Hunt Her Down (17 page)

release, her stomach clenched against a gag of fear.

“What the hell do you
want
?” she said. “I’m offering it to you. You don’t have to get

violent with me.”

“I’m not going to get violent,” he said, his voice lower and more menacing from behind.

“We’re going to make a deal . . . Lourdes.”

Son of a bitch, how could she be so stupid? “Who are you?”

“I’m your fortune hunter.”

Fuck!

“You don’t have to give it to me, Lourdes. I don’t expect you have it anymore. But you sure

as shit better know what it said. And tell me the truth, because I know just enough to know if

you’re lying. And every time you tell me a lie, I make a cut.” The tip of the blade grazed her

cheek. “I won’t kill you—but I’ll make damn sure no plastic surgeon can ever make you

magnificent again.”

She stayed very, very still, her eye muscles straining to see the knife without moving her

head.

“Why do you want it? It’s useless alone.”

The blade pressed cold and sharp on her cheek. “No questions. Just answers. Words.

Numbers. Answers.”

The pressure increased, along with the first pinch of pain as something warm dribbled

down her cheek. Blood.

“You’re the one who wanted to play chess with the big boys, Lourdes.”

Another sting as the blade trailed over her cheek.

“And I can make a chessboard out of your pretty, pretty face. Big, fat, red scars that will

never go away. Then I’ll start on your sexy body. I’ll put so many fucking flaws on your skin,

no one will be able to look at you.”

She tried to swallow. Tried to think.

“Then you’ll be pretty.” More blood dribbled down to her mouth, warm and salty as it

mixed with a tear. “Pretty ugly.”

She closed her eyes and made her choice.

Dan slowly peeled his body off Maggie’s back, giving them both air and space, but not

enough of either one.

“Can’t you just shoot the lock off?” she asked.

Dan put his fingers over her mouth. “Wait.”

They did, silent and still inside the airless metal box, time ticking at the same rate as

Maggie’s heartbeat, which he felt pulsing through her.

“I can’t shoot it,” he said when he removed his hand as a signal that she could talk again.

“It probably wouldn’t shoot off, anyway, and I’d leave a mess.”

“You’re worried about how it looks?”

The place was black, small, airless, and so sweltering it was almost impossible to think. “I

don’t want them to know we’ve found where they hide the shipments. They’ll change their

strategy.”

He got down on his knees and started feeling along the bottom, at the crevice where the

siding met the metal floor, searching for any place where rust and time could have made the

structure vulnerable.

“It’s cheap tin,” he said. “Cuttable.”

He made his way to the back, then up the wall to the vent. The eave was barely six feet, and

he couldn’t even stand straight. The back vent was closed tight, the bolts rusted, eliminating

any chance of popping it out. He wouldn’t risk the front one; it would be too noticeable.

“We’ll cut our way out,” he said. “A clean slice where the back corners meet that no one

will notice and we can slip out of without them ever knowing we’ve been here. I’ll come back

and see if I can get a look at what they’re shipping tomorrow.”

“You have a knife that will do that?”

“No, but I’ll call Max, and he’ll come down.” Giving them about forty minutes in a hot box

with very little air and space. He crouched down. “Close your eyes.”

“Why? I can’t see a thing anyway.”

“I’m going to flip open my phone, and if you look at the light, it’ll delay how long it takes

to get your night vision.”

He closed his own eyes and pressed Max’s speed dial by touch, but she covered his hand

with hers, stopping him.

“Wait. He can’t leave Quinn.”

“Quinn’s with Cori, and that place is as secure as Fort Knox.”

Max answered on the first ring, and Dan quickly explained the situation, gave him a

location, and put a rescue plan in place.

“What’s Quinn doing?” Maggie whispered.

Dan relayed the question to Max, who chuckled in response.

“He’s teaching Peyton the name of every fish in the tank,” he said. “He’s a great kid, Dan.

Smart as a whip and funny. Not bad to have around, for a teenager.”

