly as his gaze scanned the paper again. “Viejo’s

business is definitely thriving again.”

Behind the shed, trees rustled and snapped into place. Before she could breathe, Dan pulled

her against the front wall, so that anyone glancing in wouldn’t see them inside.

Five seconds passed, then ten. Then the door ground across its metal track, followed by the

sound of that industrial-strength lock and bolt, locking them in a pitch-black, hundred-and-

ten-degree dungeon.

ONLY ONE THING got Lola out of the office in the middle of a busy workday, and that was a

soul-shattering, headclearing orgasm delivered by a man who lost every shred of control over

her beauty. Her business gave her the power high she’d craved since childhood, but sex with

the right man—a man who absolutely folded in half over her physical perfection—
that
was

irresistible.

And the man she’d met in SoBe last Friday night had provided exactly that. He’d begged

for her, drooled over her looks, praised her symmetry—he’d even used that word when he sat

up in her bed and watched her prance naked around the room.

Like she was doing right now. At the height of a busy Thursday, with clients calling and

accounts receivable growing, Lola had driven to her Brickell Avenue condo after he called

and spoke so dirty and sweet on her phone.

She stepped back from the mirror in her master bedroom, the backlighting from the balcony

twenty-eight floors above downtown Miami and Biscayne Bay perfectly accenting her toned

thighs, her flawless C-cups, her flat stomach, and, best of all, her exquisitely beautiful face.

Her father had been so very wrong.

“You’re pretty, Lourdes,” he would say, in English, so that no one would understand him

and think he was saying sweet things to his little girl. “Pretty ugly.”

Well, look at me now, Viejo
. Pretty
pretty
.

The insults were all the worse because they were secret, insidious, vicious, and swift. The

same way he’d kill a man for looking the wrong way in a meeting, Viejo would shred her. All

she could do was run and hide. In her closet in Coral Gables, and at the farm, she’d climb to

the balcony through the attic and weep.

But now? Now he understood what ugly was. All the things that mattered to him—his son,

his reputation, his home, his life—had gotten very, very ugly.

She smiled, running her hands down to the completely waxed flesh between her legs. She’d

even managed to make sure his last good dream went up in smoke, too.

The light tap on her door didn’t surprise her. The doorman was never where he was

supposed to be in this building, and her man was anxious to get his hands on her.

Anxious was good. Desperate was better. Out of control turned her absolutely crazy hot.

This guy was all of those things, and none of that had affected his performance the other

night. He hadn’t been hugely endowed, but what he lacked in size he made up for in frantic

need to touch her. Not fantastic-looking, but meaty and strong. Anyway, she didn’t want

someone who was better-looking than her. What would be the point of that?

She grabbed a short silk wrap, tying it loosely enough to let her breasts show as she peered

through the peephole.

For a minute she couldn’t even remember his name. Did she even
know
his name? Who

cared? It was better this way. Anonymous made it hotter.

Opening the door slowly, she treated him to a smile. “Hi.”

“Hi yourself.” He swept up and down her nearly naked body with a slow, wildly

appreciative grin. “Fuckin’ A, you’re magnificent.”

She opened the door wider, inviting him in.

“I’m supposed to be at work,” she said, holding a cheek out for him to brush with his lips.

“But you lured me away.”

He grinned, looked around the condo, and let out a low whistle. “This place is even nicer in

the daytime,” he said. “I still can’t believe you’re that much of an earner in your twenties.” He

ducked down as if he was looking around. “We alone? No sugar daddy waiting in the wings to

watch, right?”

“Nope. But I have a business to run, so …” She opened the robe. “Let’s get busy.”

His nostrils quivered as he tried to steady his breath. “Hang on, honey. Let me savor the

moment.” He moved deeper into the condo, his gaze torn between her decor and her body.

“Really nice place. I didn’t get to look around the other night.”

“You can look at me.” This wasn’t a real estate meeting, for Christ’s sake. “Follow me.”

She curled her finger playfully and headed to her bedroom.

“Don’t I even get a drink first?”

For the first time since she’d met him, her internal alarms went off. The night he’d hit on

her in SoBe, he’d been a total animal, completely into her. The call to her office with his sexy

come-on was a pure booty call, too.

Now he wanted to turn this into a date? A chat over cocktails?

“If you want a drink, there’s a restaurant downstairs,” she said, her voice cool. “Otherwise,

the bedroom’s this way.”

“I just want to . . . relax.”

“I don’t want you relaxed.” She let the robe fall to the floor, and stepped back so he could

see the whole package. “I want you worked up.”

“Oh.” He stared, perfectly slackjawed. “Like a fucking piece of art.”

That was better. She turned slowly, pivoting so he could drool over her ass, her perfect

back.

He jumped her so hard, she sucked in a breath as his body thwacked into hers from behind.

“Hey.” She tried to duck out of his grip, but he brought his hand up and squeezed her tit,

then slid it to her throat, tightening his hold.

“Cool it,” she insisted, trying to wiggle out, trying to turn to him. “I don’t like it rough.”

“We’re not going to do it rough.” He let her twist around face-to-face, pulling her tighter as

he kissed her. His lips were limp. His tongue was lackluster.

Nothing was like what she remembered from last time. She opened her mouth to try to get

the feeling back, just as he yanked her around so he had her from behind again, wrenching her

arms behind her back and locking his forearm over her throat.

“Stop it!” she choked, trying to kick him. She got in one swipe when she saw the knife. He

pointed it right at her temple and her whole body turned to water, her bowels threatening to