Hunt Her Down (9 page)

warehouse walls, instantly followed by a yelp.

Alonso took another vicious swing as the man fell to the ground, landing the blow right on

his temple. That silenced him. But was it enough?

He whacked again, thudding the skull one more time, then again, and again, until his

attacker lay completely still.

Alonso looked at the door, waiting for the next one, the crowbar in his right hand, his knife

in his left.

Had this one been alone? Had he been the only one to suspect something of value might be

in the old, abandoned warehouse?

Nothing stirred, not even the rats.

After a minute, he dragged the body to the crate he’d emptied last time.

Alonso Jimenez was a strong man. He might have a cancer in his body, a broken family,

and a wrecked life, but he was still El Viejo. He hoisted the body into the crate, closed it, and

returned to the one he’d been about to open. He jabbed the bar in and grunted as he pushed,

the hinges squeaking. Then he reached in for a very heavy hammer to close the intruder’s

coffin.

He quickly finished his business, got what he needed to make this next deposit, and slipped

back into the night, satisfied. Almost satisfied.

He wouldn’t be truly happy until young Quinn Smith was home.

After seventy-two miserable tequila-soaked hours staring out at the ocean from a different

room at the same resort, Dan still didn’t have any answers. The questions just kept piling up.

Quinn had lived his whole life, thinking another man was his father, so what difference did

it make if he spent the rest of it with that mistaken notion?

Maggie was clearly running from her past; what right did he have to blow it up in her face

and wreck her life?

Dan had just dodged the commitment bullet with a woman he knew well and nearly loved;

why the hell would he seek it with a virtual stranger?

And the biggest question of all—how would Maggie feel? He had no doubt that she’d seen

what happened that night in Miami, and knew he’d betrayed her and used her to rat out the

whole operation, so the chances that she’d be overjoyed to have a reunion with Michael Scott

were nil. More likely, she’d use her little .22 right between his eyes. Or legs.

She hadn’t figured it out yet, but wasn’t he living on borrowed time? Couldn’t she see the

genetic imprint of him on her son?

It didn’t matter if she did or not. He had to tell her the truth.

Otherwise he’d have to go on knowing he had a son living on this earth whom he didn’t

know. Not to mention the financial responsibilities. Maggie was obviously struggling, and he

could make her life easy with the stroke of his pen.

Was it the right thing to do . . . or the wrong thing?

One thing he knew: he owed Maggie honesty. Then he had to respect what she did with that

information. If she chose not to reveal the truth to her son, he would abide by that. He’d still

give her money and whatever she needed, but he wouldn’t force his fatherhood on Quinn.

He waited until he was fairly certain she’d be at the bar, early enough so that there would

be few customers. As he parked his rented car in front of Smitty’s, the last vestiges of

sunshine faded. He didn’t want to tell her at home, when Quinn was there, and not while she

worked the bar or cleaned tables. Hopefully he could talk her into one more midnight

rendezvous.

As he climbed out of the Porsche, a loud bark pulled his attention and he spun around,

seeing Goose, and then meeting those very green eyes that had haunted him for two days. The

hero worship he’d earned over their dinner was replaced by cold teenage distrust and disgust

as Quinn yanked the leash and pulled the dog back.

“Hey, Quinn.”

“What are you doing here?” Quinn demanded, the big Australian shepherd winning the tug

of war and gaining ground. The boy’s flip-flops snapped on the pavement as Goose dragged

them both closer, a bushy tail whipping side to side, that massive tongue waving with each

loud pant.

Dan closed the space and knelt down to rub the dog’s neck. “I stopped by to see your

mom.”

“She doesn’t want to see you.” He yanked the leash, as if to say
don’t touch my dog.

Slowly, Dan stood. “Why’s that?”

“Beats me.” He brushed his hand over his hair in a gesture so familiar, Dan almost laughed.

In a few years, when the kid had a beard, he knew exactly how he’d rub that, too.

And, shit, he kind of wanted to be around to see it.

“She didn’t tell you?” Dan prodded.

