Hunt Her Down

The critics love Roxanne St. Claire and the Bullet Catchers

“Roxanne St. Claire leaves us wanting just one thing—

more Bullet Catchers.”

—Romance Novel TV

“Sexy, smart, and suspenseful.”

—Mariah Stewart, New York Times bestselling author

“When it comes to dishing up great romantic suspense,

St. Claire is the author you want.”

—Romantic Times

NOW YOU DIE

“The incredibly talented Ms. St. Claire… keeps the audience on tenterhooks with her clever

ruses, while the love scenes pulsate with sensuality and an exquisite tenderness that zeroes in

on the heart.”

—
The Winter Haven News Chief
(FL)

“A nonstop thrill ride of mayhem that leaves you breathless.”

—Simply Romance Reviews

THEN YOU HIDE

“St. Claire aces another one!”

—
Romantic Times

“Nothing short of spectacular, with the fast pace and the tension constantly mounting.”

—Kwips and Kritiques

“Knock-your-socks-off romantic suspense right from the get-go… simply stunning.…

Roxanne St. Claire to a top-notch writer who has the sexiest heroes going!”

—Reader to Reader Reviews

FIRST YOU RUN

“Nonstop, fast-paced, action-filled romantic adventure that will keep you on the edge of your

seat from beginning to end. Filled with heart-stopping suspense and sizzling hot romance.”

—Romance Novel TV

“Deep-felt, exotically sensuous emotions. St. Claire continues to exceed all expectations. This

one was ripped from her heart, don’t miss it.”

—The Winter Haven News Chief
(FL)

“An exciting, sexy-as-hell, romantic suspense by first-rate author Roxanne St. Claire.”

—Reader to Reader Reviews

“If you love the Bullet Catchers and their cast of hunky investigators, full of action and drop-

dead good looks, you will be fascinated with this action-packed start to an exciting trio of

stories.”

—Romance Reviews Today

TAKE ME TONIGHT

“Fantastic characters… smart and sexy.”

—All About Romance

“Roxanne St. Claire has outdone herself… you actually have to put
Take Me Tonight
down

every once in a while just to catch your breath.”

—Romance Reviews Today

THRILL ME TO DEATH

“Sizzles like a hot Miami night.”

—
New York Times
bestselling author Erica Spindler

“Sultry romance with enticing suspense.”

—
Publishers Weekly

“Fast-paced, sexy romantic suspense.… A book that will keep the reader engrossed in the

story from cover to cover.”

—
Booklist

“Roxanne St. Claire’s got the sexy bodyguard thing down to an art form… .”

—Michelle Buonfiglio, Lifetime TV.com

“St. Claire doesn’t just push the envelope, she folds it into an intricate piece of origami for the

reader’s pleasure!”

—
The Winter Haven News Chief
(FL)

KILL ME TWICE

“Sexy and scintillating… an exciting new series.”

—
Romantic Times

“
Kill Me Twice
literally vibrates off the pages with action, danger, and palpable sexual tension. St. Claire is exceptionally talented.”

—
The Winter Haven News Chief
(FL)

“Jam-packed with characters, situations, suspense, and danger. The reader will be

dazzled… .”

—
Rendezvous

Also by Roxanne St. Claire

The Bullet Catchers Series

Now You Die

Then You Hide

First You Run

What You Can’t See

(with Allison Brennan, et al.)

Take Me Tonight

I’ll Be Home for Christmas

(with Linda Lael Miller, et al.)

Thrill Me to Death

Kill Me Twice

Killer Curves

French Twist

Tropical Getaway

Hit Reply

HUNT HER DOWN

ROXANNE ST. CLAIRE

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

Some days it feels like I work in a vacuum, all alone with these fictional folk. The truth is,

there are a lot of real, live, amazing people who help me make each book better. A million

thank-yous go out to all of them. In particular, there are a few shoulders I leaned on a lot for

this book:

Jim Vatter, retired FBI agent, good friend, world-class neighbor. I’m sure it seems like you

can’t walk your dog without being inundated with questions about evidence, criminals,

procedures, and that pesky palm tree disease.

Deputy Becky Herron of the Monroe County Sheriff’s Department, for taking the time to

answer questions and provide information about Marathon, Florida law enforcement, response

to kidnappings, and geography.

Kenneth A. Smith, U.S. Immigration and Customs Enforcement Office of Investigations,

for directing me to valuable information about drug trafficking and money laundering.

Kim Whalen of Trident Media Group, my agent and advocate and phenomenal beta reader.

You are brilliant and beautiful!

The marvelous and incomparable Micki Nuding, who is truly an editorial gift to me, and

the entire team of supportive professionals at Pocket Books, who work tirelessly to publish,

package, and sell my work. I can’t thank you enough!

My posse of peeps, my dearest of dears, my circle of writers, who are with me from

CHapter One to The End. You know who you are! Must give a shout-out to Kresley Cole, for

a ridiculous amount of perspective and laughter, and Marilyn Puett, for the HGFR

installments to inspire me. And major props to the pool party plotters, who helped me craft

this one: Kristen Painter, Lara Santiago, Lee Duncan, Maggie Lynch, Babe King, and Carrie

Hensley (special thanks for the GPS For Blondes assistance).

