Hunt Her Down (34 page)

She dropped her gaze to the gun. “Hardly.”

“It’s all part of undercover work. Sometimes you have to use some of the bystanders. You

understand that, Maggie. You were a bystander once.”

And you were used
. “So the FBI knows you’re here?” Was that possible?

“Nobody knows any of us are here. The decision to finish this job when Viejo got out of

prison was all mine. I’d built a relationship of trust with him back in the nineties, and it

wasn’t hard to do it again. He thinks I’m a rogue agent, but I’m just doing what your buddy

Dan would do: bending the rules to get things done.”

“Then let us go,” she said. “Finish your job. Take the damn gold and hand it over. Why are

you taking me to him?”

“He wants you and I told him I could deliver. He has to believe I’m working with him,

getting that cash melted into tools, returning it to him. And I have, little by little. Once I

figured out where he was stashing it, I could get it all back and give it to the government.”

“And be a hero.”

He shrugged. “I had to try something different this time. It works for other people. It

worked for Dan. It wasn’t exactly ethical to screw a teenage girl to get information.”

She glared at him, noticing the mole under his jaw, and remembering Lola’s description of

her attacker. “And what about cutting Lola? What do you call that?”

“I had to get that fortune.”

“And Brandy? Down in the Keys?”

“Blame Ramon.”

“Dan trusted you,” she said. “He never doubted you.”

Another shrug. “Of course not. I’m one of the good guys. I hate to break it to you, but I

can’t stand your buddy Dan. Anything that made his life suck made mine better.”

Made—past tense. “What happened in that warehouse?”

He gave her a nasty grin. “Old Irish eyes ain’t smiling anymore. But to be fair, you

shouldn’t have killed my guys in the boat. They were just local fighters trying to make a little

extra cash.”

Maggie’s throat closed too tight to respond.

“But you did your job, Mrs. Smith,” he said. “You got me the final coordinates by playing

right into my hand. I thank you, and the government should thank you. But I don’t know if

Viejo will let you live long enough to be rewarded.”

“You wrote the wrong numbers in the FBI case notes, didn’t you?”

“Hey, Dan was the one who believed what he saw. Who can stop him and his Bullet

Catcher machine when they get on a roll, huh?” His voice with rich with ridicule, and envy.

“How did you know I still had one of the fortunes?”

“Because I study people, Maggie. I knew you were superstitious. And I knew you were

pregnant. Remember? Juan cleaned out the trash at the house, and you took at least four

pregnancy tests and did a lousy job hiding the evidence. And of course I’ve had my eye on

you and Quinn for years.”

Her stomach lurched. “You have?”

“You think I’d let an important contact disappear? A key to solving an open case?” He

snorted. “I knew when you got married. I knew when you took fishing vacations, and bought

boats, and every time your husband refinanced his bar. I like what you’ve done with it, by the

way. I think you and your new partner could probably dig yourself out of debt one day.”

He’d been
in
there?

He read her look. “Who do you think’s been supplying Viejo with pictures of his grandson

all these years? He has a weakness, and I had to exploit it. Unfortunately, that bitch Lola had

to wreck it by sending him the birth certificate.”

She just stared at him, wondering how many times she’d come face-to-face with this man,

served him drinks, nodded at him in a grocery store line . . . and never knew who he was.

The van turned sharply and started up a steep hill.

“Monte Verde: a beautiful plantation in the mountains of Venezuela, where your son can

meet the man who’s not his grandfather. He’ll be pissed because I promised him all three of

you, but I couldn’t resist the pleasure of putting a bullet in that son of a bitch’s heart.”

Sancere’s gaze slid to Quinn, who leaned hard against her back. “He’s not a kind man, son.

Brace yourself. He’ll probably start by cutting your balls off and making you eat them.”

“Stop it!” Maggie tried to jump up, but the gun in her face stopped the attempt.

“Shut up!” His voice turned harsh. “For all his tough talk, your little boy is such a baby,

crying. Guess he didn’t get his Daddy’s nerves of steel, huh? Too bad. He’s about to need

them.”

