Hunt Her Down (10 page)

Her face was pale, all light gone from her eyes, her generous lips drawn to a tight line. “I

want you to leave.”

That was a fine thank-you. But he swallowed the sarcasm and chalked her reaction up to

fear of the gun. “Not yet. Quinn’s out there alone, and so is that lunatic.”

“You called me Maggie Varcek.”

Yes, he had. Stupid, but he had. “Let’s go find him.”

Her eyes widened. “No. I’ll find him and you… you . . . just stay away from me and my

son.”

“I can’t, Maggie.” He hated to do it like this, but there was no time. “Because . . . he’s not

your son.”

“What?”

“He’s our son.”

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AS IF HER whole insides had exploded from the shock, Maggie’s brain went blank, and her

heart just… stopped.

“Who are you?”

“Later. We need to find Quinn and get him home. Ramon wants something, and it might not

just be revenge.”

He was right, but— “Not until I know who you are.”

“You knew me as Michael Scott.”

The entire world rolled, taking her along with it. He must have seen her sway, because he

lunged forward to grab her as she lost her balance. Instantly, she wrangled out of his grip.

“You’re dead,” she spat the words. “He’s… dead. I saw his body. I read about the . . . trial.

He was shot by another agent. Michael Scott is
dead
.”

He just shook his head, as if he had no words to counter that.

And honestly, words weren’t necessary. Because she was staring at Quinn, twenty-five

years older. How could she have missed it?

One by one, the pieces, and truth, fell into place as she covered her mouth and a fist-size

lump formed in her throat. “You were in disguise.”

He nodded.

“You weren’t really killed that night.”

He took a step forward, lifting his hands in a slight gesture of surrender. “Maggie, listen to

me.”

Her heart thundered so loud in her ears that the words sounded garbled. “No, no. You get

out of here.”

“I’m sure you hate me right now—”

“Right
now?
I’ve hated you for so long, I… I can’t even tell you. I don’t know how to tell

you how much I hate you. You have no—”

“We have to find Quinn.” He grabbed her arm again, but this time his touch wasn’t playful

or friendly. Oh God, had she really been flirting with the monster who’d used her and

betrayed everyone around them? Kissing him, practically begging for sex? Dreaming of

more? Worried he could trace her past through the FBI?

Trace her past? He
was
her past.

“They know where you are, Maggie. If Ramon does, then any of Viejo’s men do, too. It

wasn’t that difficult to find you.” He tightened his grip, engulfing her wrist and leaning closer

to drive his point home. “You can skewer me after we get that boy home and safe.”

As numb as she was from shock, she knew he was right. She let him lead her to the street,

but questions bombarded her.

“But why now? No one’s tried all these years.”
Not even you
. “Now two of you show up in

the same week?”

“Ramon just got out of prison. That’s why I’m here. And they could know more about you

than I did. That you have a son. A son who is out there right now walking his dog, oblivious.

Does he have a cell phone?”

“Sometimes.”

She hesitated one more second. Shouldn’t she go on her own? Or get someone from the

bar? Someone she trusted? Should she get in a car with a man who lied and used her? Made

her fall in love with him and then betrayed her?

“Or you can stay here, locked in the office,” he said sharply. “That’s fine, and smart. But

I’m going to find him, so tell me where the hell he might be.
Fast
.”

She yanked her hand out of his and marched. He was right about one thing: she’d skewer

him later.

“Does he have a regular route or a place he always walks the dog?”

“Sombrero Beach. He usually crosses the highway right there at that light, and takes Goose

to a dog-friendly park down there.” Unless one of his friends called and he went to meet them.

Then he could be anywhere.

In the car, she dragged the seat belt over her as he started the engine.

“Turn right here,” she said, leading them down the road to the park. With Ramon around,

Quinn definitely wasn’t safe. She focused every brain cell on the need to see that lanky body

loping along with a dog on a leash.

