Hunt Her Down (18 page)

“I remember the time you found me here asleep at four in the morning.”

“That was stupid,” he said, more gruffly than he meant to. “You could’ve gotten caught,

waiting for me like that.”

“But you did come.”

“A few times as I recall.” The first, in her mouth.

“Ha-ha. Very funny. Do you remember how you woke me up?”

She really
was
trying to kill him. And succeeding. “Sort of.”

“You do remember.”

“Maggie, I remember everything. That’s why I was so good at undercover. I have a

photographic memory.” And the photos she made for his mental album were well worn from

many nights of remembering.

“So you remember exactly what we did that night?”

Of course he did. Did she want him to say it? Right here in the dark, is that what she

wanted? She’d worn a denim skirt with nothing underneath, and he spread her legs, put his

mouth on her and . . . “I licked you.”

This time, her breath sounded unsteady. Maybe she was just as gone as he was.

That thought was enough to make him lose the battle not to touch himself again. His back

bowed with the next secret, silent swipe of his palm against his swollen dick.

“Yes, you did.” She sighed ever so slightly, but he still saw nothing but blackness and his

fertile, full-color imagination. “Right between the legs.”

One more time. Up. Down. Up. Around the head. Needing . . . tight . . . flesh.

She was beautiful down there, delicious and responsive. He could see her glistening, taste

the moisture, feel the soft tuft of hair against his mouth. He wanted to be there right now. All

he had to do was turn, and touch, and taste.

“You never said a word.” Against his arm, he felt her breathe the words. So close. So, so

close. “You just turned me upside down.”

And she’d put him in her mouth while he had her in his. That was the moment their illicit

affair went from crazy lust to . . . intimacy. Maybe even more than that.

“There’s a number for that move, you know.” He had to keep this light.

“I’d never done anything like that before.” She exhaled softly, so close and warm he had to

roll his palm again, squeezing his dick between his fingers. Wishing it were Maggie. With his

hand wet with his own juice, he glided down the shaft, reaching his rock-hard balls, burning

for that hand to be hers.

Just one touch. A fingertip. A pinch. A single stroke from her soft palm, and he’d have

release. He opened his mouth, ready to say her name, ready to—

“And I’ve never done it since. Only with you.”

Everything scorched. His brain. His hand. His stiff cock as he stroked again, soundless,

stealthy, responding to the image of her legs around his head, her lips on him at the same time,

the fierceness of their climax as he shot into her mouth and she came in his at the same

moment.

“Sometimes I think about that.” Her voice cracked with the admission. Maybe she was

doing what he was doing: touching herself, pretending it was real. Stroking, stroking, stroking

without making a sound. The pressure built up to the point of pain.

“Actually,” she whispered. “I think about it a lot.”

He came, shooting one violent spurt in his hand, then another, then another. He fought not

to move, not to jerk with the release. He clenched his teeth so hard he could crack his jaw, but

he never made a sound as relief rocked him.

Except for his heart, which pounded his ribs relentlessly.

“Did you hear that?” She sat up.

Oh,
man
.

“I heard someone out there.”

He couldn’t hear anything but the blood rushing in his head. Then a single tap on the back

wall of the shed.

“Max?”

“To the rescue.”

Maggie shot up and Dan blinked, hearing her dressing. He did the same, surreptitiously

wiping his hand on his boxers. Once his jeans were on, he watched the first sliver of light as

Max’s knife sliced through the corner of the shed.

“Make it clean,” Dan said. “And easy for us to get back in.”

Max didn’t answer, but the sound of the knife screeched louder as it moved along the floor,

making an L-shaped metal flap for them to climb through.

Just as Dan popped his head into his T-shirt, sunlight illuminated the shed, momentarily

blinding him.

Maggie was already on her knees, ready to crawl through.

Max reached in and gave her a hand. “Careful, the metal edge is sharp.”

She eased through the opening, disappearing into the light.

Dan took another slow breath before following. “No sign of anyone in the house?”

“It looks vacant, but I stayed way clear of it.”

