Hunt Her Down (31 page)

ejaculation mixed with the remnants of her moisture on his tongue. He glided his hands over

her body, dying to touch how he wanted, where he wanted—and he wanted it all.

And finally, as if the gods had been holding back the cooling rain just for them, there was

thunder. A low, distant rumble that vibrated the floor.

Except that wasn’t thunder.

It was a motorboat.

THE TRICK, QUINN decided as he threw back his comforter, would be keeping Goose quiet.

He had to get into that office, and as far as he knew, they didn’t lock the door. The Ropers

slept upstairs, so if he could leave Goose for ten minutes, he ought to be okay.

As Quinn stood, Goose looked up from his corner of the bed with doglike interest.

“No biggie, boy. Just gotta pee. You chillax.”

Goose didn’t chillax, but he didn’t jump off the bed, either. Quinn went into the bathroom,

peeing as loudly as he could so that Goose believed him. Then he turned on the water faucet

and left it on. Goose had no concept of time. If the water ran for fifteen minutes, he’d just

think Quinn was still washing his hands.

He peeked through the doorway at the dog, a dark shadow on the light blankets. Back to

sleep. Good boy.

He made it out the door and down the hall without hearing a bark. He knew his way around

this place pretty good by now. It was honkin’ huge, but he’d chased the kid around so many

times, he’d memorized every corner. In fact, it was playing hide-and-seek with Peyton today

that let him hear what Mr. Roper had said to that tall lady he worked for.

Not every word, since he was across the hall. But enough that he could figure out they were

talking about his mom. And enough to make him curious as hell. Had his mom really been in

a drug ring? The girlfriend of a drug dealer? And pregnant when she ran away?

That would mean . . .

But she’d never lie to him like that.
Never
. He had to find out.

When Peyton had found him and screamed happily, the conversation had gone silent. With

Peyton in tow, he’d glanced into the office where they’d been talking, and Mr. Roper was

holding a file. With the ease of a Tom Clancy spy from that new Splinter Cell game, Quinn

had cruised right on in, made small talk, and caught the name on the file.
Varcek
. His middle

name.

So that alone gave him the right to spy.

The office was wide open now. He marched right over to the desk, where four or five

manila folders stood in a metal-pronged holder.
Varcek
was the third one.

He grabbed it and hustled back to his room, locking the door with shaking hands. Goose

started to bark but Quinn hushed him, jumping on the bed to flip open the file and read.

With every word, he couldn’t fight the lump of fury and hurt in his throat.

Every single thing she’d ever told him had been a lie. She was a runaway, some guy named

Ramon Jimenez’s girlfriend. Which meant that guy was his . . .

He threw the file down, the papers scattering. Goose instantly perked up.

“Dude, we’ve been totally fucked.” Quinn looked at the papers and swallowed hard. “Why

not just tell me?” he asked the dog, who laid his head on Quinn’s leg. “She was never going to

tell me. Never. And what about Dad? Did he know? Did she lie to him, too? Even when he

was dying?”

That was the kicker. He angrily grabbed a T-shirt, stuck his feet in Adidas flip-flops, and

dropped his cell phone into the pocket of his sleep pants. He had forty dollars and his

passport, which for some reason his mom had left in his backpack last night.

He was outta here.

Rage made him shake, tears spilling now out of his eyes. Every foul word he knew buzzed

through his head as he took a few things from his drawer and threw them in his backpack.

He could get out of here without making a sound. He’d watched Mr. and Mrs. Roper work

the alarm system, and he’d memorized the code they’d made no effort to hide.

He’d just run.

On foot? That was crazy. He’d never get past that guard at the island gate. But if he was in

a car . . .

Goose followed him into the kitchen, where, right next to the alarm pad, the Ropers kept all

of the car keys in a little cubby. Since they were so flipping rich, Quinn had his pick among

four.

Well, shit. If you’re gonna go, go balls to the wall.

