Hunt Her Down

by Roxanne St Claire

  Maggie almost laughed at the euphemistic stretch of history. “What brings you here?”

  “I came down with my men who flew into the Keys, and decided to bring the plane up to Miami in case you two needed it. And after looking at that map and the four coordinates you mapped out last night”—she gestured toward the computer screen—”I think you most certainly will need it today.”

  “You want to fly down there?” Maggie asked Dan. “To Venezuela?”

  “I think so. We’ve been talking about it, and it seems like the right next move.”

  She ignored the little kick of jealousy over the “we.” Shouldn’t he have been talking to her about it? Of course, she didn’t own the plane. Or a security agency.

  “What about Lola?” she asked. “Is she still here? She can probably answer a lot of questions.”

  He nodded. “She’s just waking up. Why don’t I walk you over there?” The rest was implied: so you can dress and get out of here before Quinn wakes up.

  “All right.” She turned to Lucy. “I assume you’ll be here when I get back, so we can all discuss the next best move together.”

  She nodded with a hint of a smile. “Of course.”

  As Dan walked with her to the door, Maggie didn’t see her clothes on the living room floor. When he caught her looking, he just winked.

  Out on the patio, he snuggled her as he closed the door. “Good morning. Sorry if that was an unexpected awakening.”

  “I admit, I would have preferred to wake up next to you.” They started walking across the patio. “Me, too, but she knocked at six thirty, which is a few hours into the work day for Lucy.”

  “She’s quite . . .” Gorgeous. Intimidating. Larger than life. “Something.”

  Dan chuckled. “Everyone has that reaction to her at first. Really, she’s just a very smart and capable lady.”

  Who he might have loved once. Maggie gave him a quick look, and he must have seen the question in her eyes.

  “Don’t listen to rumors, Maggie May.” At the French door that led to the guest wing, he brushed her curls back and tilted her head toward him. “You look good in that shirt. And better out of it.”

  She gave him a rueful smile. “Where’s mine?”

  “Hostage. You’ll have to come back and rescue it.”

  “Did you hide it before she came in?”

  He shrugged. “I don’t waste my time trying to keep things from Lucy. She figures everything out, usually twenty minutes before every one else does.” He lowered his head to kiss her just as the sheer curtain on the inside of the French door fluttered.

  They backed away from each other instinctively, looking at it.

  “If we’re not careful, everyone else will figure this out in twenty minutes,” Maggie said.

  “I don’t care.”

  She did. “I’ll be back in a few minutes. I’m going to shower and change.” When she opened the door and stepped in the hallway, Quinn’s bedroom door slammed shut.

  Maybe it wouldn’t even take twenty minutes.

  It took all he had not to interrogate Lola James, but Dan managed to keep his tone casual as they gathered in the guesthouse a little while later. Lucy stayed, quietly taking it in from a seat at the kitchen bar. Max sat next to her, a laptop open.

  Maggie tucked her bare feet under her on a club chair with a view of the wall-size screen, and Lola, sporting scabs from her cuts, slumped miserably in the corner of the sofa, staring at the map of Venezuela on the screen.

  She was in pain, though definitely out of her shocked condition. That was the only reason he didn’t rattle her cage for answers.

  “Exactly when did you learn that the fortune you had was connected to missing money?” he asked her.

  “The day my brother got out of prison, and was free for the first time in fourteen years to tell me.”

  “Or you would have tried to find them all sooner, I suppose.”

  That earned him a sharp look. “I suppose,” she said dryly.

  “How did you get those fortunes?” he asked.

  “Ramon gave me the cookies, and I shared with my”— she shot a contemptuous glance at Maggie—”babysitter.”

  “Why didn’t he just give them to Maggie and tell her to hang on to them?”

  She narrowed bloodshot eyes. “Probably because he knew she’d just hand them over to you the next time you two fucked like bunnies.”

  Fury whipped through him, but he didn’t blink. “How many are there, Lola?”

  “Four.”

  “Did Ramon tell you that?” That’s what he told Dan, but he may have been lying.

  “He told me everything.”

  “Why?” Dan asked. “Why wouldn’t he just take the fortune you have, and get the money for himself?”

  She shook her head, looking as if he was so stupid, it annoyed her to have to respond. “Because he thinks if he finds the money and gives it to our father, he’ll be forgiven for his sins—real or imagined.”

  “Then why don’t you help him do that?”

  She shrugged. “Personal reasons.”

  “You hate your father.”

  “Of course I do. So do you. So does she.” She angled her head toward Maggie. “Viejo knew someone was feeding information to the FBI and he made the assumption it was Ramon. That’s how it came out at the trial, since you were conveniently dead and she was conveniently gone.” She leaned forward. “Wasn’t this meeting supposed to be about finding the guy who did this to me?”

  “Constantine Xenakis?”

  “He didn’t touch me. But he obviously beat the guy who did cut me up to my office, and stole the fortune.”