“We’ll come back at night,” Dan said as he kneeled down to follow Maggie out. “And

figure out what the hell’s going on here.”

“Bet it was hot in there,” Max said as he emerged.

“Hot as hell, and dark as night,” Dan said.

“He has lousy night vision,” Max told Maggie.

Dan turned to bend the metal back into place. Did the bastard have to reveal all his

shortcomings?

“He must,” she said. “Because after a few minutes, I could see everything.”

Dan just closed his eyes and swore.

MAGGIE’S HEAD WAS spinning from hours of brainstorming, conference calls with a former

national security adviser cryptographer, and the residual buzz she still felt from the heat that

had melted her in the shed.

And it wasn’t caused by the sun.

If her body betrayed her with one more crackle of desire, she’d scream. How could she

forget who Dan was and what he’d done? How could she steal glances at him and fantasize?

How could she let his loss of self-control in the shed twist her into one big knot of need?

At ten o’clock, she used Quinn as an excuse to slip away from the guesthouse living room

they’d turned into a “war room,” pausing to watch Cori on a second-floor balcony, walking

with her baby in her arms.

It made her ache for her own son, and remember why they were here: for his protection.

Quinn and Maggie had rooms on the first floor, in one of multiple wings shooting off from

the
Architectural Digest
–worthy home. At Quinn’s room, she tapped softly, then pushed the

door open. Goose ambled over for a sniff and rub, then jumped back to an overstuffed chair

across from the foot of the bed.

“You got a lot of sun today,” Maggie said, sitting on the queen-size bed and reaching out to

brush honey gold hair back from Quinn’s brow.

He wrinkled his nose. “Doesn’t hurt, though. Don’t make me put that aloe sh . . . stuff on

it.”

She just narrowed her eyes; it wasn’t the time for a language lecture. “Did you have fun?”

“Are you kidding? This place rocks.”

She surveyed the sharp angles of his face, the full shape of his mouth. How could she not

have seen the resemblance the minute Dan Gallagher walked into her bar? How could Quinn

not see it now?

Because when you’re not looking for something, you can miss it.

“So, you okay?” she asked, hoping to get something more than a monosyllabic answer.

He shrugged. “Yeah.”

“Come on. Talk to me.”

“Nothing. It’s all good.”

“Quinn,” she said. “Come on.”

He exhaled and shook his head. “All right. I mean, the whole boat thing still kind of creeps

me out, but . . .” He plucked at the silky comforter on the bed, averting his eyes.

“But what?”

“I know why I’m here.”

Her heart fluttered. “You do.” How much did he know?

“It’s like protective custody. Witness protection. Whatever you call it. You ever gonna tell

me what’s going on?”

Eventually. “We’re trying to figure that out.” “Mom, who are these people?” He waved a

hand at the room that dwarfed the one he had at home in scale and decor. “We don’t have

friends like this.”

“Honey, a long time ago I . . . I knew that man, Dan. And . . .” Oh God, was it the right

time? Should Dan be here when confessions were made?

She never wanted to lie—it was her ruling mantra of motherhood. Yet his entire conception

was built on a lie.

“Well, duh,” Quinn said. “It’s pretty obvious you guys were tight.”

“Really?” Were they that transparent?

Before he answered, Goose’s head shot up in alert, followed by his bark and a soft tap on

the door.

“How’s it going?” Dan asked, stepping in. “You hanging in there, Quinn?”

Their smiles kind of matched, and Maggie’s chest tightened.

“Yeah, I’m cool,” Quinn said. “Can’t believe there’s no flat screen TV in the guest room

though. It’s so ghetto.”

Maggie laughed at his sarcasm, and caught the spark of something in Dan’s eyes as he said,

“Yeah, call the management and complain, will ya?”

Connection—that’s what that look was. They thought alike, made the same smart-ass

comments. Dan had just realized it, and so did she.

“So when were you guys going to tell me that you two already knew each other?” If

Quinn’s question threw Dan, she couldn’t tell.

“Soon,” they replied in perfect unison.

“How ‘bout now?”