She felt Quinn shudder and ached to hold him. But all she could do was squeeze her hands

against his and try to give him strength while he sobbed.

DAN KEPT THE accelerator to the floor and tore the shit out of the little truck, bouncing over

potholes the size of small craters while he demanded that Lucy’s assistant suck the Bullet

Catcher database dry until she found the location of Monte Verde. They had a general idea but

Avery hadn’t yet given him the exact coordinates, and he had to make a choice in westbound

roads.

He picked the one with the church on the corner— Santa María de la Magdalena, which he

took as a direct message from Maggie’s grandmother.

His cell phone rang with a digital beep of hope, and he grabbed it and hit Talk. But it

wasn’t Avery Cole calling from the Bullet Catcher headquarters; it was Lucy calling from

Miami.

“Tell me you have news about Quinn,” he said.

“No. But I’m at the FBI offices in North Miami, and we might be able to help you.”

“Did Avery tell you where I’m going?”

“Viejo’s plantation. Is that where the money is? Not the Las Marías location that you were

sent?”

“That’s where Maggie is.” He hoped. “I lost her. I found the money and lost her.” He

clenched the steering wheel to keep from pounding it in frustration.

“Special Agent in Charge Tom Vincenze is with me.”

Dan’s gut tightened even more. Something smelled at that office, and it started stinking

right about the time this guy started, friend of Lucy’s or not. “I’ll confirm the location of the

money, or most of it,” he said calmly. “If someone there will tell me the precise coordinates of

Monte Verde in Venezuela.”

“We can do that,” the man said.

“And find my son. Now.”

“We’re working on it, Dan.”

“I need satellite images of the plantation. I need to figure out a way in there without being

seen. I need to blindside them, and fast, before anything happens to Maggie.”

“I might be able to help you.” A woman’s voice joined the conversation. “I spent summers

there when I was young.”

Lola? “What are you doing there?”

“Ms. James is working out a deal with the FBI,” Lucy said. “Apparently she has a few

insurance claims that are under question, but Mr. Vincenze is willing to overlook them if she

can help.”

When Lucy pulled strings, it could be a damn beautiful thing.

“We have the location,” Vincenze said. “Here are the coordinates.”

“They better be fucking right,” Dan muttered. He punched them into his GPS as Vincenze

read them, splitting his gaze between the winding mountain road and the image that popped

up on the screen.

Yes.
Santa María Magdalena had sent him on the right road.

“How’d the fortune get put back in the ev files, Mr. Vincenze?” he asked pointedly.

“We’re investigating,” Vincenze said. “Only three people had access to those files. The

evidence clerk, the agent of record, and me.”

“Who’s the agent of record? Joel Sancere?”

“Joel!” Lola exclaimed. “That was the guy who attacked me. I couldn’t remember it, but

that was the name he used the night I met him in South Beach.”

Sancere?

Was it possible? That stickler for truth, justice, and the American way?

“Where is he?” Dan demanded. “Get him in on the line.”

He heard Vincenze deliver an order, while Dan’s wheels ate up the butchered asphalt below

him.

“I can see where you’re going with this, Dan,” Lucy said.

“Except that the guy never broke a rule, let alone a law. But after what I saw in that

warehouse, it makes sense.”

“How’s that?” Vincenze asked.

“Who better to know exactly how to transport cash to New York, exchange it for gold, then

find a few unsavory jewelers who would refashion it into tools that could be legally shipped

by the U.S. Post Office? I worked on a case exactly like that . . . with Sancere.”

“That’s very interesting,” Lucy said. “Because we traced the packing slip you found at the

house, and it originated in the diamond district of New York.”

“He’s off duty and not answering his cell,” Vincenze reported. “We’ll get him, though.”

Would
he
have kidnapped Quinn? Why? As a favor . . . to . . . Viejo?

Dan flattened the accelerator and wished like hell he had a real car.

And then something dawned on him. Why else would Maggie leave without a fight?
Quinn
.