He had no right to feel the twinge of pride; he hadn’t raised Quinn. But he felt it anyway,

and smiled. “I know he is. Be sure he’s inside the whole time you’re gone.”

“Don’t worry, we’ve got him under wraps, and I did the security in this house myself. It’s

impenetrable.”

“Then get down here before we spontaneously combust.”

Dan pressed the end button and opened his eyes, still not seeing even a silhouette of

Maggie. But he could feel her heat, and he could smell her scent. Salty, spicy, sweet. The

scent of Maggie in the shed.

The first bead of sweat trickled down his neck.

“Take off your clothes,” he said, ripping his own T-shirt over his head and wiping his face

with it.

“You’re a riot.”

“I’m not joking. We’re both wearing jeans, Maggie. We need air on our skin to keep our

temperatures under a hundred. And stay low, because heat rises. In fact, you should lie on the

floor and let as much of your skin touch it as possible. It’ll keep your temp down.”

Next to him, he felt her shift position and heard her zipper scrape.

He couldn’t resist. “There’s a sound I’ve heard in here before.”

“Oh, boy.” Her laugh was dry. “That didn’t take long.”

“What? We’re not going to talk about it? Here? In this place where there’s a lot of . . .”

“History,” Maggie said.

“Memories,” he countered.

Down to his boxer briefs, he lay back, the metal slightly cooler than the warm air.

He heard denim slide over her legs, and pictured what was happening less than two feet

away. He could roll, reach . . . and feel hot, damp, silky skin.

“Good memories,” he added softly. “I hope you know that.”

“Mmm.” The response was noncommittal. “I guess you want my top off, too?”

Always. “You’ll stay alive longer.” He might die of need, though.

Cotton brushed flesh, and heat pooled around his balls, making them tight and sweaty.

She exhaled and the metal creaked as she lay down, probably an arm’s distance from him.

He couldn’t see, but he could imagine. She had a bra on today, he’d noticed earlier. Did she

still favor little wisps of panties, all lacy and feminine?

“Can you see yet?” she asked.

He wished to God he could. “No. Nothing. You’re completely safe with me.”

That earned him a soft snort of disbelief.

“I would never touch you now, Maggie. First of all, we’d die of heat stroke. Second . . .”

He couldn’t think of a single reason not to touch her except the danger to their internal

thermometers. And the bone-deep knowledge that once he did, he wouldn’t stop. “I just

won’t.”

He heard her body shift, imagined her turning on her side, sensed her looking at him, even

though she couldn’t possibly see him in this complete darkness. But he could feel her breath

and the warmth that rolled off her skin. His was damp, sweat prickling his whole body.

“What was it about this place?” she asked softly. “The minute I got in here, I was . . .”

Hot. Excited. Wet. Ready. She was all kinds of things, and thinking about them sent a

gallon of blood south.

“Willing to try anything,” she finally said.

He pictured her bare legs, long, lean, tanned, crossed at the ankles. The way her breasts

sloped down when she rested on her side. The deep tips of her nipples. The glint in her eyes

when she wanted to try something . . . different.

“It wasn’t the shed,” he whispered. “It was us.”

“You always brought out a risk-taking side of me,” she said, a smile in her voice.

“It was mutual,” he agreed.

“It was . . . fun.” Her voice was no more than a whisper. “Scary sometimes, but thrilling.

I’ve never done anything like it since.”

“Good.” The burn of possession mixed with arousal.

“Good?” she scoffed at the word. “I suppose you haven’t been with another woman since.”

“I’ve been with plenty,” he admitted. “But none… like that.”

“Like what?”

Man, he didn’t need this. Didn’t need to think about what they’d done in here. How they’d

done it.

“Stop talking about it, Maggie.”

He stood suddenly, placing his hands flat on the back wall, bracing his legs wide.

“What are you doing?”

The equivalent of reciting the alphabet backward. Anything to stop thinking about Maggie

in the shed.

