Hunt Her Down

  In her side-view mirror, she watched Ramon get out of his car. She had no option but to wait for a truck to pass, then make her own U-turn, which put her in front of a handicapped spot. She took it while Ramon crossed the street.

  The cell phone rang and she didn’t even have a chance to say hello after she pressed talk.

  “Where the hell are you, Maggie?”

  “I followed Ramon, and he’s going into—”

  “What?”

  “Just listen to me,” she insisted. “I followed him to 2180 Brickell Avenue. Isn’t that the address in Lola’s file?”

  “Don’t even think about it, Maggie. Get back here. Now.”

  She did think about it, but not for long. Following Ramon on foot was stupid and dangerous.

  “Okay. I’m only ten minutes away.” She pulled out of her spot and worked back into traffic. “But listen to me. Someone attacked Brandy last night. Someone who called me Maggie Varcek. No one knows me by that name except you and the Jimenez family. What did Lola say?”

  “Nothing. Just hurry up and I’ll tell you.”

  “Be right there.” She saw Ramon disappear into a condo building. “But, Dan, please, I need you to get someone down to Marathon to protect Brandy. That guy said he’d be back today. And he has the keys to the bar.”

  “Done. Now drive, fast, Maggie.”

  Traffic was on her side on the way back, and she spotted Dan waiting outside the office building. While he headed for the car, she braced herself for a barrage. You shouldn’t have done that. I told you to stay there. What were you thinking?

  “Good work,” he said as he got in and yanked on his seat belt. “How’d it drive?”

  She managed a smile. “Like a dream.” She pressed the clutch and eased into first without a pop. “I thought you’d be furious that I followed him.”

  “I was. And worried when you didn’t answer the phone, but I’d’ve done the same thing.”

  She merged into traffic and threw him a look. “Bodyguards for Brandy?”

  “Lucy’s working on getting a team down there today.”

  Taking her hand off the gearshift, she placed it on his arm. “Thank you. What happened with Lola?”

  “She’s missing.”

  “Missing? What do you mean?”

  “She left the office yesterday afternoon and didn’t come in this morning.”

  “She must be home. Ramon just went into her condo.”

  “Let’s go find out. According to her assistant, it’s very unusual for Lola to miss a Sunday, let alone a normal workday.”

  While he replayed his conversation, Maggie retraced the route down to Brickell Avenue until they reached the condo.

  “There’s his car,” she said, pointing to it; then she turned to the condo entrance. “And look at that. There he is.”

  Ramon was far enough away that they couldn’t make out his expression as he paused in the arched entryway to light a cigarette. Dan had the seat belt off and his hand on the door before she took her next breath.

  “What are you going to do, shake him down in broad daylight, on the street?”

  “I’m a little more subtle than that. Drive around for ten minutes, then come back for me.”

  “I’ll find a place to park.”

  He peered at the row of parallel-parked cars. “Doubtful.” He leaped out of the car before she’d even brought it to a full stop and she drove on. She expected him to walk toward the condo, toward Ramon, but instead he crossed the street and headed right for Ramon’s car.

  This time he didn’t look sexy. He looked like a man capable of killing someone.

  Still watching him, she touched the accelerator, then looked back at the road—and slammed on the brakes with a gasp, screeching inches from Ramon.

  She held her breath, half expecting him to recognize her, but he just flicked his cigarette onto the hood of the Porsche and sauntered to his car.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  AY, MEIRDA! RAMON resisted the urge to flip the bird at the moron chick in the sports car. But his frustration was really aimed at someone else.

  Where the fuck was his sister?

  First she tried to end-run him by sending someone else to shake down Maggie. Then she didn’t show for their meeting at the office. And now she wasn’t home at all.

  At least he hadn’t told her everything he knew. She was a conniving puta, no matter what she called herself or how much she rearranged her face and their father’s business. But as long as he was on El Viejo’s hit list, he needed her. That’s why he’d told her about the fortunes. Next thing he knew, she was lying, and now she disappeared.