  Con was smart enough to steal the fortune from her; he was also smart enough to work with her to try and derail Dan and Maggie’s efforts. Earlier, he and Lucy had pieced together how Con found Dan at Max’s house—he knew plenty about the Bullet Catchers, and no doubt knew they were close friends. He must have found out where Max’s wife lived and took a chance.

  The Con Man was smart, no doubt. But whose side was he on—other than his own?

  If he hadn’t cut Lola, and she was telling the truth about the guy she’d described when they started this meeting—auburn haired, dark eyed, muscular, with a mole under his jaw—this player wasn’t anyone they’d come across yet.

  “How many fortunes do you have?” Lola asked suddenly. “You have mine and you have Maggie’s and you said you have Ramon’s. This other guy must have the fourth, or he wouldn’t be so hot on the trail of the other ones. And he must know what it’s worth or he wouldn’t want it so much.”

  “Or maybe he works for Viejo,” Dan suggested, “and his job is to get them all so no one finds them. Viejo might already know exactly where the money is hidden.”

  She shrugged. “He might. And if he hasn’t laundered it yet, it could still be there.”

  Dan turned to the screen and pointed to the southwest corner of the lake, not zooming in enough for her to know they had a fourth coordinate from the FBI files, giving them a precise quadrant. “This area of Lake Maracaibo mean anything to you?”

  “Yes. My uncle had a house down there in the lake.”

  “In the lake?” Maggie asked.

  “A stilt house. They’re all over Lake Maracaibo, especially in the south, where there are no oil derricks and plenty of fishing. That’s all they are—fishing huts up on stilts, and I was down there with my uncle when I was seven or eight.” She squinted at the screen. “I’m pretty sure it was right there. About thirty miles off shore from a town called . . .” She tapped her chin, thinking. “Puerto Concha. A village on a river that leads to the lake.” She shifted her gaze to Dan, then Maggie. “Is that it? The location of the money?”

  When he didn’t answer, her eyes widened with interest. “I should have thought of that. It would be a perfect place for my uncle to hide it. There’s nothing around it for miles—at least there wasn’t all those years ago. But it’s not very secure. The place only has three walls
and a thatched roof, a dock, and a toilet. I suppose that he . . .”

  At her hesitation, Dan forced himself not to prod her. But Maggie was already leaning forward.

  “He what?” she urged.

  “He could be dropping it in the water in some kind of protective covering.”

  Maggie looked at Dan. “Is that possible?”

  He doubted it. He doubted a lot of what Lola said, but they had little else to go on at this point. “Anything’s possible.”

  Lola crossed her arms and studied the screen. “It would make sense that Viejo would put it there, far away from the plantation where he lives. But how would that sick old bastard get down there?”

  “He’s sick?” Dan asked.

  She closed her eyes, disgusted. “Black hearted, corrupt, depraved, and mean. That’s my dear father.” She pushed herself up. “Are we done here? I want to go home.”

  “You’re not going home,” Lucy said, standing up. “That wouldn’t be safe.”

  Lola turned and scanned her from head to toe with a mildly interested look. “I’ll be okay. This time I won’t open my door for anyone.”

  “We’ll arrange round-the-clock protection for you, Ms. James. There will be someone waiting for you as soon as you get back.”

  Lola eyed her again. “Back from where?”

  “The FBI offices. I’m taking you now.”

  “What?” She jerked forward. “I’m not going to the FBI.”

  “Of course you are,” Lucy said smoothly. “This is an open federal investigation, and you’ve been face-to-face with someone who might be involved. I understand you often work with the authorities to maintain the integrity of your business.”

  Lola just stared at her, clearly recognizing she didn’t have a chance against the other woman.

  Dan smiled at Maggie. “Looks like I might need a skilled boat driver again.”

  “Let me get my stuff and go say good-bye to Quinn.” She started to leave, but Lola reached out and grabbed her hand.

  “So it’s just one big happy family now?” Lola looked from Maggie to Dan. “How nice that you found each other after all these years.”

  Maggie pulled free. “I wish I could say the same about you.”

  Fighter jets and a familiar theme song blared from the media room, telling Maggie exactly where to find her son, and, more importantly, what his mood was.

  Top Gun was his comfort movie of choice; he’d watched it about seventy-five times in a row the year that Smitty died.

  She pushed the heavy door open and instantly covered her ears at the deafening surround sound.

  “Quinn!” she shouted over it.

  He sat in the middle of eight theater-style recliners, leaning all the way back, his gaze unwavering on the huge flat screen. He’d never hear her. She walked deeper into the room, but he didn’t move.

  “Quinn,” she said again when the sound dipped for a second.

  Still he didn’t turn.

  She marched to the bottom of the slightly elevated floor and stood right in front of the screen. “Turn it off or you will seriously regret this.”

  Barely moving a finger, he touched some kind of remote panel and the room went silent.

  Asking him what was wrong was a waste of time. He wouldn’t tell her anyway. “I’m leaving for a few days.”

  His gaze was on the screen behind her, as if he were just waiting for her to leave so he could hit Play. Irritation and frustration zipped through her as she kneeled on the seat right in front of him.