“I want to work on this vent some more.” He tried the nut again, but even with a tool it

wouldn’t have loosened. “If I can open the slats, we’d have a little light and air.” He stuck his

fingers in, but it was sealed with rust. The front vent let in more air, but its slats were at an

upward angle, letting no appreciable light in.

Perspiration ran down his sides, and heat waves rolled through his body. He returned to the

floor, engulfed in blackness and humidity. Forty minutes until Max got there. Anything could

happen in forty minutes. And everything.

He laid his gun inches from his fingertips and closed his eyes, hoping the old trick would

help his vision adjust faster when he opened them.

Maggie shifted again, moving her arms up with a frustrated, uncomfortable sigh. He

pictured her lifting her hair, cooling her neck. She was sweating, too. He could smell the salt

on her skin, and feel the heat shimmer around her. So close he could imagine the taste of her.

“Do you think the chance of getting caught made it more exciting?” she asked.

Was she doing this to torture him, or was she just as turned on as he was?

“Everything made it more exciting.”

“It was always so . . . desperate,” she barely whispered.

Desperate. Frantic. Furious. The rush to get in her made him all of those things.

“But I guess that was all an act to get me to tell you everything.”

“No,” he said simply. “It was genuine desperation.”

He could have sworn she moved closer. If he just brushed his right hand a little along the

floor, he’d touch her. Again.

Against his will, his cock stiffened. He bent his knees slowly, quietly, widened his legs, and

took a slow breath.

“Remember the time I stripped by candlelight?”

“Jesus, Maggie, are you trying to kill me?” Blood hummed in his head as he remembered

Maggie unbuttoning a cotton blouse, with nothing underneath. Maggie bending over and

dragging jeans over her round, sweet ass. Maggie on the floor, under him. On top of him. On

her knees in front of him. Teasing and taunting and taking him into her tight, slick body.

A sound escaped his lips as a droplet of moisture formed on the head of his cock.

“Why didn’t we get heat stroke back then?” she asked.

“We did. We just called it something else.” Mindblowing sex.

“Yeah.” Her voice was wistful; then she was quiet for a long time. Breathing softly, not

moving. With each passing second, his balls pinched with need and his cock beat with a blood

rush, and his brain exploded with images of her body and the sounds of her orgasms and the

flavor of her velvet skin.

“I need to ask you a question.” Her voice was low, soft, and way too sexy.

“Anything.” He turned just a little, ready for—anything.

“What are you thinking about right now?”

Your mouth. Your breasts. Your sweet
… “Viejo. And what these guys are doing.”

A finger jabbed his shoulder. “That was a test, Dan Gallagher.”

He squinted into the dark, wishing that his damn night vision worked better. “What kind of

a test?”

“Lie detector. And you . . .” The sudden touch of her hand on his hard cock shocked him.

“. . . failed.” She gave it the slightest squeeze, branding him. “
Now
I recognize you, Michael

Scott.”

“Very funny. Okay, you win. I lied.” It took every ounce of self-control not to slide against

her fingers. “But if you don’t move your hand, it’s gonna be real obvious, real soon.”

She released him, leaving him aching. “You’re thinking about things we did in this shed.”

“And things we still might.”

She inhaled softly but sharply. “You wouldn’t.”

“No, I wouldn’t. That doesn’t mean I don’t think about it when I’m undressed, in the dark,

six inches from a woman I think is the sexiest on earth.” God, he wanted her to touch him

again. Just put her palm right… there . . .

He slid his own hand down, unable to stop, unable to resist replacing hers for one

maddening second. He managed not to move, except to cringe with need, and take a slow

breath.

“You okay?” she asked.

“What do you think?”

She shifted next to him again, the sound of her palms grazing her own skin, the image of

her touching herself suddenly vivid behind his closed eyes. Clenching his jaw, he stroked his

shaft again, squeezing for the fierce pleasure and pain of it, then letting go.

Sweating profusely, his throat bone dry, he fisted himself to fight the urgency of his

erection. Next to him, Maggie moved some air, fanning herself.

“You know what night I remember the most?” Her question cut through the airless silence.

“They were all pretty sweet.”