She called Quinn’s cell three times, getting voice mail every time.

The quiet streets of Marathon seemed dark and menacing, and the neighborhood looked

nothing like the peaceful, residential beach town it was. Thickets of palm trees and hibiscus

bushes formed dangerous shadows, and walls around yards and driveways became hiding

places as the sun disappeared in the west, leaving darkness behind.

She could practically hear the universe laughing at her. Talk about life playing a joke on

you.

Michael Scott wasn’t dead. He was alive and dryhumping her on the beach last Friday

night.

“Oh God,” she moaned.

“Do you see him?”

“No.” But she looked, hard.

“I was going to tell you tonight,” he said.

She snorted softly. “Uh-huh.”

He didn’t respond but stayed focused on the road and the sidewalks. She did the same,

squinting into the shadows, her worry for Quinn at war with her misery over Michael. Dan.

Whoever the hell he was.

“Why did you have to pretend to die?”

“It was always the plan. Sometimes we did that with UC jobs. Undercover,” he added, as

though she might not know what he meant. As though she hadn’t followed the trial while her

stomach grew huge, and Quinn was born.

While Smitty took her in, cared for her, gave her a home and a whole new life. He was the

only one who knew. The only one who forgave her for being a stupid, immature, trusting kid.

“Was it in the plan to screw the girlfriend of one of the guys you were trying to entrap and

arrest? So you could get secrets and inside information?”

He still didn’t react, didn’t even blink or glance at her. He just kept rumbling along at five

miles an hour, scanning every inch for her son.

She tried to think, to come to terms with how her life had just turned upside down. Failed

on all counts.

“Were you going to tell me… about the baby?” he finally asked, making the tension worse.

“I thought you were dead.”

“I mean then. In Miami. If we hadn’t busted Viejo’s ring. Or . . . weren’t you sure . . . he

was mine?”

She closed her eyes as though he’d jabbed his fist into her chest. She had that coming.

“I wasn’t much more than a child myself, and I wasn’t sure about anything. But based on

timing and birth control . . . I was pretty sure. And I . . .” She wet her lips. “I was planning to

tell you that night. I thought . . .”

We might run away togethe.r

“You thought what?”

“I had some stupid and romantic notions.”

“Well, you were eighteen.” Meaning, he had no such notions.

All history. Ancient history. She shifted in her seat and pointed at the grassy area and a low

wall that ran along a park and Sombrero Beach as the street dead-ended.

“He takes the dog to that park.”

Dan whipped the car into the first parking spot and threw it in Park, then looked at her, his

eyes much softer as he put his hand on her leg.

“We’ll find him. I give you my word, we’ll find him.”

“Your word?” she spat, jerking her leg away. “A man who lied from the day I met you, used

my youth and my trust and my
body
to get information, pretended to be killed, and then

disappeared while I hitchhiked, pregnant and broke and starving, to the Keys? I have your

trustworthy, sincere
word?
“

She blew out a disgusted puff of air, reaching the door handle to flip it open, when his gaze

moved over her shoulder and disintegrated to horror.

She spun around, and all she could manage was a strangled noise at the sight of Goose

meandering along the fence, sniffing the ground, his leash dragging in the grass.

Dan threw open the door and jumped out, his weapon drawn before his feet hit the ground.

Goose barked and charged, but Maggie was out of the car almost as fast, and her sharp order

stopped the dog.

Moving on instinct and adrenaline, Dan ran around the low wall that surrounded the park,

surveying the empty playground and deserted beach. He stayed perfectly still, listening for

any sound, hearing only the dog bark and Maggie call for Quinn.

And there was something else: the distant hum of a motorboat. The sound wasn’t coming

from the ocean; it was across the street.

At the car, Maggie was struggling to get the dog into the small backseat, still shouting

Quinn’s name.

“Do those canals lead to open water?” he asked, pointing to the houses that lined the cul de

sac across from the beach.

