Hunt Her Down (33 page)

runaway from my crazy home, taking up with druggies; then when you find me all those years

later, I’m just a single mom working in a bar.”

“I don’t know what I thought,” he admitted. “But you are one of the most beautiful women

I’ve ever known, and one of the sexiest, and also one of the strongest.”

“If we don’t find our son, Dan, I won’t be strong. My life will be over. So let’s get that

money. And let’s get him back.”

The way he exhaled said he didn’t agree but was doing it for her. “I feel like we’ve been

sent on a scavenger hunt in this country, and I’m not at all sure what we’re going to find. But

here we are; welcome to Las Marías.”

Filthy, narrow streets barely big enough to fit one car, rows of tenements and warehouses.

At the corner where they had to turn, four men stood on one side of the street, two of them

taking swings at each other, one staggering drunk, another massively barrel-chested, and all

openly armed. As the truck approached, they stopped and stared.

Maggie’s heart pounded hard, and she didn’t look to the side as they passed; Dan closed his

fingers over his gun.

He turned left, out of sight, and she watched the sideview mirror for any sign of them.

“All right,” she said, returning to the GPS. “We’re basically there. It’s on this block.”

One side was a parking lot with nothing but Dumpsters, a gutted bus, and trash. On the

other side were two warehouses divided by a narrow, garbage-strewn alley. The only opening

to the buildings appeared to be in the alley.

“Bring your gun,” Dan said.

As she reached in the bag for Smitty’s gun, he turned around to park with the driver’s side

right at the entrance to the alley. “We’ll leave it unlocked in case we have to run for it. Come

out on my side.”

She slid across the bench seat and climbed out, looking up and down the empty, silent

street. Dan stood right behind her, guiding her toward the alley, one hand on her shoulder, the

other holding his weapon. The gun she held added to the sense of surrealness, sneaking

through a Venezuelan alley, armed, her son’s life in the balance.

Trash rustled.

“Rats,” he whispered when she startled.

Lovely. “Is that a way in?” She pointed to an undersize entrance to the building on their

right halfway down the alley, partially opened. Dan inched it out with his foot, his gun raised

as he looked in. “Nothing that I can see in there. Let’s try the other building.”

Almost at the very end of the alley, they spied a metal door with a simple padlock.

“If someone’s hiding money in there, wouldn’t they use a better lock?” Maggie said.

“That would draw attention to it,” he replied, testing the lock.

“Can you pick it or shoot it?”

“Both, but picking will be quieter.” He pulled out his tool, working on the lock for a few

minutes before it opened with a quiet ping. He slipped a flashlight out of the bag and directed

her behind him. “Let me check it out first.”

More movement in the trash sent a shiver through her, but the rats on the ground were less

terrifying than the ones they’d passed on the street. She glanced at the road where the truck

was parked, but all seemed perfectly still.

“Whoa. Prepare to breathe through your mouth,” Dan said. “Stinks.”

She stepped over the threshold. The stench was overwhelming, like something had died in

there. She covered her mouth and gagged.

“Look at these crates,” Dan said, his undertone of excitement drawing her in. “They’re

exactly the same as those in the shed at Viejo’s house. Exactly.”

This time the shiver that ran down her spine wasn’t fear, it was a thrill of anticipation. “Are

you sure?”

“Yes.” He set the flashlight on the floor so it spread an umbrella of light over the area at the

far corner of the warehouse. The open area was lined with deep shelves for storage, most of

them empty. But in one corner there were half a dozen or more shipping crates, all with

reinforced wood corners and steel hinges.

As she got closer the stomach-turning smell got worse. But Dan was already at work on one

of the crates, using a crowbar he found on a shelf to force the lid open.

He had to holster the gun to use both hands and he worked furiously. “This is a custom

crate. Exactly what was in the shed. This came from Miami, I have no doubt.” He popped the

top open and scooped up the flashlight to peer inside, swearing under his breath. “Looks like

more damn tools.” He reached in and pulled out a thick, industrial-strength wrench. “No

drugs.”