He blew around a slow-moving truck, glancing at the GPS. Still miles away. When he

looked up, a bus was headed right at him. He threw the car back into the right lane, getting a

loud, furious honk in response.

“Be careful, Dan,” Lucy said quietly.

“
Screw
careful. Everything that ever mattered to me is about to be delivered into the hands

of a brutal murderer bent on revenge. Everything that ever mattered,” he repeated softly, the

words stunning him with their truth.

“I know exactly how you feel.” Lucy whispered. “And my child is going to need an older

cousin to look up to.”

And he’d have one, Dan swore silently.

“There’s only one drive up the hill to the house,” Lola said. “You can’t get there without

being seen coming in.”

“There has to be another way.”

“There is,” Lola replied. “But you’ll have to make it on foot, and it’s complicated.”

“Spill.”

“I found her in a warehouse in Las Marías.”

At Joel Sancere’s words, Alonso Jimenez’s dark eyebrows lifted. “You did? Did you find

anything else there?”

“Gallagher. He’s dead now.”

Maggie stayed very still, unbound now, but standing with her hands behind her as they’d

been told, Quinn next to her in the same position.

Viejo’s eyes narrowed at Joel. “Did you find anything else?” he demanded.

“No sir.”

He found gold, but didn’t say that, Maggie thought. Which meant Joel might not have been

lying to her about why he was doing this.

Viejo’s lip curled and he returned his focus to Maggie. “I speak English. Did you know

that?”

She shook her head, expecting his wrath but getting barely a glimmer of the fire that used

to burn in his eyes. His olive skin had turned sallow, his once haughty cheeks had sunk, his

robust chest was now bony.

But he still carried a gun on one hip and a sharp, serrated dagger on the other. He was still

capable of murder, especially here in an isolated house on top of a mountain, when no one

knew where they were.

And no one ever would. Sancere would cover his tracks from within. Dan’s death and hers

would be chalked up to
maracuchos
on the dangerous streets. Her son would be just another

unsolved abduction story.

Hate burned through her. She couldn’t just stand here and let Quinn die. She had to do

something. She had to fight.

But Viejo never looked away from her. Not once did he even glance at Quinn. For some

reason, that scared her even more.

Sancere was still with them, but the driver had stayed behind, climbing out of the van and

hoisting himself on top with a rifle. As if anyone was coming to save her.

She automatically reached for the bracelets she touched during any crisis in her life, but her

wrist was empty. The bracelets her grandmother had given her lay on the ground in Las

Marías. And so did Dan.

“I know lots of words in English.” Viejo continued, his voice thinner and weaker than it

used to be. “Words like… whore.” He curled his lip at Maggie. “Your mother is a whore. Did

you know that, young man?” He still didn’t look at him; just at Maggie.

She felt Quinn’s body tense.

“Don’t listen, honey. Don’t give him any power. Don’t let him make you mad.”

“I know the word
fuck
.” Viejo spat it out. “Do you know that word, boy?” He still faced

Maggie. “Your mother knows that word.”

“Stop it!” she hissed. “He’s a child.”

“Oh, yes.” Viejo nodded. “But not a child of my family.”

“Should he be punished for that?” she challenged.

“Mom.” Quinn gave her a harsh look. “Don’t. Just don’t.”

Viejo slowly drew the dagger from its sheath. He always carried that black-and-pearl-

handled knife. How many men had it killed?

She glanced at Quinn, who stared at the knife in horror.

“He should not be punished for that,” Viejo said, with an uncharacteristic quiver in his

voice. “But
you
should be punished. You little fucking whore, who gave away secrets for sex

and ruined my life.”

Now he sounded like Viejo again. Her knees felt as if they would buckle, but she forced

herself to stand still.

“And you will be punished,” Viejo finished. “You will be punished by the sounds of your

own son’s screams.” He nodded, looking over her shoulder. “Take her.”

She stiffened as Sancere grabbed her arm and jammed the gun between her shoulder blades.

“No.
Please,
no.” Tears swam in her eyes as she tried to drop on her knees to Viejo. “Please,