“Yes. They all lead to a little bay, then straight out to the ocean.”

No car had passed them on the way out, and Sombrero Beach Boulevard was a dead end. If

someone took Quinn, they might have taken him by water.

Dan darted through the first yard, straight to a canal in the back. He stopped at the water’s

edge, peering to the end of the waterway where a single-engine outboard fishing boat powered

out, making way more wake than was legal.

Dan tore after it, following the seawall that lined all the waterfront property. The boat had

no lights on, and he couldn’t tell how many people were on board, but it was too small to have

a cabin below.

It was just a little fishing boat like the ones a zillion tourists rented every week, but no one

drove a boat that fast in a canal without a reason. At the end of the short waterway, the boat

veered to the left and revved toward the open water.

Dan ran down to the next dock, hoping to get a clean shot to stop them before they got

away.

“Can I help you?” A man’s head popped up from the stern of a thirty-foot sport fishing boat

tethered to the dock, a soda can in his hand. “This is private—” He froze at the sight of Dan’s

gun.

“I need your boat. You’ll get it back.”

The guy scowled and opened his mouth to argue.

“Move!” Dan ordered, and the man did, scrambling up on the deck and untying one line

with shaky hands as Dan did the other.

“What are you doing?” Maggie came tearing down the dock, her hair flying, her eyes wide.

The man waved her off. “Go away. He has a gun.”

Dan barely looked at her as she bounded onto the boat dock. “I think he might be headed

out to the ocean.”

She jumped into the boat and slammed her hands on the wheel. “Bill, we need the keys!

Somebody took Quinn!”

“Jesus, Lena, why didn’t you say so?” The man flipped a set of keys attached to a bright

orange floaty. “Go!”

As she turned the engines on, Dan hopped in. “Thanks,” he said to the owner. “We’ll get it

back.”

Maggie pushed the throttle forward and gunned the motor as Dan went to take the helm.

She speared him with a look. “I’ll drive. You shoot. Carefully.”

With the agility of a seasoned boater, she rumbled away from the dock, holding up one

hand in gratitude to Bill while she powered the boat into the darkness, wisely keeping all the

lights off.

“They went left, into the bay,” Dan said.

He didn’t have to add “hurry” because she was already breaking every law of land and sea,

and he loved her for it. As soon as they cleared the peninsula that formed the canal and hit the

open water, he saw the other boat in the moonlight.

“There,” Dan said, squinting to see what they were up against.

“Are you sure he’s on it?” she asked.

“No, but we’re not going to quit until we find out.”

She bore down on the throttle and the other boat reacted by picking up speed in the

opposite direction, kicking up a huge wake.

Maggie matched its speed, the big sport fishing boat easily gaining on the little outboard.

“Stay down as low as you can,” Dan ordered, moving into position with his weapon

straight ahead. “There may be bullets.”

“Please don’t shoot my son.”

“Keep her steady and don’t panic. I don’t want to shoot anyone if I don’t have to.”

They were within a hundred and fifty feet of the other boat when the first shot nicked their

starboard side.

“Get down!” Dan commanded, diving toward the bow cushions to line up his own shot,

holding on since their velocity raised the bow a good forty-five degrees above the water.

Maggie ducked behind the windshield but held her speed.

He could only see one person—a driver—but suspected someone else was on board to take

that shot.

“You know where the bow spotlight is, Maggie?”

“Yeah, it’s on a remote. I’ve got it right here.”

“Slow down a little to lower the bow, then aim it directly on that boat, and when I say hit it,

blind them and don’t stop moving. Just keep driving straight for them until I say turn.”

“Got it.”

They closed in at thirty feet, and another bullet hit their boat. But he still couldn’t see the

boy.

Fifteen feet. Ten. “Hit the light!”

Instantly, white light poured over the water, the blinding beam spotlighting the little boat.

The driver looked over his shoulder, another man dropped down to his knees in the back,