He hit the alarm and opened the door that led to the garage. He opened the Ferrari door

with quivering hands, then let Goose climb over the console like he was jumping into his

mom’s truck, instead of a six-bazillion-dollar Testarossa. He adjusted the driver’s seat, to

where he’d had it when Mr. Roper let him drive, turned on the ignition, and cracked his neck

like he’d seen race car drivers do.

They’d get him, of course. Probably before he hit the causeway. Maybe he’d be pulled over.

Then he’d get a record—just like his lying mother.

The garage door went up and he stepped on the gas, eased up on the clutch, and shot

forward.

“Shit!” He got the car under control, cruised down the driveway, waited until the huge iron

gates opened, then gunned it down the one road that led to the main gate. He checked his

rearview mirror. Nothing yet, but something told him Roper would be up and out in ten

seconds flat.

He didn’t look at the guard or slow down too much, leaving the private island. The gate

opened for him and he gave the gas pedal a push, rounding a little circle, crossing another

bridge, then turning right on the big Tuttle Causeway that passed the cruise ships.

All was still clear in the rear. Unbeliev—

Panic curled through him at the sight of a blue light flashing behind him. What should he

do? Pull over? Drive faster? He swerved as fear shot through him, then hit the brakes. He was

so
grounded for the rest of his life.

He pulled the car over to the side of the bridge. But that wasn’t a cop car. Man, he was

pulled over by an unmarked. The guy getting out of the driver’s seat wasn’t even in uniform.

But, oh
fuck,
he had a gun out.

Hands shaking, Quinn managed to get the window down, wishing like hell that Mr. Roper

would suddenly come blazing out of Star Island to stop this.

“Yes, officer?” Should he call a plainclothes that?

“Quinn Smith?”

Holy crap! The guy knew his name? Maybe Mr. Roper called the police the minute he

heard the garage door. That had to be it. He relaxed a little and nodded.

“Yes, sir.”

“Out of the car.” He lifted the gun and Quinn almost choked. Goose barked, but Quinn gave

him a signal to quiet.

Why the gun?

“What about my dog?”

“We’ll take care of your dog. Bring your bag so we can inspect it.”

He grabbed the backpack, then opened the door, his legs shaking almost too much to stand.

But he managed, holding his hands up like it was a freaking movie.

“Walk back to my vehicle, son.”

He did and Goose went crazy, barking as Quinn scanned the bridge for one of Mr. Roper’s

cars, peering down to the Star Island entrance, praying to see lights. He was so, so sorry he’d

done this.

The man opened the back door and Quinn blinked in surprise. There was another man back

there. He turned to look at the cop, but he got shoved so hard it took his breath away as he

stumbled into the back.

Not again! He wanted to scream, but shut his mouth when the man in the back pointed

another black pistol in his face. “Hello, Quinn.”

“Who are you?”

The man just smiled as the driver gunned into traffic, throwing Quinn against the seat.

“What do you want with me?” He didn’t even care that his voice cracked like a baby’s.

“Let me see your bag.”

Quinn shoved it at him and the man ripped at the zippers, digging through his clothes. “All

ready for a trip, young man? In your Ferrari?” He laughed, low and ugly. “Oh, look at this.”

He pulled out the passport and flipped it open. “Excellent. Anything else of value?”

“Forty bucks. You can have it if you let me go.”

He just snorted and dug some more, shoving beefy hands in the side pockets and jabbing all

around.

“What are you looking for?”

“This.” He pulled out a tiny slip of paper. The little piece of paper that his mom said had

sentimental value and she wanted it to stay with Quinn. Because he was supposed to be safe at

the Roper’s house. He cursed himself and his stupid ideas.

“Better put your seat belt on, young man.”

He didn’t move. “Where are we going?”

“Away.”

Out the back window, the blue and white flashes of Miami police cruisers lit up the night,

just as a giant black Escalade—one of the Roper’s cars—tore out of Star Island and headed in

their direction. But all of those cars screeched to a halt around the Testarossa he’d abandoned

on the side of the road.

