Hunt Her Down

  Max’s gaze slipped to Dan, and a lifetime of nonverbal communication screamed the obvious.

  He knew.

  Maggie stepped forward. “I really can’t thank you enough for letting Quinn stay here,” she said to Cori. “I hope it’s not an imposition.”

  “Not at all. Max abhors these weeks in Miami, and he’s happy for the company while I’m out.” Cori reached out and slipped an arm around Dan. “And this one is a fixture in our family.”

  Dan smiled down at her, surveying her face for a clue.

  Did she know, too? He got nothing but her guileless smile. “Thanks, Cor,” he said, giving her a squeeze.

  Goose was already bolting as Quinn struggled to hold him.

  “Why don’t we take him to the back,” Cori suggested. “The yard’s completely fenced in, and the dock is gated off. Would you like to come and look around, Maggie?”

  She guided them around the side of the house, leaving Dan and Max to get the bags. Dan popped the front well, practically feeling Max close behind him.

  Peyton cooed and Dan lifted the bags out, not turning to respond to the child as he normally would. Instead, he waited for the ax to fall.

  Is he yours? Have you told her? Do you realize what this—

  “Does Lucy know?”

  Dan froze while lifting his duffel bag. Didn’t see that coming.

  “That I’m here, and you’re protecting Quinn? Yes. In fact, she’s going to call in a few minutes with some reports I asked for.”

  “But does she know you have a son?”

  He turned and met the challenge in Max’s dark eyes, an expression he’d seen a million times. “What’s much more important is that Quinn doesn’t know yet, so don’t say anything. Do you think Cori can see it?”

  “Doubtful. She didn’t know you at that age. I did. How about Maggie?”

  “I told her. It’s been kind of rough on her. She thought I was dead, you know.”

  Max nodded, tugging Peyton a little closer. “What’re you going to do?”

  “I told you last night. Find the cash, turn it over, and get the Jimenez family off Maggie’s and Quinn’s backs.”

  Max’s thick brows furrowed. “That’s not what I mean.”

  “What do you mean? What am I going to do with a kid? How am I supposed to be a father to him? What does this do to all that freedom I just acquired?”

  Slowly, Max grinned, then slid a look at his little boy. “You know what I love about the guy, Peyt? You don’t have to say a thing. He’ll just spill his guts all over the sidewalk and I don’t even have to ask.”

  Dan held in his curse in deference to innocent ears.

  “Let’s go inside,” he said instead, heading toward the door, Max chuckling behind him.

  In the cool marble foyer, he dumped the bags and stabbed his fingers through his hair, turning to Max.

  “I had no idea,” he said. “If I’d known she was pregnant . . .” He’d what? Sent money? Called on Christmas? Tried to talk her out of keeping the child at all? “Anyway, I didn’t, and now I have to deal with this. So I’d appreciate a little less humor and a little more sympathy.”

  Max looked at Peyton. “See? Guts. Everywhere.” He set him down carefully, giving him a hand until he was completely steady on his two-year-old feet. Then Peyton shot off like a rocket.

  Max led them deeper into the house, past a towering curved staircase and formal living area and into the much less ostentatious family room. Toys and trucks and a playpen vied for floor space, and Dan had to scoop up a few stuffed animals to drop onto the leather sofa.

  “I’d ask if you’re sure, but he’s a clone,” Max said.

  Dan spread his hands along the back of the sofa, exhaling. “I don’t know when and how or even if Maggie’s going to tell him.”

  “Then I better keep our old high school yearbook under lock and key. Because one look at Danny Gallagher, class of ‘85, and he’s going to see which way the DNA twirls.”

  “Yeah, I got your drift on that.”

  “Don’t let him find out the wrong way,” Max said quietly. “It’s going to be hard enough as it is.”

  Cori’s laughter preceded the group into the room through an arched opening from the patio. Quinn led the way, letting himself be pulled by Peyton.

  “He’s strong for a little thing,” he said, pretending he was about to fall.

  Peyton looked up and beamed a two-toothed grin. “Kin.” He pointed at the boy and stomped his feet with excitement. “Kin.”

