Hunt Her Down

by Roxanne St Claire

  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, covering his eyes, but no one else was visible.

  “Turn starboard!” he yelled.

  She whipped the boat at exactly that second, and Dan took a shot, purposely aiming to miss but let them know he meant business.

  “Stop your boat!” he yelled, punctuating the demand with another shot, skimming the port side.

  Maggie adjusted the beam so it kept them in light, handicapping the shooter and revealing something dark on the deck.

  Quinn, bound and flopping around like a hooked fish.

  Despite his visceral reaction, Dan steadied his aim.

  “Quinn!” Maggie’s voice lost all its earlier calm, cracking at the sight of her son. “Oh God, don’t shoot,” she begged. “That’s Quinn on the deck.”

  “Hand him over,” Dan demanded. “Give him up or you don’t take another breath.”

  He shot again, careful that the bullet couldn’t ricochet off the side and hit Quinn.

  The driver and shooter shared a look, while Maggie maneuvered the boat closer, keeping the spotlight on them while they blinked and cowered.

  Dan stood straight on the bow, protected by their blindness, his Glock aimed at the shooter. They were both Hispanic, but he didn’t recognize either one from his days with the Jimenez family.

  “Throw the gun in the water,” Dan ordered.

  They squinted into the light, defeat on their faces. The shooter in the back lifted both hands in surrender, a revolver in the right.

  “In the water,” he shouted.

  After a beat, he obeyed, his weapon splashing as it hit.

  “Stop the boat. Now!”

  The driver pulled back on his throttle and Maggie did the same, easily matching their slowing speed. When they idled to a stop, so did she, just as Quinn rolled over, revealing duct tape over his mouth.

  “Get over there,” Dan said to the driver, using his gun to point to the other man. “Next to him.”

  With both of them together, Dan could shoot either one at any time. He climbed over the port side rail, balancing as his boat dipped in the water before he eased himself to the other deck.

  Keeping the gun aimed on his targets, he used his other hand to reach down and help Quinn, who looked at him with eyes full of terror. And tears. Fury careened through Dan. The bastards made his kid cry.

  Behind him, he heard Maggie move into position to help get Quinn on their boat. With his feet bound, he struggled, and Dan turned just enough to negotiate a way up to the other boat, when Maggie shouted and a body thudded against Dan.

  He grunted with the force and lost his balance just as Quinn fell over the side and hit the water hard.

  “He’s tied up!” Maggie screamed. “He’ll drown!”

  Dan managed to whip around and slam his elbow into the first face it met, but the other man pounced on him, knocking his gun out of his hand and sending it sailing across the deck. Dan got in a kick to the gut of the other guy, but the first one was already at the helm. He flattened the throttle, sending Dan tumbling backward to his knees, rolling into cushions, the weapon still two feet from his reach.

  He twisted in time to see Maggie scrambling, ready to dive in after her son. The driver whipped the boat in the opposite direction, taking the outboard perilously close to the dark spot where Quinn had gone under.

  Leaping to his feet in one jump, Dan dove into the black water, instantly grabbing the boy’s shoulder as they both sank deeper.

  Dan forced his eyes wide, just in time to see the proper blades churning closer to chew them up. He looped his hand through Quinn’s bound hands and thrust them both lower, using all his strength to go under the hull, then kick them away just as the spinning prop whirred by.

  In a second, the boat was gone and he swam Quinn up, sensing the panic in his body. As soon as he broke the surface he heard Maggie screaming, and he ripped the tape off Quinn’s mouth so he could gasp in air.

  “Stay with me, Quinn,” he insisted, pulling the boy along. “Stay with me.”

  Quinn nodded as Dan swam them to the back of the boat. Maggie flipped the lock on the gate of a small diving platform and reached down, dragging Quinn up as Dan gave him a mighty push to the deck.

  As the other boat disappeared into the darkness, Quinn turned to Dan in gratitude, the water dripping down his face mixing with his tears.

  Dan dropped to his knees, put his arms out, and hugged his son for the first time.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  MAGGIE TURNED OUT the bedside table light and kissed Quinn’s smooth cheek, whispering good night. She’d been sitting with him for the past hour, soothing him and answering his questions as best as she could.

