Hunt Her Down

  She drew back, her mouth open.

  “So if you want to keep your company clean and your good name intact, you will tell us everything you know. And not just the words and numbers on that fortune, but the names of everyone else who wants it, and why, and the details of how you ended up in that shed and who took you there. Is that clear?”

  Behind him, Cori tapped on the door. Next to her was a short man with salt-and-pepper hair, a thick mustache, and dark, serious eyes.

  “This is Dr. Mahesh,” Cori said. “And this,” she added, holding out an envelope to Dan, “was just delivered by the security guard. It was left at the front gate a few minutes ago.”

  “For me?” Who knew he was there?

  As the doctor stepped in, Dan went into the hall and tore open the envelope. In it were Maggie’s and Quinn’s passports, a marriage certificate, and a gold cross on a chain. And tucked in the corner of the envelope, a Chinese fortune.

  Last was Constantine Xenakis’s business card, with bold, black script on the back.

  “I want a meeting with Lucy Sharpe.”

  That was the payment?

  “ ’Scuze me, doctor,” Dan said, stepping back into the room. “I need to ask her a question.”

  The doctor moved and Dan got right into Lola’s face and held up the cross.

  “Where did you get that?” She snatched at it but he pulled it back.

  “Where did you have it?”

  “Hidden. In a safe. The one I sent this guy to.” She touched a cut.

  “Was that where the fortune was hidden, and the rest of the things you had stolen from Maggie’s house?”

  She nodded.

  “Tell me the numbers and words. Now. No hesitation.”

  “Sorrow is never the child of too much joy,” she said softly. “Five-eight-nine-two.”

  A perfect match to what he held in his hand.

  He gave her the cross and walked out, not the least bit ready to trust her, or the thief.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  “IT’S SMACK DAB in the middle of Lake Marafreakingcaibo,” Maggie said, standing in front of the giant flat screen monitor and pointing to a lake a hundred and thirty miles long and seventy-five miles wide. “Zoom in some more on that satellite view, okay?”

  As Dan did, his phone vibrated with a text from Max.

  Lola’s asleep. So are we. Solutions in the a.m.

  “Look at all that cloud cover. We can’t even see what’s there,” Maggie said, frustration and exhaustion darkening her tone.

  “Everyone’s gone to bed over there, Maggie,” he told her, setting the phone down. “Lola’s staying at least until tomorrow, and she might be able to shed some light on this.”

  She turned from the screen, which backlit her curls and bathed her in soft blue light. “You kicking me out?”

  “Only if you want to go. We can work on this all night if you like, or . . .”

  She smiled at his hesitation. “Or not.”

  “Not’s good.” He crooked his finger to get her closer. “I vote for not.”

  For a second, he thought she was about to give in. Then she shook her head and scooped up her phone and bag. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  He was up in a shot, blocking her way. “The alarm’s on. You can’t go into the main house now.”

  “You know the code.”

  “You’ll wake Quinn up. And everyone else.”

  “That’s BS.”

  It sure was. “Sleep here.”

  Brown eyes tapered with a knowing glint. “We won’t sleep.”

  “Eventually we will. You can’t leave now.”

  “Why not? Give me one good reason, other than raging hormones and a total lack of common—”

  He closed the space and kissed her, still holding her hand as he curled it behind her and drew her into his body.

  “I want you to stay,” he murmured against her lips, growing harder with arousal as she grew softer with acquiescence. He had her. Almost.

  He kissed her again, licking her lips to gain entrance to her mouth and using his free hand to run a heated stroke from her jaw down her neck over her breast and around to cup her backside. She responded with a roll of her hips and a soft intake of breath. Always, always so responsive to his touch.

  As he trailed kisses down her throat, frustrated by the high neckline of her jersey, he whispered, “I want you, Maggie May.”

  She stiffened a little, backing up as the light in her eyes went from aroused to… wistful? Hopeful? Something that didn’t say throw me on the bed and screw me senseless.

  “What’s the matter?” he asked.

  “When you said that, you sounded like Michael Scott. Exactly like I remember him. You . . . he . . . used to say the same thing. Same tone. Same nickname.”

  He slid his hands up her body, over her breasts, and under her jaw, where he cupped her face and held it to his. “That man was a cover. He didn’t exist on the outside. But the one inside that shell, this man . . .” He tapped his chest to make his point. “Always wanted you and still does. Only this time, you know what you’re doing, and it’s real.”

  “It wasn’t real before?”

  “This is even more real.”

  “And even more dangerous,” she whispered.

  Maybe. But this time when he made love to her, he wanted her to know exactly what she was doing and whom she was doing it with.

  “Maggie, I’m about to explode with how much I need you, but the last thing I ever want to do is make you feel bad about me again.”

  She searched his face so intently, it was as if she was trying to see right through him. Or into him.

  “There was so much about him I loved, until the end. It may have been a cover, but I was in love with . . . that man. And sometimes, when you remind me of him . . . I forget what you did, and remember how you made me feel back then.”

  “I remember, too,” he whispered. “But this isn’t about then, Maggie. This is now. I want to make love to you as me—not him.”