  “He likes you,” Dan said. “I can never get him to say my name. C’mere, Peyton. Give Uncle Dan a hug.” Dan reached his arms out and Peyton toddled over, drool sliding down his chin.

  He threw himself into Dan’s arms, then climbed up on his lap.

  “What d’you say, monster?”

  Peyton slapped a damp palm on Dan’s face and gave him a loopy smile. “Kin.”

  Son of a bitch, could everyone see the resemblance?

  On his belt, his cell phone rang with the first few notes of “Lucy in the Sky With Diamonds.” He saw Cori and Max share a look as he set Peyton on the floor and stood up.

  “Can I take this in your office?” he asked.

  “Of course,” Max said, lifting a knowing brow. “You need privacy.”

  “No, I need to put this on speaker.” He cocked his head toward Maggie, waving her toward him. “C’mon. You should hear everything firsthand.”

  Cori swooped in to gather the baby in her arms. “We’ll finish the tour with Quinn, then.”

  In the plush jungle-themed office, Dan put his cell phone on the coffee table and did the audio introductions as Maggie settled onto the zebra-striped sofa across from him.

  Lucy, being Lucy, asked no questions about Maggie. But then Lucy, being Lucy, probably had a full top-secret FBI file in front of her, had memorized every detail about their former relationship, and had deduced the rest between the lines.

  Dan pictured the woman he’d called boss for the past seven or eight years, seated at her massive antique table, no doubt dressed in a cream or white silk designer suit, six-hundred-dollar shoes hanging from her perfectly manicured toes as she crossed her mile-long legs, her black hair loose and long.

  The image usually pulled at something basic in his gut, but today he felt nothing but the urge to look at Maggie, her jean-clad legs tucked under her, flip-flops on the floor, a thin T-shirt clinging to her narrow frame. She nibbled on her thumbnail, listening, then looked up and caught his gaze.

  She couldn’t be more different from Lucy if she tried.

  She held his eye contact, her expression dragging at something even more basic and raw in his gut. Was that because she was the mother of his child? Or was this just ordinary garden-variety lust? He’d fought the feeling all night long, sleeping on a lumpy sofa in her enclosed patio, knowing she was right down the hall.

  “Let’s start with Lourdes Jimenez,” Lucy said. “We needed to go to a Level 3 background check, because no such woman seemed to exist.”

  “But you found her,” he said into the speakerphone, not looking away from Maggie.

  “Of course. The problem was that no one with that name was documented as being related to Alonso or Ramon Jimenez. Level 2, which accounts for marriages, divorces, and changes in Social Security docs, also came up empty. But then we tackled legal name changes and bingo.”

  “So who is she now?”

  “Lola James, the president and CEO of a Miami-based shipping company called Omnibus Transport, a rapidly growing freight and cargo company,”

  Dan snorted. “Don’t tell me she’s gone into the family business of drug smuggling?”

  “Yes and no,” Lucy said. “Omnibus is one hundred percent clean, without even a shadow of a misdeed. Ms. James has a perfect record, with no obvious ties to the drug world. The company is highly profitable, she’s a welldocumented workaholic, and her employees are loyal and long-standing. But here’s where things get interesting.”

&nbs
p; “They always do,” Dan said.

  “Omnibus Transport is a new name for an old company that Lourdes bought, formerly known as AJ Cargo. The original warehouse is still listed as property owned by Omnibus, although her offices are downtown. And the house once owned by her father, Alonso Jimenez, is also an Omnibus asset, although Ms. James lives in a condo on Brickell Avenue. The house wasn’t confiscated by the feds because Jimenez paid his fine in cash, and Florida law prevents the government from confiscating property of a felon if they pay.”

  “Who lives in the house?”

  “As far as we can tell, no one. I’ll send all this in an email with documentation and addresses, phone numbers, et cetera, Dan. You can check it out.”

  “Will do. What else do you have? Anything on Constantine Xenakis? I wasn’t entirely sure how to spell that name.”

  “I know how to spell it,” Lucy said flatly. “And I already had a file an inch thick. An employee file.”