Quinn managed to inch the dog back. “I don’t know. It’s, like, not my business, and I don’t

really get her all the time, but whatever you did to her the other night . . .”

“I didn’t do anything to her,” Dan said quietly. “What happened?”

“She cried all night, that’s what. I hate that.”

So did he. “Then I really better talk to her.”

“No, you really better leave her alone.” His gaze flickered to the car for a second, and

regret darkened his face. “Just . . . leave us alone.”

He fought the leash one more time and started off.

“Where are you going?” Dan’s question was natural, and came out without thinking.

Damn. He cared. Already.

“None of your fucking business.” Despite the tough guy talk, maybe because of it, he

suddenly sounded very young, and vulnerable.

“Quinn, don’t talk like that.”

He shrugged. “Whatev. You’re not the boss of me.”

And that, son, is where you are wrong
. But Dan said nothing as Quinn jogged away, trying

to keep up with Goose, who’d moved on to the next interesting scent.

He headed in, rethinking his plan for a late night meeting. There might not be time for that.

Or the opportunity.

The bar was empty except for one older man at the far end, watching ESPN on the flat

screen, the vague smell of stale beer and conch fritters in the air.

Brandy looked up from a magazine and gave him a wide, friendly smile. “Well look what

the hundred thousand dollar Porsche dragged in.”

At least
she
didn’t think he ought to leave them alone. “It’s a rental.”

“So I’ve heard. And it tells me a lot about a man who rents a car like that as opposed to,

say, a Taurus.”

Dan smiled as he leaned on the bar, resisting the urge to look around for Maggie. “What’s it

tell you?”

“That you’re rich.”

“Only that I have expensive tastes.” He tapped the bar and glanced around. “She here?”

Brandy cocked her shiny blond hair toward the door next to the back bar. “In the office.

Want me to get her?”

The office. Perfect. “Can I go see her?”

She frowned, considering. “She hasn’t talked much about you the past few days. I thought

maybe the crush got crushed.” Then she pointed a finger at him. “My godson, on the other

hand, hasn’t talked about anything else. That’s how I know what your rental cost.” She looked

hard at him. “You evidently made quite an impression on both of them.”

He nodded and took a few steps toward the office. “Is it unlocked?”

“Yeah. Go ahead. She’ll wished she had worn a little make up, but go on. Make her day.”

“That’s my plan.” He turned the knob without knocking and stepped right in, peeking

around the door just as she looked up from a metal desk covered in papers and forms.

“Oh,” she whispered, her whole being stilled by the sight of him.

Her face was pale except for faint shadows under her eyes. She obviously hadn’t slept

much. And he was about to make it all so much worse.

“Hey.” He didn’t wait for an invitation, but slipped in and closed the door, twisting the latch

position as he faced her. “You should keep this door locked if you’re back here with any

appreciable amount of money.”

“Not appreciable. But thanks.”

There was one chair with a little hole in the cane seat. A reject from the bar, no doubt. It

wasn’t offered.

“How are you?” he asked.

She lifted a shoulder. “Fine.”

He waited, but she didn’t say anything. “I’m fine, too,” he finally said, taking the chair that

wasn’t offered.

“Thanks for asking.” He winked to make it playful, but she just sucked her bottom lip in a

little and watched him warily.

“So . . .” he said, hands on his legs. “We need to talk.”

“I don’t want to talk, Dan.” She set down a pencil and crossed her arms. “I don’t want to

hear what you have to say, or flirt with you anymore, or make out under the stars, or get all

tangled up in you. I really don’t know how to make that any clearer.”

He scratched his face, definitely confused. She didn’t know yet, so why was she so

defensive? “Why?”

“I don’t owe you an explanation. I don’t owe you anything.”

He took a deep breath. “I owe you . . . the truth about something.”

“No, you don’t. You don’t owe me anything. Just leave and we’ll call it—”

“Lena! I need you!” Three whacks on the door followed Brandy’s call. Then the locked

handle jiggled. “Now!”