At least they’d get Goose home.

The car he was in blended into traffic and disappeared from their sight.

“They’re circling us.” Dan stood hidden in a corner where two windows met, his weapon

aimed at the boat half a mile away.

Maggie had dressed for escape and crouched on the floor where he stood.

“So it’s not our pilots,” Maggie said, hope dwindling in her voice.

“No.”

“And it’s not Javi?”

Dan inched out after a lightning flash, using the momentary whiteness to get a look. “Not

our boy come to end the honeymoon.”

“What size is it? Could it be someone night fishing?”

“There are two men in a single outboard about twice the size of Javi’s.” He stole another

look, squinting into blackness. “And the only thing they’re trying to catch is us.”

A small noise caught in her throat and he lowered himself beneath the sill, closer to her.

“But they won’t.”

A burst of reddish light from the sky illuminated the terror in her eyes.

“I swear they won’t, Maggie. I’ll kill them from up here. I have plenty of ammo, I’m a

great shot, and I don’t care who the hell they are. They’re dead—I’m just waiting to take my

shots. And then”—he pulled her closer and kissed her—”we have transportation, because

we’ll take their boat.”

The motor revved and he stood again. They were moving in, but not close enough to risk a

shot.

“How can you shoot in the dark? As I recall, you don’t have the best night vision.”

He just smiled. “So I have a flaw.”

“Right now, it’s a doozy.”

“We’ve got light. It’s just intermittent.” And it was slowing down. His memory was that the

Catatumbo lightning peaked after about two hours, then waned for a half hour until the rain

began. They were nearing the end of that half hour.

These clowns had been circling for almost a whole hour, no doubt waiting for the cover of

darkness and a downpour before they attacked. Which worried him.

Another bolt of lightning sparked, much weaker now, and shorter. All he got was

silhouettes, and no chance of getting off a shot.

“We must have something they want,” she said. “And if it would save our lives to give it to

them, why don’t we? We don’t have to be Rambo and just kill them.”

“The only thing anyone wants is the location of the money. That’s why I think they trapped

us here, even though I’m sure it’s not here.” His mind whirred with possibilities until he hit on

one, hard. “Think about this, Maggie. If we’ve come to this very place, it means we have all

four fortunes. We think we know all of the coordinates. But what if one of them is wrong? If

someone knows three of them, and they make it not too hard for us to get them—like Ramon

and even Lola did—then when we arrive at our destination—what do they have?”

“A fourth coordinate by process of elimination,” she said.

“Exactly. What better way to find out the fourth than to give us a fake one? Now they have

all four, and—”

“All they have to do is kill us, put our bodies in the bottom of Lake Maracaibo, using the

coordinates to the real location to get the money.” Her eyes widened. “You can’t let them do

that.”

“I don’t intend to.”

All of a sudden, the motor screamed, the sound intensifying each second.

Dan jumped to his feet to get into position. “Just stay flat on the floor and close to the wall,

Maggie. And keep that duffel bag on your shoulder in case we have to run.” Or jump.

The boat was flying straight at the stilt house, full power, and a flicker of lightning revealed

that one man was steering a rudder in the back and another was standing on the bow, ready to

throw something.

Son of a bitch, they were going to blow the place up.

Dan reached down and put a hand on her shoulder. “Listen to me. I’m going to fire out this

window, but I may not hit him. While I’m shooting, you get down on the dock as fast as

possible, and if you have to, jump in the water. Hide in the water. He’ll go for the house, not

the dock. You’re safer there.”

“How? Why can’t I stay up here with you?”

He swallowed. “I think they have a grenade.”

“Oh, shit.”

“No kidding. I’m going to shoot until I kill the bastards, hopefully before they let the bomb

fly. Do as I say, Maggie.” He eyed the boat again.
Come on, get closer
.

“What if you blow up?”

“Take the boat to San Carlos, then fly home.”

“Dan!”

“Go!” He pulled her up, a little rough. They had seconds, less. “Go now, Maggie!” He gave