  He yanked the car door open and slid in.

  An arm shot out from the backseat and crushed his throat, making his eyes pop open as he choked.

  “You really ought to lock your doors.”

  He sucked in a breath and looked up at the rearview mirror, tilted so it landed right on his attacker. Mother of God, it was that prick who kicked him out of the bar. Maggie’s muscle.

  The man loosened his chokehold, but replaced it with the cold nose of his gun.

  “What the fuck do you want?” Ramon’s gaze slipped to the glove box. Had he been in there? Had he found the only thing of value he owned?

  The man dug the muzzle of the weapon deeper into Ramon’s neck. “Were you making trouble in the Keys again last night?”

  Ramon didn’t dare move, but studied the mirror reflecting both their faces. Blazing sun torched the leather seats as the temperature rose in the little car, forming beads of sweat on Ramon’s upper lip. This mother didn’t even look lukewarm.

  When he didn’t answer the question, the guy jabbed the gun harder. “How’s your sister?”

  Ramon’s eyes widened, staring back at the cool green eyes. No one knew Lola James was his sister, except his father. Was this one of Viejo’s hit men?

  “Did she have want you want? Did she keep it all these years?”

  He knew that? Then it couldn’t be one of Viejo’s hit men. Besides, he was in bed with Maggie, this one, so he probably had one of the fortunes already. And there wouldn’t be time for talking when his father’s men found him.

  “I don’t know what you want from me, man, but you ain’t gettin’ it. Get the fuck out of my car and leave me alone.”

  “What’d you two talk about, you and Lourdes? Planning your old man’s funeral?”

  “You yankin’ my balls for fun, bro?”

  “I’m not having any fun,” he said. “And I’m not your bro.”

  If this guy did work for Viejo, this was the last conversation he was ever gonna have. Didn’t he have anything left to bargain with? One more time, he cut his gaze to the glove box.

  “Shit.” He dragged out the word, flipping his hair out of his face. “I faced badder motherhumpers than you in prison.” He reached for the keys he’d left under the seat but that arm whipped around for another crunch of his windpipe.

  “Do you want to go back there, Ramon?”

  “Fuck you,” he managed to choke. “You can’t send me there.”

  “Oh, no? I did once already.”

  Ramon tried to break the hold, but that just made the guy clench tighter. “Who . . . are . . . you?” he rasped.

  “You used to call me Miguel. Amigo Miguel.”

  What?

  “Michael Scott was my official name.”

  No way. No effing way. His gaze shot to the rearview mirror to see his captor’s face again. Impossible. Different eyes. Different hair. Different man.

  The fucking FBI narc was . . . not dead? Holy shit.

  “Now why don’t you tell me exactly what you’re trying to get from Maggie, and why you keep showing up and hurting my eyes with your ugly face. What are you up to, Ramon? Have you been over to the old house lately? Doing business again?”

  The grip loosened enough for Ramon to speak, but even swallowing hurt like a bitch.

  “No,” he managed. He didn’t dare go anywhere near th
at house. Viejo’s men were all over the place—here, down in the Keys. Man, he was so marked for death it wasn’t funny.

  And if this wasn’t Viejo’s hired assassin, was he really Michael Scott?

  Wait a minute. That’s why Lourdes wasn’t here. She wasn’t screwing him with the fortunes—she’d turned him in. He heard she did deals with the feds, determined to make her company all squeaky clean and legit. Of course. Lourdes had done this deal.

  Couldn’t Viejo see who the real traitor in the family was?

  But the money, or the hope of it, was the only way Ramon was going to prove to El Viejo that he wasn’t a traitor, that he hadn’t been the one to leak stuff to the FBI. He still belonged in the family.

  “Prove it,” he said gruffly. “Prove you are Miguel.”

  The other man laughed. “I don’t have to prove anything since I’m the one holding the gun, but go ahead. Give me a little test.”

  He’d taught his friend Miguel a very little bit of important Spanish, but mostly he taught him curse words and dumb sayings, laughing his ass off at the way Michael would screw up the pronunciation. One of those sayings had become a joke between them.