“We’re not looking for drugs,” she reminded him. “We’re looking for laundered money.”

“You’re right.” He turned the flashlight on the wrench, peering hard at it. He bit it, then

examined it more closely. He pounded it on the crate, ran his finger along it, and finally

looked at her in wonder. “You are so right, Maggie. We are looking for money—and I think

that’s exactly what we just found.”

Every hair on the back of her neck stood up.

He held the wrench higher, the light casting an eerie shadow on his face. “It’s
gold
. If I’d

had more time in the shed, I would have figured it out. These aren’t tools, they’re melted gold

refashioned into something that will slip through customs unnoticed. I worked on a similar

case years ago, with gold being used to make lighting fixtures and mailboxes. This . . .” He

held it up, victory in his eyes. “Is laundered money.”

They’d
found
it! They had what they needed to get Quinn back, what his kidnapper wanted.

“Now what? How do we get it out of here? Don’t even
think
about some scheme to get this

back to the government, or lure someone here with the coordinates. This …” She marched to

another crate, pounding it to make her point. “Is Quinn’s ransom.”

The opened lid bounced under her hand, sending a wave of the foulest stench rolling out

from the crate. “Oh my God,” she said, backing away. “That smells . . . like . . . ”

Nudging her to the side, Dan lifted the lid, then let out a grunt. “A dead body.”

She staggered backward, bile rising up in her mouth so suddenly, she had to throw up.

Holding it in, she ran to the door with a strangled, “I need air.”

Before Dan could stop her she bolted into the alley, running around the back of the building

to vomit. She gagged again afterward, then tried to catch her breath, her blood thumping in

her ears.

A dead body.

The sound of footsteps in the alley pulled a shocked gasp from her. She froze, horrified, flat

against the building as she listened.

Did Dan hear them coming?

The crack of a gunshot made her jump and slam her hand over her mouth to keep from

giving herself away. Did she dare stick her head around the corner to see if Dan had escaped?

He wouldn’t know where she went; he’d run to the car if he escaped. Should she scream or

run or—

Another deafening explosion of gunfire, two shots fired back to back. She stared at the

alley, paralyzed. Then a shadow moved, a foot scuffed. Someone was right around the corner,

about to find her. About to kill her. She lifted her gun, ready to fire.

Another scuff, inches away. She took a breath, clenched her jaw, and prepared to kill to stay

alive.

Someone came around the corner, and she stared in horror at the familiar eyes that were

wide in terror, a gun pointed directly at his temple.

“Just do what he says, Mom. Drop the gun, or he’s gonna kill me.”

TWO MEN STOOD over the open crate ten feet away from where Dan lay, swearing in Spanish

as they pulled nails, then a wrench from the crate. He knew enough of the language to know

that they’d been duped, expecting money for the shot they’d just taken.

They might not like what they’d found, but one of those tools had just saved his life. The

metal was warm against the skin of his belly where he’d shoved it when he heard the

footsteps, where it had deflected a bullet aimed at his gut.

But he didn’t dare move. They thought they’d killed him, and were too pissed or distracted

to notice there was no blood coming from the hole in his shirt. At least they didn’t know about

Maggie.

“No lo siga.”
Don’t follow him.
“El es un asshole.”

Who
was an asshole?

Was someone else out there? With Maggie? Moving just his eyes, he managed to locate his

weapon about a foot away.

“Mierda!”
One lifted the lid of the body crate and waved the stench away.
“Maracucho

cabrón.”
He dropped the lid with a soft thud and spoke in rapid, hushed tones to the other

one, and Dan was only able to decipher bits of what they said.

They were going to take the tools anyway, even though they wanted money. Let the guy go

to the country? Is that what they said? Take . . . her or him to the plantation? The
plantation
.