  “But some things are so familiar,” she said, regarding him thoughtfully. “It’s hard to separate the past from the present.” Then her finger was on his lips, outlining them. “Your mouth, for example. You kiss the same. Like… you own every kiss.”

  He burned to own another one, but he waited.

  “I can’t believe I didn’t recognize you just from these lips.” She stared at his mouth. “And your teeth. Did they overlap like that?”

  He shook his head. “I wore a semipermanent cap. It was part of the cover.”

  She nodded. “But you can’t change your lips.” One more time, she circled his mouth. Then she trailed a line down to his chin, back and forth, then wider to cover his whole jaw. “Or this handsome jaw. Though as I recall, you didn’t shave every day.”

  “Beard growth helped cover my face. And longer whiskers were easier to dye. Do you really want to talk about this now?”

  Her finger stroked from under one ear to the other, the feather touch making a faint scratching sound that tensed his muscles.

  She leaned into the hollow of his throat, and he braced for a kiss there, but she just inhaled softly.

  “You have a distinct scent, even after a shower. Kind of . . .” She breathed in again. “I don’t know. Like you. I smelled it in the shed.”

  “I was sweating like a pig.”

  “You were aroused.”

  “A permanent state, around you.”

  She stroked his right shoulder, still using a touch so light he almost didn’t feel it, following her finger trail with an intent gaze, drinking in every inch of him.

  “You’re bigger here,” she noted. “More muscular than when you were, what, twenty-two?”

  “Twenty-five.”

  She nodded slowly. “I thought you were younger.”

  “Part of the cover.”

  Her attention had moved to his other shoulder, her finger traveling down his bicep, over a vein, down a scar.

  “Much stron
ger,” she said. “You were lankier then.”

  She surprised him by pulling his T-shirt up. He slid it over his head and dropped it, one step closer to naked, which was all he wanted to be with her.

  She ran her hand over the rise and fall of his muscles, and down the middle, frowning as though something wasn’t quite right. “You had dark chest hair. More than this.”

  “I shave it when I work out a lot,” he said. “And then, it was dyed.”

  She shook her head, circling her finger over a patch of coarse chest hair. “You were so thorough.”

  “It was part of the job.”

  Her hand stroked lower, until she reached the snap of his jeans, strained by a hard-on aching for release. She closed her fingers over him. “This is the same.”

  “Always, with you.” He couldn’t bear it any longer. “Now, Maggie?”

  She closed her eyes for a second, dragged her hands back up his torso, and locked them behind his neck. “Now.”

  Finally.

  Dan moved like a man on a mission, stripping her top off on the way to the bedroom, unclasping her bra and tossing it with one hand while the other set to work on her jeans. She almost laughed at his determination, except hers matched it.

  As he eased her back onto the bed, he dragged off her jeans, panties and all, his eyes devouring every inch. The only light was from the living room, but from the look on his face, that was enough to see what he wanted and like what he saw.

  He did this, she remembered. He had this magical way of seducing her with his admiring looks and, oh, those hands. He touched her breasts, caressing one, then the other, already licking and suckling and nudging himself between her legs.

  Still kissing, he reached down to the other side of the bed to his bag and produced a condom.

  There would be no stopping this train, and she didn’t want to. Her hips rose to meet his, her center already wet and ready for him, her heart thundering with each wellplaced kiss on her throat, her cheeks, her mouth.

  His tongue plunged into her mouth as the tip of him slipped between her legs. Every touch was more urgent than the one before, each murmur of her name a little more desperate for entrance.

  She opened her legs and he thrust into her. Fast, hard, pulling a shocked cry from her that he soothed with another onslaught of kisses. He stroked once, then again, the thickness and length of him wildly, beautifully familiar, and yet so extraordinary for her body that it hurt as much as it thrilled.

  He stopped, fully hilted, working to catch his breath. “Are you all right?” he managed to ask. “Does that hurt?”

  “Yes to both,” she admitted.

  “Slow?” he asked, moving out, then in, to match the word.

  “Slow’s good.”

  He kept that pace for two, three thrusts, but tightened and groaned, and quickened again.

  “Fast is okay, too,” she said with a soft laugh.

  He smiled, biting down on his lip with the effort not to go even faster. “I don’t want to hurt you. I never wanted to hurt you, Maggie. Never.”

  She reached up and stroked his cheek, damp with sweat, rough with whiskers, the words she knew she had to say on her lips—but somehow, they couldn’t come out.

  He drew out an inch, then back in again, his look expectant, waiting. She brought his face to hers and turned his head, pressing her mouth to his ear.

  “I forgive you.” She kissed his cheek. “I forgive you, Dan.”

  As she said his name, he seemed to let go. He kissed her shoulder, then worked his way back to her mouth, kissing her as though it was the only way he could thank her for that.

  Then he arched into her, breaking the kiss, plunging in again and again and again, until any pain disappeared and a burn of pleasure crackled through every nerve in her body, and she forgot about everything that had ever happened with this man except right now.

  And right now was sheer bliss.

  The climax started slow, then intensified with each move, over and over as he stretched her inside with impossible sweetness until she gave in and let go, rocking against him in perfect, perfect rhythm.