  “La vida es breve,” Ramon said. Life is short.

  The other man smiled. “Vámonos pa’l carajo y vamos a joder toda la fregada noche!” His smile widened as he loosened his grip enough for Ramon to easily breathe again. “I finally found out what it meant, you dirty bastard.”

  Holy shit. He even butchered the words in the same goddamn way. Michael Scott, the one person who knew that Ramon hadn’t leaked family secrets, was alive. And that meant that the one person on earth who knew Ramon was innocent of what Viejo accused him of . . . was sitting here in his car.

  The first coil of hope started to unwind in his chest. What would it take? If he really was a fed, money probably wouldn’t work. But… fame and glory and a big score might do the trick.

  “Amigo Miguel,” Ramon said, a slow broad smile on his face. “It’s good to see you, man.”

  “Get real, Ramon.”

  “I’m real, bro. I’m real.”

  “Real desperate.”

  Ramon attempted to turn, to look him in the eye. “Why don’t we make a deal?”

  He got a doubtful look in return. “I don’t know what you want, but you don’t have much to barter with.”

  “That’s where you’re wrong, Miguel. I have a hundred million dollars.”

  One eyebrow notched in interest. “Then you should get a better car.”

  “I’m going to lean forward, now. Very slowly.” Ramon inched slightly toward the glove box. “I’m going to open that little door.”

  “I don’t think so.”

  Ramon was undeterred. “And I’m going to reach in and pull out a tiny piece of paper worth a hundred million dollars.”

  “Is that right?”

  “If you don’t believe me, fine. But you have a choice. You can keep it for yourself, or you can turn it over to your bosses at the FBI and get lots of ribbons and honors, or whatever the fuck you get in the FBI for turning over millions in drug money for the government.”

  “You get to stay out of jail. Which is all I can offer you.”

  “But you have something else I need, amigo. You have the truth.”

  He got a look of interest and distrust in response.

  “I’ll show it to you, if you’ll let me get it.”

  Miguel nodded a fraction. “You so much as touch a weapon and you’re dead.”

  He had no doubt that was the case. He flipped the latch and the glove box door dropped open, revealing the rental papers. Behind him, the man inched to the right, looking for a gun hidden in the glove box, of course. There was none. His gun was under his seat.

  Very slowly, Ramon slid his hand inside the opening, his fingers grazing the edge where he’d tucked the fortune. Nothing.

  “Fuck,” he whispered, reaching deeper. He knew it was there. He’d made the decision not to take it up to Lourdes until he saw the other ones she said she’d—

  “Are you looking for this?”

  He opened his hand and revealed the tiny Chinese fortune, right under Ramon’s nose. The bastard already had it.

  “How many are there, Ramon?”

  Son of a bitch. How could he barter now? “Four.”

  “Who has the other one?”

  “Maggie,” he said, knowing that wasn’t new information.

  “Who else?” he demanded tapping Ramon’s jaw with the gun.

  What difference did it make? Lourdes had already betrayed him, so he was back to making deals with feds. “My sister and the FBI. But that piece of paper is worthless if you don’t know how to read it.”

  “Maybe I do. I have GPS.”

  Shit. The bastard knew everything. No, not everything. “But not the clues. You don’t know the clues.”

  “But you’re going to tell me, aren’t you?”

  “For a price.”

  The man laughed softly. “The price is my bullet in your head.”

  “I will tell you everything, if you tell Viejo the truth.”

  “About what?”

  “Who fed you information. Who in that group was your inside source.”

  “Why would I tell him that?”

  “For the glory of finding your country a bounty of one hundred million dollars. Would you?” He knew he sounded desperate, but, right now, he didn’t care. “And because mi amigo, we were friends.”

  “No, you were a drug dealer and I was an FBI agent.”

  Ramon looked hard at him. “We were friends. And El Viejo is going to have me killed if someone doesn’t tell him the truth.”