  The one thing she’d strived to teach her son was to be honest, and she felt like the biggest hypocrite on earth. But right now, in this mental state, at this time of night, with so much unknown, the best she could do was assure him that he was safe and that she would do whatever was necessary to keep those men away from him.

  She stepped into the hall, glancing toward the kitchen. Dan stood in the soft stove light, wearing nothing but camouflage drawstring pants slung low enough to reveal every muscle down to his hips. He must have changed out of his wet clothes and showered, because his hair looked damp. Stone still, he stared out the window, a mug poised inches from his mouth.

  He turned as he heard her approach, his eyes narrowed, his jaw clenched.

  “How is he?”

  “Asleep. Confused. Scared out of his mind.” She went to the coffeepot and grabbed a mug from the cup tree Quinn had made for her in summer camp about ten years ago.

  She touched the bear’s brown head, imagined little fingers painting it just for her, and swallowed a lump. She’d almost lost him.

  “Thank you,” she said softly. “You saved his life.”

  She kept her gaze on the coffee as she poured a cup and dipped the spoon into the sugar bowl. Her hands were steady, but she jumped at Dan’s touch on her shoulders, and spilled half the teaspoon on the counter.

  “Look at me,” he demanded, adding some pressure.

  She exhaled softly, set the spoon down, and let herself be turned around. The scent of soap and skin was overwhelming this close, as was the sight of his unshaven face, his parted lips. She looked up to meet his gaze and tried to step back from the sheer force of it, but the counter hit her hips.

  “Did you tell him?” he asked.

  “No. I need some time to get used to the idea first. It’s not just something you blurt out after the kid just went through the scariest ordeal of his life. Give me time.”

  “Of course.”

  She put her fingertips on his hard chest to push him away, but he didn’t move and her hands barely dented the solid muscles underneath. “I need to get used to the idea that you’re here. And alive. I buried you a long time ago.”

  He stepped back, but not very far. “Your cell phone rang,” he said, pointing to the table. “A text, I think.”

  She reached for it and as she did, he snagged her arm, his hand warm as it closed over her skin. “By the way, you drive a mean boat.”

  They held each other’s gaze for a long moment. “Smitty taught me,” she said. “He did a lot of things for me. He took me in when I was pregnant and broke. He gave me a home. He loved me. He married me. And he raised my son as though he were his own. He made a lot
of mistakes and wasn’t always the man I wanted him to be, but he was Quinn’s father in every way but biological. Don’t forget that.”

  “All I said was that you drove well.”

  She slipped out of his grasp and picked up the phone, thumbing to the text.

  You have a fortune I want. Let’s make a deal. She stared at the message, frowning, then read the words out loud to Dan, the ominous implication sending a shiver through her. “I don’t have a fortune.”

  “Ramon thinks you do. And so does that Constantine Xenakis. They both said the same thing: you have a fortune they want.”

  She pressed a few buttons, trying to figure out who’d sent it. “Well, they’re both delusional. I’m mortgaged up to my eyeballs, my truck isn’t worth the paper your Porsche rental agreement is written on, I sold my husband’s last boat at a serious loss, and put the little bit I made into a college prepay program. I don’t have two thousand dollars in the bank, let alone a fortune.” She held the phone up. “Should I reply or call the sheriff?”

  “We should contact authorities, absolutely. Who sent the text?”

  “Unknown caller. Blocked ID.” She looked up at him. “What does it mean? Is it a threat? A ransom? They didn’t get Quinn, but who’s to say they won’t try again?”

  He rocked back on the kitchen chair, the muscles in his chest and stomach outlined by the move. “Kidnapping is something I know a little about, and I can tell you that was a well-executed and planned event. Maybe Ramon was in on it. They were sitting outside the bar all that time, waiting for Quinn. Who better to distract you than your ex-boyfriend?”

  True. Maggie finished fixing her coffee, thinking. “You think Ramon believes Quinn is his, and now that he’s out of jail, he wants him?”

  “A damn stupid way to get custody, if you ask me, and frankly, it stunk of El Viejo.”

  She refused to think about the word custody. “Ramon’s father? He’s been out of jail for six months. Why try something like this now?”

  “So you’ve been following them?” Dan asked.

  “Of course.” She took a seat across from him, placing her mug on the table near his. “I’ve been on a website to monitor his release, and praying the whole damn family would disappear off the face of the earth and take my messy history with them.”