  Dan shot forward. “He was a Bullet Catcher? When?”

  “Briefly, before you joined the company. He did one job, a diamond drop. Then I let him go.”

  “Why?” Despite his suspicions about the guy, Dan could easily see him as a Bullet Catcher. No wonder he’d moved over when he heard Dan’s name. No doubt he recognized it.

  “I let him go on gut instinct, nothing tangible. Some diamonds were missing from the drop, but they later reappeared. There was just something about him I wasn’t sure I could trust, despite some exemplary skills. But it was early in the start of this company, and I didn’t think he was what I wanted.”

  “So what’s he doing now?”

  “From what I can tell, living well in Tarpon Springs, Florida. But not employed. Not gainfully, anyway.”

  Dan dropped back on the sofa. “My guess? He’s a professional thief, a hired mercenary. He doesn’t want the fortune,” he said, directing his comment to Maggie. “Someone’s paying him to find it.”

  “It wouldn’t surprise me,” Lucy replied. “But, beyond what I just told you, I have nothing new on him, except that I assume he freelances his services, so he could be working for anyone. Oh, and I know you were going to arrange access to the evidence files in the FBI’s Miami office. I’m friends with the new SAC there, Thomas Vincenze. Have you ever met him?”

  “No.” But who wasn’t friends with Lucy?

  “He’s just taken over that office after some time in Los Angeles. He owes me a favor, so I put a call in. He’s expecting you in an hour.”

  “Great. I’ve already been in touch with Joel Sancere, my partner on the case. He knows I’m coming in.”

  “Now pick up privately, Dan.” It wasn’t a request.

  He took the cell phone off speaker and put it to his ear. “ ’Sup?”

  “I know you’re on leave, but I may have a job down in Florida. Since you’re already down there, I thought you might consider it.”

  He looked at Maggie, who was still curled on the zebra stripes, studying him carefully.

  “I don’t know.” There was a lot of ground to cover with Maggie, and he hadn’t even started yet.

  He heard a soft sigh. “Dan, when are you coming back to work?”

  “Someday.”

  “That’s not good enough for me.”

  Dan laughed. “Nothing’s good enough for you. See ya, Juice. I’ll be in touch.” He flipped the phone closed and caught Maggie’s smile.

  “Efficient, isn’t she?” she asked.

  “You have no idea.” He stood and offered her a hand. “Do you think you can handle a trip to the Miami FBI offices?”

  She nodded, letting him pull her up. “Yeah. I think Quinn is in good hands here.”

  As he opened the door, Peyton shot by, followed by Quinn.

  “We’re going swimming,” he said, throwing the announcement at Maggie as he bounded by. “The pool is like a thousand feet long!”

  As he disappeared, she looked up at Dan. “He may never want to leave.”

  Alonso Jimenez slammed his massive hands on the table, breathing so hard and so slow that he could feel his nostrils quiver with each shaky inhale. His fury couldn’t be contained.

  Across the table, the blood drained from his men’s faces.

  “Viejo,” Pedro said.

  “Think of your heart.”

  “Think of yours!” he spat back. “Think how it will feel when I rip it out of your chest and feed it to wolves for letting a woman outsmart you.”

  Both men shifted uncomfortably, looking anywhere but at Alonso. Fear, respect, and shame kept their eyes averted. Not that he’d really hurt them. He had so few loyal men left, he couldn’t afford to lose even a stupid one.

  “And now she’s hiding him, of course. You’ve ruined the opportunity, now, when time is of the essence and my . . .” Days are nearly over. But they could never know about the cancer. No one could, until he’d finished and replaced lying, stupid Ramon with his only hope—a grandson he’d never met. “My needs are not yet fulfilled.”

  “I can find him, Viejo,” Roberto said. He was older, and his loyalty to the Jimenez family ran deep. But Pedro? Viejo couldn’t even look at the filthy cheat who was in the game for the money only.

  That’s all he could find to work for him now, and why his activities had to stay secret and be handled on his own. But getting his grandson to Monte Verde couldn’t be done alone.

