Hunt Her Down (7 page)

She wasn’t alone.

He tapped the accelerator, revving the engine enough to make her whip around and squint

down the street, raising her hand to the setting sun, and taking a slow step backward when she

realized what car made the noise.

She tilted her head toward the house, calling again.

Dan rumbled forward, closing the space slowly, until he stopped at the end of her driveway.

He lowered the passenger-side window.

“You missed a spot, sweetheart.”

She threw a look over her shoulder, then ambled to his car, walking slowly enough to

torture him. The wet top was plastered to the peaks of her breasts, and if her shorts were any

shorter, they’d qualify as a bikini.

When she reached the car, she propped her elbows on the window ledge. “I thought you

went back to New York, Irish.”

“You really think I’d leave and not say good-bye?”

“You really think I worried about it?” She tempered the tease with a wink, her face glowing

from a little sun and sweat, her eyes just as sultry in sunlight as they were under a moonbeam.

“I figured you needed some breathing room.”

She inhaled with great exaggeration. “Okay, I’ve breathed. Good-bye now.”

Good-bye?
He gestured for her to back away. “Let me park.”

“No.” She didn’t move.

“Why not?”

One more little look over her shoulder gave it all away. “You’re not alone, are you,

Maggie?” For one instant he imagined the fortune hunter would stroll out of the garage, and

his fingers actually fisted as a wave of jealousy rocked him.

She soothed it with a pretty smile. “I do like it when you call me that.”

“So get rid of whoever has you watching your back, and I’ll call you Maggie all night

long.”

She collapsed a little on one arm. “Not for all the Maggie-calling in the world could I get

rid of . . . him.”

“I could.” Because now that he’d seen her again, there was no way he was leaving until he

got what he wanted. And he wanted her.

“I can’t,” she said again.

“Whoever it is, Maggie, ditch him.” He reached across the passenger seat and put his hand

on hers. “I want to be with you tonight.”

“Oh.” The single syllable came out like a soft sigh. “No.”

“No you don’t want to, or no you can’t ditch your . . . company.”

“No it’s not company.” She sighed and shook her head. “Look, I haven’t been completely

open with you, Dan.” She nudged her head farther into the car. “I didn’t tell you this the other

night. I have a . . .”

A door slammed behind her, and a big brown dog came barreling up the driveway, barking

wildly.

“A dog.” He finished for her, smiling as it bounded to the car and threw his paws up next to

Maggie. “A huge one,” he added as a giant chocolate fur–covered face and a tongue the size

of a small country filled the window space next to her.

Dan shut off the engine, opening his door when another sound from the driveway caught

his attention.

“Yeow! Holy craptastica! I swear to God, Mom, if you know the owner of this car, I just

died and went to heaven.”

A golden-haired boy, smooth faced enough to be twelve but broad enough to pass for

fifteen, pointed at the Porsche, shaking his head. “I’m freakin’ out.”

The kid transferred his attention to Dan, who climbed out of his seat and continued around

the car, drawn to the deep green eyes, the clefted chin, the toocool-for-his-own-good posture

of the boy in front of him.

Maggie, holding the dog by the collar, looked from one to the other as the animal tried hard

to break her grip and jump on Dan.

And a dog
could
have knocked him right over. A soft breeze could have flattened him at

that minute.

“You have a son,” he said, finishing what he now knew she was trying to say.

“Yeah.” She got a good grip on the dog.

Dan’s attention was riveted on the boy, who was just as riveted on the car.

“Dude, shoot me now because that is my effing dream car!”

“Quinn, please.”

“Mom, I have a
poster
of it on my wall. No shkidding.”

Dan didn’t take his eyes off the kid, every single detail of his appearance and demeanor

suddenly so sharply in focus. “You hiding anyone else in that house, Maggie? Any other

secrets? Any other surprises?”

“No,” she said quietly. “It’s just us. Honey, this is . . . a friend of mine, Mr. . . . Gallagher.”

“You
do
know him.” The boy punched his fist in the air. “Yesss!”