“All right,” Dan said. “Now’s good.” He glanced at Maggie, a question in his eyes as he

gave Goose an easy scratch and took over his chair. “It was before you were born, when your

mom lived in Miami.”

“When you were a waitress there?” Quinn asked. “Before you moved to Marathon?”

Damn. She hadn’t had a chance to tell Dan the story Smitty had made up.

“How’d you meet?” Quinn asked.

Maggie stayed silent, heat warming her cheeks. It wasn’t just Quinn’s conception that

embarrassed her; it was how she lived. That dark and degrading part of her life when she

chose to sleep with one criminal to keep a roof over her head, and screw around with another

one because she found him irresistible.

“I was an FBI agent,” Dan said.

Maggie managed a breath, and Quinn’s eyes widened as Dan’s cool quotient rocketed into

the stratosphere.

“Seriously?” He sat up straighter in bed.

“And I interviewed your mother for a case involving one of her . . . customers.”

God, he lied so smoothly. How could she forget that? And why wasn’t she contradicting

him?

“At the deli?” Quinn asked.

Dan glanced at her. “It was someone I was trying to arrest.”

This was her opportunity to set the record straight. To tell the truth, and teach her son what

his mother was really made of. She opened her mouth, then closed it.

Gutless.

“That’s what this is all about, isn’t it?” Quinn looked from one to the other. “I heard you

guys talking in the car about someone in jail. That’s who tried to kidnap me, isn’t it?”

“Yes,” Maggie said quickly, gratefully. “We think there might be a connection. That man

recently got out of prison and Dan came to warn me. Then those men took you in the boat, so

until we know who it is and why, you’re staying here.”

“Can you figure it out and get them?” he asked Dan.

“Probably. That’s what I do, and I work for a company that excels in precisely that sort of

thing. In the meantime, you’re safe here.”

He grinned. “In the ghetto.”

Maggie forced a laugh, but Dan’s chuckle was genuine as he stood. “And you haven’t even

seen the garage. Prepare for major Ferrari action.”

“No way!” Quinn almost popped out of bed.

“Not now,” Maggie said, pushing him down, along with her shame and guilt. “Tomorrow.

Now you have to sleep.”

Dan reached for her hand. “And you have to go back to the war room, Ms. Smith,” he said.

“I think we’re close to a breakthrough. Can you talk to Max? I’ll be right there.”

Was this just an excuse to be alone with Quinn? What would he say? Did he feel it was his

job to tell Quinn the truth? Would he think that would be sparing her somehow?

She kissed Quinn on the forehead, and slipped out of the room. When she stepped into the

wide hallway she paused, leaned against the wall by the door, and listened.

“Are you serious about the Ferrari?” Quinn asked.

“Yep. A cherry red Testarossa. Max’ll take you for a ride. Guaranteed.”

“Oh, man, that is so fuckin’ cool.”

Maggie cringed at the curse.

“Hey,” Dan said sharply. “No ride if you talk like that. It doesn’t impress me, and it makes

you sound stupid.”

“Yeah, okay.” He actually sounded contrite.

Maggie closed her eyes, fighting an unexpected wave of emotion. This is what Quinn

needed. A man to tell the truth. A father figure.

Not a father
figure
. His real father.

“Listen, I want to talk to you about something,” Dan said. “About your mom. When she

was younger.”

Oh God.
For a moment, there was just silence. Maggie ignored the thump of her heart,

breathlessly waiting for the next word.

“What?”

“I liked her. A lot.”

“Yeah? So why you telling me?” Quinn asked.

Was she imagining sharpness in that question? Had he just looked into Dan’s matching

green eyes and figured it out?

She fisted her hands, ready to respond or be there for Quinn.

“Because I want you to know that I still like her. A lot. Even after that conversation we had

the other night.”

What conversation?

“Dude. As if I couldn’t tell. Your tongue hangs out like Goose’s when you look at her.”

“It does not. Well, maybe a little,” he added. “ ’s cool, man.” Quinn was working so hard,

trying to be this man’s equal, trying to be tough. “Just remember one thing. I get a learner’s