  “Give me time, and I can find him and bring him to you,” Roberto repeated, his dark eyes burning with intensity.

  No, he could never kill this man. Time was, he would have picked up a butcher knife and driven it through his heart to make an example, to maintain his power. But his power, like his body, was faltering, and loyalty like this man’s was more valuable than examples.

  “You tried and failed,” Alonso said. “Now he is hidden and protected.”

  “I will get him,” Roberto said defiantly. “For you, Viejo. I will find your grandson and bring him to your plantation. He belongs at Monte Verde. He will start the next generation.”

  Roberto was also very good at saying exactly what he thought Alonso wanted to hear.

  “I will find him,” Alonso replied. “I have many resources.” That was a lie. He had one resource, and it cost him dearly. But he’d paid the fee gladly all these years, rewarded with knowledge. Pictures. Even a videotape of Quinn playing in the park with a big brown dog, a fairhaired boy who obviously favored Caridad’s side.

  Across the room, the ancient fax machine trilled with an incoming call. The next shipment must be on its way. He pushed himself up, using both hands, his strength sapped just from this conversation.

  He blocked the machine from their view. The readout that lit with the sender’s phone number had long ago burned out, but he knew who was transmitting this information. The same person who would find his grandson.

  As the paper inched into the tray, he saw that a strange design trimmed the paper, as though the sender had used some sort of official document to write the information.

  This should just be a confirmation that the shipment had been sent from the code name they used: Michael Scott. Alonso frowned, glancing over his shoulder at the two men who shared a look of hope, like chastised children who prayed the worst they would get was a tongue-lashing.

  Half of the paper was through the machine now, enough to pull Alonso’s attention from his men to the message.

  This was an official document. It was a certificate of some sort.

  His belly tightened, because anything out of the norm was never a good thing. He’d been expecting a shipping number, an arrival time, a cargo code.

  Finally the document completed printing, and the machine shut down, releasing the paper. Alonso lifted it, frowning as he worked to translate the English, much better at speaking the language than reading it.

  Certificate of Birth.

  Birth . . . he understood that.

  Quinn Varcek Smith.

  He certainly understood that.

  Mother
. Madre. Yes, Magdalena Varcek. He recognized that name, of course.

  Father. Padre.

  He sucked in a breath and felt his treacherous heart skip one beat, then another.

  “El Viejo?” Pedro asked. “Bad news?”

  Bad news. Horrible news. Impossible, wrong, despicable news. His head grew light, his chest felt squeezed by a vise, his powerful fingers trembled.

  This could not be real. This was a cruel and vicious joke, played by someone who wanted to speed his demise. The words shattered and changed and ruined everything.

  There was the code name he’d been expecting, but never, never like this.

  Was it possible? Had she been the betrayer, not Ramon? Had he blamed the wrong person all these years? Did he have men out to kill a son who had not done anything except the crime of stupidity by not watching his woman more closely?

  Bile rose in his throat as the harsh reality settled over him.

  The boy was not his blood.

  Then what did he have left to live for? Nothing. Absolutely nothing but revenge.

  He stepped back from the machine, holding the paper as if it burned his fingers. She had to die. No, no, it had to be worse than death.

  The whore who had ended his life as he knew it, ruined his business, and put him in prison, had to suffer first. Alonso folded the paper to cover the hateful words.

  The puta would watch her own son die. Then she would pay for her betrayal with her life. And when that was over, he’d have one last man to kill.

  Michael Scott. This time, his death would be real.

  CHAPTER NINE

  ONCE MAGGIE KNEW Dan’s former identity, she easily picked up the nuances that made the man she knew similar to the man who walked into the FBI offices with her. Not that his cover hadn’t been thorough, but there were subtleties in his speech patterns, the way he moved his brows and hands, even his gait and posture, that were his regardless of hair color or the shape of his nose.

  Not so with Joel Sancere. As the stocky, stiff-backed, military-buzzed FBI agent marched to greet them in the lobby, Maggie stared in amazement that this man was the sloppy, slacky Juan Santiago who had seemed to be kept around more for his off-color jokes than his role in the drug dealing.