He wasn’t sure, but these two weren’t alone—someone could be out there with Maggie.

Dan lunged for the gun. One of them whipped around, reaching for a weapon, but not fast

enough. Dan fired right at his face, then again at the stomach, taking him down as the other

fumbled to find the gun that he’d put down.

It gave Dan just enough time to roll up and charge forward, shooting him in the leg. He

scooped up his duffel and ran into the alley. The truck was still there; no sign of Maggie.

He turned in the opposite direction, to the street that ran behind the back. It was empty, but

for more trash and her little .22. He swore, bending to pick it up. Next to it lay three silver

bracelets.

Three means . . .
follow me
.

To the plantation?

He bolted for the car, leaving bodies and an injured man and damn near a hundred million

in gold behind. Nothing mattered but Maggie, and getting to Viejo’s plantation.

If only he knew where the hell it was.

Maggie closed her fingers over the torn vinyl seat in the back of the van. The vehicle careened

down city streets at a dangerous speed, and in an even more dangerous direction. West, to the

mountains, to Monte Verde. To El Viejo, who knew her every secret now, and would exact his

revenge on her.

And on Quinn.

They couldn’t see each other, sitting back to back on the floor of a gutted out, windowless

van. Their hands bound together, Maggie could feel her son’s body trembling in fear, and the

occasional sniff told her he was losing the battle not to cry.

During the few moments when she didn’t use every brain cell to pray for her life and

Quinn’s, she stole glimpses of her captor.

How could they have overlooked him? He’d been with El Viejo right from the start. Before

Maggie arrived, and before Dan. And after it was all over, he was still there, safe in one of his

many disguises. Including the most powerful one: FBI agent.

Had Dan ever questioned Joel Sancere’s role from the day he got “sick” and stayed with El

Viejo to this week when he scoffed at the rule-bending and offered his unsolicited advice

about who she should trust? Not really.

He faced them, leaning against the back doors, his threatening stare and gun trained on

them, his heavy shoulders square and unyielding.

She took a breath, working up her nerve. “Why are you—”

He lifted the gun, silencing her.

“Mom. Don’t,” Quinn insisted, his voice husky from crying. “The guy’s a jerk. Just don’t.”

The sound of Quinn’s voice squeezed her heart. It was the first thing he’d said since they

were taken at gunpoint into the waiting van.

“Are you okay, honey?” she asked.

Their captor frowned, but didn’t move his weapon.

“I’m scared,” he admitted softly. “And I’m really sorry.”

“Don’t be scared,” she said, the words sounding hollow as the van took another terrifying

turn at sixty miles an hour.

She could only imagine what had happened back in the warehouse. Was Dan lying there

dead? Her whole body ached at the thought.

Maybe he’d escaped. Maybe he’d found her bracelets. Maybe he’d understand the clue.

But how would he know where to go?

It was hopeless. Viejo would never let her live. And Lola had faxed that birth certificate to

him, so he knew the truth about Quinn. He’d never let him live, either.

Through the screen of thick wiring that separated them from the driver, she could see

mountains. They were leaving the city.

“You shouldn’t have meddled in my case.”

Maggie looked at Joel, surprised. “
This
is how you handle a case? Abducting kids and

witnesses? Shooting a former agent?”

“What I meant to say was that Dan shouldn’t have meddled in the case.”

She bit her lower lip and turned away.

“I had it completely under control.”

“Yeah, I see that,” she said under her breath.

“I’ve been working Viejo for years,” he said, leaning forward. “Shipment by shipment, box

by box, I’ve been getting the money back to where it belongs. The government.”

She gave him an incredulous look. “I was in that ware house. I saw the tools made of gold.

None of that is being shipped to the federal government.”

“You’re wrong, my dear. I’m merely the conduit, taking Viejo’s unlaundered cash and

getting it into a safe place where it will be turned over to the U.S. Government. When I have

it all, which should be very soon, I’ll be a hero.”