Dan finally turned to look at Maggie. Her color was high as she gripped the dog’s collar

with both hands. “This is Quinn.” She tilted her head, an apologetic smile on her face.

Why should she apologize?

The boy bounded toward the car, his jaw open just about the way Dan’s probably was.

“And, this is our dog, Goose,” she added.

“Goose.” He sounded as befuddled as he felt, every synapse in his brain misfiring.

“I know, I know,” the boy said, practically dancing around the car and gingerly touching

the hood. “Maverick would have been a better name.”

Dan reached down into years of undercover training, digging for a way to not react or

respond. And while he was digging, maybe he could find any possible explanation for what he

saw, other than the obvious.

But none came.

“You thought he’d be your wingman,” Dan finally said. “So you named him Goose.”

Quinn whipped around to Dan. “You like
Top Gun,
too? Cool.” He grinned, revealing neon

bands through silver braces. Braces that were so new, his two front teeth still overlapped

slightly.

Dan’s tongue automatically traveled over his own front teeth, the slight misalignment as

familiar to him as the green eyes he saw in the mirror every morning. The same ones staring

at him right now.

The truth gripped him like a fist, shaking him down to his feet, leaving him reeling.

He had a son.

A
son
.

He turned to Maggie and casually bent down to scratch the dog’s ears. “So what are you

two doing tonight?” Some quick stealth work and math needed to be done. “How ‘bout we all

go out for dinner?”

Her eyes widened, but the boy snorted. “In this? Is the Pope Catholic?”

Maggie rolled her eyes and laughed softly. “Quinn.”

He turned at the chiding note in his mother’s voice. “Can’t we? I mean, he invited us.”

“I certainly did,” Dan agreed, dangling the keys in front of Quinn. “Can you drive yet?”

He put his hand on his chest and pretended to choke. “Dude. I wish.”

“You must be close to that age.” But thirteen would be the
right
number.

“He’s only thirteen,” Maggie said.

Oh, man. “I guess that would be pushing the law a little to let him drive,” he said easily.

“But the jump seat’s big enough. Let’s go for a ride.”

Quinn beamed. “I’m in.”

“I’m . . . wet.” Maggie said, obviously torn.

“It’s a rental.” Dan put a hand on her shoulder and reached for the passenger door. “You

can bring the dog, for all I care.”

She laughed, hesitating just a little.

“Mom, we are
so
going in this car.”

Defeated, she put up her hands and stepped forward, then stopped. “Wait. I have to lock the

doors.”

“Definitely, since we were burglarized the other day,” Quinn said.

“You were?” Dan looked from one to the other. “When?”

“The night . . . we went out.”

“You two went out?” Quinn’s eyes popped. “Seriously?”

“Sort of,” Maggie added.

“Yes,” Dan said right over her words. “So go lock every door in the house, and we’ll take

her for a spin.”

The kid hesitated, more out of disbelief than disobedience, but Maggie pointed to the

house. “Go. He knows what he’s talking about. He’s a bodyguard.”

“No way!” Quinn almost jumped out of his skin. “That is tight, dude! Hang on. I need

shoes, too.” He turned and jogged back down the driveway to the house with Goose close on

his heels.

“Wow,” Maggie said, swiping at one of the curls that fell on her face. “I should have such a

carrot to dangle all the time.” She stepped back, biting her lip. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you

about him.”

“Why?”
Because he’s mine?
Of course she couldn’t know, but the reality still rocked him.

“Why didn’t I tell you, or why am I sorry?”

“Both.”

“I didn’t tell you because, I don’t know, raising a teenager is . . . not . . . what most men

want to talk about. I’m sorry, because it feels like I deceived you and that doesn’t sit well with

me.”

He reached out to push that curl aside for her. “First of all, I’m not most men. Second, if

that loses you a date, then the idiot wasn’t worth your time. And third, I’m the one who

deceived you.”

Which anyone with decent vision could see, if they compared her son to him. Of course,

people see what they expect to see, and she obviously never expected to see Michael Scott

again. Still, he had to get to the truth fast, because she
might
figure it out.