  Just as lost, he let out a long, low moan of satisfaction and came in five, six, seven thrusts that peaked and slowed until he collapsed on her, and neither one of them could possibly move.

  I forgive you.

  The echo of her own words filled her ears like his strangled breath. Had she really forgiven Michael Scott for his betrayal, his lies? Had she really opened up her body to this man . . . again?

  She kicked the regret away and squeezed him, wanting Dan—this warm, protective, honest, decent, fearless man—to forever replace the memory of anything and everything Michael Scott had done.

  Maybe not everything.

  But everything that happened that black, miserable night, when he pushed her away, ran from her, shed his jacket, revealed the truth and . . . “What did you say to me?”

  “I didn’t say anything yet,” he said. “But we could start with how much I—”

  “No, that night. In the rain. At the warehouse.”

  He lifted his head, looking at her with a flicker of uncertainty in his eyes.

  “You turned to me when you left, right after you took off your jacket. You remember. You turned and said something.”

  The light in his eyes went from uncertainty to . . . fear? Was that possible?

  “I’ve always wondered,” she admitted. “I mean, I guessed it was ‘I’m sorry’ or ‘Run, Maggie’ . . . But I want to know. Just for my own curiosity. What did you say?”

  “I don’t re—”

  “Don’t lie. Not now . . . not like this.” With their bodies still connected, the sweat from making love still on them.

  For an eternity, he just looked at her.

  “I love you,” he finally said.

  She sucked in a small breath. “What?”

  “That night, when I turned back to you . . .” His voice was barely a whisper. “I said I love you.”

  Her heart squeezed in her chest. “You did?”

  “I did say it.” His gaze locked on her. “And I meant it.”

  “Oh.” The word was little more than a breath, and she smiled.

  He loved her. Once, long ago, in those dark days. She closed her eyes and rested her face against his, an entirely different bliss rolling over her. Maybe this was how he felt when she’d bestowed her forgiveness—absolved, somehow, for so many misdeeds she’d spent years regretting.

  “You loved me,” she whispered in the darkness.

  “Very much,” he added. “And I’ve never said it before or since.”

  “I wish I’d known,” she said softly.

  “Would it have made a difference, all these years?”

  “No. Maybe. I don’t know.” It would have made her feel less used. But she’d forgiven him for that, and he’d given her this gift, and it wasn’t worth telling him at this point. “I’m glad I know now.”

  “So am I.” He eased off her, slowly pulling out and leaving her feeling empty without him. He immediately tucked her deeper into his side. “Don’t leave me tonight.”

  Tonight? She could stay like this forever.

  She curled into his hard, hot, wonderful body. “Tell me again.”

  “Okay.” She could feel him smile against her cheek. “I loved you.”

  Right then, she wished with every wishing trick her Baba had ever taught her, that there was no such thing as a past tense. But there was, so she’d better use it.

  “I loved you, too.”

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  IN THE FAR recesses of Maggie’s sleep, she heard laughter. She turned over, longing for quiet and another hour, when the sound rose again. It was Dan’s laughter, and someone else’s . . . lighter and softer.

  She popped up, blinking sleep away, remembering where she was.

  Throwing off the covers, she looked down at her stillnaked body, then at the door. They hadn’t closed that last night. She looked at the clock radio: s
even thirteen.

  Quinn would be up by eight!

  She vaulted from the bed and seized her clothes.

  “Shit!” Her top and bra were on the other side of that door, thrown on the floor.

  She pulled on her panties and jeans, then headed for Dan’s bag, which had had a seemingly endless supply of condoms last night. She grabbed the first T-shirt she found—navy blue, with a gold FBI insignia on the chest—and yanked it over her head.

  Then she went into the bathroom, rinsed her mouth out, ran her fingers through her hair, and wiped some leftover mascara from under her eyes.

  When she opened the bedroom door, two faces turned to greet her from the bar at the kitchen. Dan, who looked mildly surprised, and a woman with features so bold and arresting that Maggie couldn’t look away.

  Dan hopped off a bar stool to approach her as Maggie studied the woman, mesmerized by her fluid, natural grace as she stood to what had to be damn near six feet with a thick mane of shoulder-length black hair.

  “Hey,” Dan said softly, putting an arm around Maggie and dropping a soft kiss on her hair. “I want you to meet somebody.”

  From the tone in his voice or maybe the authority in the woman’s stance, Maggie knew exactly who she was.

  “Lucy Sharpe.” The woman held out a hand tipped with deep red nails that matched the velvety gloss on her lips.

  Rumor has it they’re an item.

  I don’t want this person on this chaise, in my head.

  She quieted the voices and returned the strong handshake, doing her best to match it.

  “This is Maggie,” Dan said.

  The note of pride in his voice put confidence into her handshake, and a warm feeling through her body.

  “I can’t begin to thank you for all your company has done to help my son and me,” Maggie said.

  Lucy waved an elegant hand, a diamond ring winking on it. I’m happy she’s found someone, Dan had said.

  “It’s a pleasure to help someone I know has helped Dan in the past.”