Always and forever, my precious family, Rich, Dante and Mia. Nothing would matter

without you. (And a great big dog bone to Rojo Loika, who loves my Pepper and inspired

Goose.)

HUNT HER DOWN

THE UNIVERSE GAVE them rain the night of the delivery. A drenching summer downpour that

swept in from the Everglades and turned Miami’s expressways into one long blur of red and

orange over slick pavement. The kind of rain that would hide anything, or anyone.

Maggie blinked once, then again quickly to ward off bad luck, but also to make sure the

blur was on the window and not in her eyes. She’d been teary ever since Lourdes had sneaked

her that stupid fortune cookie this afternoon.

She slipped her fingertips into the front pocket of her jeans and ran a nail over the edge of

the paper she’d folded into a tiny square, every word committed to memory.

“Now that love grows in you, then beauty grows, too.” When the universe spoke,

Magdalena Varcek listened. That’s what her grandmother taught her.
Follow the signs the

universe sends you,
Baba would say.

This one was kind of hard to miss. And there was only one thing to do: she had to tell

Michael tonight. He’d know what to do.

She closed her eyes and imagined his face, his reaction to her news. She loved to think

about his face. The way she got lost in his soft brown eyes. His perfect mouth, the little bump

on his nose, the way he kissed, the way he—

She looked up and caught Ramon’s unrelenting gaze on her in the rearview mirror. She’d

once thought those sultry Venezuelan eyes were sexy, that curled lip of a smile was dreamy.

But now her stomach flip-flopped for a whole different reason when she looked at her

boyfriend. If he knew what she’d been doing in that shed behind his father’s house, he’d kill

Michael.

And his father would kill her.

She didn’t want to die at eighteen. Especially not at the vicious hands of El Viejo. Ever

since Ramon had brought her home like a stray cat, his father had looked for excuses to get

rid of her. She was only allowed to stay so she could be a free nanny to little Lourdes.

In the front passenger seat, Carlos tapped his fingers to some imaginary tune, his head

bobbing like a fool’s, his chubby jowls wiggling as he chewed and cracked gum. He’d

probably snorted a gram before they left. He said something to Ramon in Spanish and threw a

look over his shoulder at Maggie.

Ramon unhooked the car phone from the console, the red brake lights in front of them

illuminating the rattlesnake tattoo that ran up his forearm. She used to think that was the last

word in sexy, too.

After dialing, he asked, “Where are you, bro?”

English, so it had to be Michael on the other end. Viejo and Ramon didn’t always include

him, but she’d told him about tonight’s job, and he was pretty good about worming his way

in. She liked to think that was so he could see her.

Maybe when the guys were unloading the crates, she could give him the signal. Move one

bracelet to the other arm…
meet me in my room.
Move two bracelets . . .
meet me in the shed.

Three meant
follow me when I leave the house.
And he usually did.

“They’re through? Already?” Ramon turned to Carlos and muttered something.

He whizzed down the next exit, water hissing under the tires as he sped through the

deserted industrial section near the airport. In a few minutes, he pulled into the lot in front of

the warehouse, the words AJ Cargo and Shipping barely visible in the rain.

El Viejo’s Stash House was more like it. But Alonso Jimenez wasn’t there tonight. He

usually was, but something in the silent looks volleying between Ramon and Carlos told her

that things weren’t exactly going smooth and easy this time. Starting with the rain and ending

with Juan Santiago puking on Chinese-food poisoning, so that Ramon freaked and brought

Maggie in his place. At least the Chinese food delivery had included her message from the

universe.

She touched the paper again, scanning the empty lot for Michael’s car. Nothing but three AJ

Cargo trucks lined up near the loading dock in the back.

Michael would be following a fourth one in at any minute, and the men driving it would

help Carlos and Ramon unload furniture boxes from Caracas, sofas and chairs stuffed with

bags of cocaine that had traveled from Colombia to Maracaibo, Venezuela, then shipped out

of Caracas.

Ramon had told her the whole thing. And anything Ramon told her, she passed on to

Michael because, well, he was kind of low on the totem pole in this operation and even if it

was a drug business, he was ambitious. She loved that about him.

God, she loved everything about him.

“Sit up here and don’t get out of the car, Maggie,” Ramon ordered as he threw it into

reverse.

How would she get to Michael then?

“What if—” “What if nothing,” he said harshly. “When Mike calls and tells you he’s on

Hialeah Drive, you flash the brights three times.” He tapped the turn signal stick on the

steering wheel. “Just pull it like this. You know how to do that, Maggie? Or are you so stupid

you can’t flash the brights?”

She glared at him.

“We’ll come out and open up the cargo door and you wait.”

“And when you’re done?” Could she talk to Michael then? Give him the sign?

He backed up to a dilapidated fence that separated this parking lot from the next, a good

hundred yards from the trucks and the loading dock.