She frowned. “How did you deceive me?”

“I don’t have to leave for New York for a while. I’m staying longer, and I should have come

into the bar and told you.”

“Why are you staying?”

He tilted his head and tapped her chin. “Like you need to ask.”

She let out a little exhale of satisfaction.

“He seems like a great kid,” Dan added, glancing at the house.

“He is. He’s amazing. And …” She closed her hand over his, and pressed it to her cheek.

“So are you.”

Baba, send me a sign. It’s Maggie, calling for help.

Nobody answered.

Maggie curled her legs under her, fitting nicely into the undersize backseat of the sports car,

listening to the two males in the front discuss cylinders, horsepower, and torque.

She glanced at the clock on the dashboard. Did the numbers 9:28 portend great things?

That they’d get married on September 28? That he’d kiss her nine hundred and twenty-

eight times in their lifetime together? Or just tonight? That’d work, too.

She and Quinn had just spent four hours with the most delectable man she’d ever met, and

all the three of them had done was laugh over burgers and basically have more fun than she’d

had at a dinner since Smitty died.

Who needed a sign?
Face facts, sister. You’re over the moon for this guy.
Totally crushed

out, as Quinn would say.

She looked up into the rearview mirror just as Dan caught her fighting a smile. He gave her

a sly wink and the Fourth of July exploded in her stomach.

Not only was he a prime gorgeous hot, sexy hunk of human male, he also asked Quinn a

zillion questions and listened to the answers. He never made fun of the teen talk, never

excluded him from the conversation, and kept everyone laughing.

And
made her blood boil with lust.

Could she possibly have a great guy to be around her son and a lust fest for herself?

But how could there be a future? Her mind whirred with possibilities and obstacles. He

lived in New York. Would she move to New York?

In a heartbeat. The one that had been hammering her chest for the last three hours. Of

course, she’d have to sell the bar, and after all Brandy had put into it, that would be tough. But

maybe if she—

“Can I, Mom?” Quinn turned and asked the question, dragging her from the most ridiculous

and premature line of thought she’d ever had.

“Uh, it’s kind of loud back here.” She put her hand to her ear. “Can you what?”

Dan looked in the mirror again, the smile in his eyes looking a lot like the one in Quinn’s.

“That’s because the engine’s in the back,” he explained.

No, it’s because she was spinning stupid fairy tales.

“Can I put the stereo on full blast?” Quinn asked. “They’re Bose surround-sound speakers.

Okay?”

She nodded. Maybe the first song would be a sign from the universe.

A guitar solo blared and Quinn shouted something over it, so Maggie just closed her eyes

and conjured up her own signs. But all she could think of was the way Dan had kissed her and

touched her on the beach. What would happen if they went further? Should she?

She sneaked a peek at his shoulders, at the dark blond hair that brushed his collar, at the

hair-dusted forearm resting confidently on the gearshift.

She shouldn’t, but, whoa, she wanted to.

“Can I change the tune?” Quinn asked, sliding it to the classic rock station he liked.

A rocker wailed. “You . . . shook me all night long.”

Okay, Baba. Got it. Heard that one loud and clear
. Maggie listened to the crashing rock and

roll and felt her whole body coil into a knot the rest of the way home. She stayed wound

pretty tight while Quinn took his captive audience on a tour of his room to examine his car

posters, and the two of them Googled exotic sports cars for a little while.

When Quinn finally went to bed, she lit a few candles on the screened-in back porch, got

Dan a beer, poured herself some wine, and left plenty of room next to her on the rattan sofa. It

was dim, private, and romantic, with the smell of the sea in the air and wind brushing palm

fronds together. Perfect.

When he joined her he seemed completely at ease, in no way put out by having to spend all

those hours with a teenager.

“You’ve really been terrific to him tonight,” she said. “Thanks.”

“No need. He’s an awesome kid,” he said. “Smart and inquisitive. Great sense of humor.”