They were both up in a shot, Dan turning the lock to whip the door open at the panic in

Brandy’s voice. “Remember the Hispanic guy you told me to watch out for? With the snake

tattoo up his arm?”

Ramon
.

“I didn’t notice that tattoo at first and served him. Now he’s at the bar. Mean as spit and

demanding to see the owner.”

Maggie paled and put her hand to her throat. “I want him out of here.”

“Stay here. Both of you.” Dan pulled Brandy into the room with one hand, and put another

on Maggie’s shoulder. “I’ll handle this.”

Without waiting for a response, he strode back into the bar and took the empty seat on

Ramon’s left, getting a dark look and a fraction of a nod when he did.

“How ya doin’?” Dan asked, his voice low.

Ramon slid him another look. “Fuck off.”

Good to know he hadn’t changed. “You know who I am?”

“A prick.”

“That and house security. So you don’t want to piss me off. All you need to do is go out the

same way you came. Now.”

Finally he got Ramon’s full face, which had become a little craggier in prison, and still

housed plenty of hate in deep-set black eyes. “Kiss my ass, Mr. House Security. I know the

owner. And I’m not leavin’ until I see her.”

“That isn’t going to happen,” Dan said calmly. “So you can leave now.”

Ramon took a very long swig of beer, then set the bottle down and gave Dan one more

death stare. “She’s got something of mine and I’m not leaving without it.”

Ice dribbled through Dan’s veins.

Of course. What else would Ramon think? The kid might not look like him, but the math

would work in his favor. Magdalena Varcek was
his
lover fourteen years ago, too.

The ice turned to adrenaline and something else very dark. Possession. As Ramon reached

for the bottle, Dan grabbed it out of his hands. “No more. Out.”

With surprising speed, Ramon whipped his fist around, but Dan clipped it with the bottle.

Glass smashed against flesh, cracking as beer and shards hit the bar and they both leaped up,

Ramon’s bar stool clattering to the floor.

“Motherfu—”

Dan threw a fist into his cheek, then one into his gut. When he doubled over, Dan grabbed

his arm and twisted him around into a chokehold, one easy move. He jerked away from the

bar and yanked Ramon’s arm higher. “Time to leave, pal.”

With a solid shove, he got him to the front door, and used Ramon to push it open and thrust

him outside.

“Where’s your car?” Dan demanded, still not letting him loose.

“Down there.” He jerked his head toward a narrow street that ran alongside the bar.

“Fuckin’ A, man, let me go.”

Dan didn’t let up, scanning the streets for a possible accomplice and seeing no one. Around

the corner was a row of parked cars by a Dumpster and side entrances to the buildings.

He twisted the arm as he tightened his grip around Ramon’s throat. “Which one?”

“Here.” He notched his head toward a subcompact.

“Locked?”

“No. The keys are under the front seat.”

“Open it.” He let him reach the handle to pull open the door, then thrust him into the

driver’s seat with one push, racking his Glock before Ramon took his next breath.

“What the fuck, man?” He held his hands back and stared up at Dan in disbelief.

“Here’s what the fuck, man.” Dan crouched down and got in his face, pointing the barrel

between terrorstricken eyes. “If anyone ever sees you anywhere near this place again, if you

make any effort to so much as breathe the same air as Maggie Varcek, if you even think about

having contact with her, you’re a dead man. Is that clear?”

“Yeah.” He glared at Dan, his eyes shooting back and forth as he surveyed his face. “Who

are
you?”

“Her bodyguard.” Dan leaned forward. “And I take my job very seriously.”

“Oh, yeah? So do I. And I have business with her.”

“What business?”

“She has a fucking fortune and it’s mine!” His black eyes burned. “I want it back.”

Dan lifted the gun and touched it to Ramon’s sweaty forehead. “Get out. Don’t come back.”

He stood, keeping his arm steady, then slammed the door and kept the weapon aimed

straight while Ramon dug under the seat for the keys, turned on the engine, and drove away.

Just as the car pulled out of sight, he caught movement in a doorway to his left. He

instantly braced his weapon and locked on the shadow; then Maggie stepped onto the street.