  Miguel looked uninterested. “What’s this? Longitude or latitude? Minutes or degrees?”

  “Will you tell him for me?”

  “I can maybe get you protection.” He flicked the fortune. “When I find the money.”

  “What if it’s not there?”

  “Then you’re probably a dead man. Because as I recall, your dad’s a vindictive and pitiless son of a bitch.”

  Ramon took a deep breath. Lourdes had abandoned him. His own father wanted him dead. This light-eyed version of Michael Scott was his only hope. “There are four fortunes. Each one has numbers and words. The numbers are the coordinates. On every fortune there is a word that begins with the same letter as the direction, telling you if it is longitude or latitude. Two of the fortunes have minutes, two of them have seconds.”

  Miguel read the fortune. “A little can go a very long way.” Flipped it. “Seven-one-three-zero.” Then he looked hard at Ramon. “Interpret that.”

  “The W in way says it is west, or a longitude reading. I had main longitude, so that is seventy-one degrees thirty minutes west longitude.”

  “Who has the precise seconds that you add to this?”

  “My father, originally. So the FBI has it now.”

  “And the other two? Which one is which?”

  “Will you help me, Miguel?” Ramon asked. “Will you?”

  “Depends on whether or not you’re lying. The other two fortunes?”

  “My sister has the latitude seconds; Maggie had the latitude main. All four together will give you want you want.”

  Ramon watched him fold the paper and slip it into a pocket on his T-shirt. He still couldn’t see any real resemblance to the man he’d once considered a friend, but he had no doubt.

  “Will you help me, mi amigo? For old time’s sake?”

  “Lay low. Stay out of sight and out of trouble. I’ll find you.”

  “Gracias.”

  As Miguel climbed out of the car, Ramon reached forward, digging for his gun. Outside, his old friend held up the pistol.

  “Looking for this?” He dropped it in his pocket and walked away.

  That was too easy. Way, way too easy. The fortune still in his hand, Dan scanned the street, his gaze landing on Maggie as she closed the driver’s door of the Porsche and headed toward him, sunlight streaming throu
gh yet another flimsy skirt, her dark waves bouncing with every step.

  He met her on the sidewalk, his grin widening with each of her steps.

  “What are you so happy about?”

  “That your skirt is see-through.”

  “Doesn’t take much, does it?”

  “And I’m also kind of happy about this.” He held up the fortune he’d found in the first place he’d looked. Too, too easy.

  Her jaw opened as she snatched it from his fingers. “No.”

  “Yes.”

  “Are you kidding me? He just gave it to you?” She held it out to read.

  “Not exactly.”

  “You threatened to kill him.”

  “A little.”

  She read it. “ ‘A little can go a very long way.’ ” She looked up at him, her eyes bright. “See that? You said ‘a little’ and those are the first words. That’s what my Baba would call a sign. Just like the parking space that opened up for me.” She turned the paper over, reading the numbers. “And where do these fit into the GPS scheme?”

  “According to Ramon, that’s the main longitude. And he explained how to read the code on each fortune.”

  “Seriously? That was a very fruitful meeting.”

  “Yes, it was. Maybe a little too fruitful. Let’s go see Lola.” He took her hand. “And you’re not staying out here alone. Plus I might need you to distract the doorman by standing in front of the window and letting him gape at your legs.”

  “Whatever it takes.”

  The door to the lobby wasn’t locked, and the front desk was unmanned, with a little note that said “Receiving delivery—will return shortly.”

  Maggie shot him a victorious look. “Baba’s hard at work today.”

  “Someone’s helping us, all right. But I don’t think it’s your grandmother.”

  The elevator required an access key, but in less than thirty seconds, the car arrived and a redhead stepped out. She made sexy and unsubtle eye contact with Dan before walking by.

  “See that?” Maggie said. “The universe is definitely on our side today.”

  When the car stopped at the twenty-eighth floor, Dan held her back. “I’ll ring the bell, and you stay behind me. No matter what, you let me take the lead.”