  “Why are you doing this?”

  “Why am I doing this?” The fury in his voice surprised her. This wasn’t just ‘I caught Mom kissing a guy.’ “Why are you doing this?”

  “I told you, I’m trying to keep you alive.”

  “All night long?” he said. At her look, he nodded. “Yeah, I came to find you last night. I had a stomachache.”

  A pang of guilt hit. Then she remembered that he hadn’t come looking for her with an upset stomach for years. “You’re lying.”

  “Am I? Then I guess I come by it naturally.”

  She sucked in an audible gasp. Did he know about Dan?

  “You’re doing an awful lot of sneaking around and changing the truth these days, aren’t you, Mom?” He gave her a smart-ass look. “Where are you going?”

  “Venezuela.”

  His eyebrows raised. “What for?”

  “To get what we need to make sure you’re safe.” She leaned forward. “Honey, I don’t like this any more than you do.”

  “I think you like it just fine. And you like that guy, too.”

  “Yes, I do,” she said. “Very much.” Way, way too much. He didn’t say anything.

  “You’re not jealous, are you?” she asked, adding a teasing smile to soften the blow.

  “Of some hotshot bodyguard with expensive cars?” He puffed out some air. “As if.”

  Her heart melted, as it always did when he acted tougher than he was. “You stay safe while I’m gone, okay? Do everything Mr. Roper says to do.”

  A tap at the door got her attention. “You in here, Maggie?” Dan came in, carrying his small duffel bag. “You should put your stuff in here, so we only have one light bag to carry.”

  Quinn didn’t turn to see Dan, or smile at him as he usually did.

  “Gimme a kiss, Quinn.” She leaned forward and he met her halfway, giving her more cheek than kiss. “I’ll call you,” she added.

  Dan dropped into the recliner at the end of that row. “Here,” he said, giving her the bag. “I’ll catch a few minutes of my favorite movie while I wait.”

  Still Quinn didn’t look over or react.

  “This is the ‘hit the brakes and they fly right by’ scene, right?”

  Quinn nodded, his gaze on the frozen image behind Maggie. She gave a little shrug to Dan, and walked out. The sound came blaring back on, and all she heard was Tom Cruise’s voice.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  IN AN OPEN-AIR vehicle that resembled a rickety Jeep, Dan navigated a treacherous combination of dirt, potholes, and huge puddles at the foothills of the mountains. Maggie held on to the roll bar with one hand, the rusted door with the other, and never complained. She hadn’t even bitched about riding a bus with chickens from the San Carlos airport to the city to rent a Jeep. He took his hand off the gearshift to give her bare leg a squeeze.

  She let go of the roll bar and held his hand for a minute, saying nothing but making him feel something. Close. Connected. Crazy about her again. They shared a look and he knew she was feeling the same thing.

  “Not at all what I expected El Viejo’s homeland to be like,” she said as they slowed down at a group of five or six shacks and a ramshackle store, which constituted a village here.

  “There are two Venezuelas,” Dan replied. “Over-thetop wealthy, and this.”

  At one hut, children played in hammocks while a weary mother pounded laundry on a rock. The kids waved and a flock of herons took off into the hills.

  “You think we’ll make it tonight?”

  He glanced at the sun, which was much closer to the western mountains than when they started. “I don’t know. Puerto Concha should be the next town, and that’s where we have to find a boat. We need to get down the river, which could take an hour, then out to the lake, to our location, look around, and go all the way back to San Carlos. We’re so close to the equator, it’ll be light a lot longer, but we’ll be tight on time to make it all by nightfall.”

  The pilots were waiting at the airport with the Bullet Catcher plane, because if they’d left it, it would have been stolen or scrapped by the time they got back. Not too many Lear jets landed in the San Carlos airport.

  In less than half an hour, they reached Puerto Concha. The next job was to find the home of a man named Jose Navarro, who was a friend of a friend of Lucy’s and who would take them down the river to the lake. The connection was tenuous, and as of Dan’s last call to Lucy, she still hadn’t spoken to Navarro himself.
But Dan had enough cash on him to buy a boat if they had to.

  “Calling it a town is generous,” Dan said dryly as they rumbled down the dirt road and passed yet another Catholic church and at least the twelfth statue of Simón Bolívar they’d seen since their plane landed.

  He parked at a break in the buildings, where fruit and food stands lined the road, checking the address on his makeshift map. “Let’s go find Señor Navarro. I think our luck is holding.”

  She groaned. “What is with you? Don’t tempt the universe like that.”

  “I like tempting the universe.” He took her hand as she came around the back, slipped his arm around her, and pulled her close. “It’s gonna be a cake—”

  She shut him up with a long, slow kiss. “Don’t say it.”

  “Walk,” he finished. At her look, he gave her a little nudge. “Walk forward. To that chicken spit with roasted plaintains. I’m hungry.”

  They ate broiled chicken wrapped in newspapers as they walked by the vendors, checking the little buildings to find the address they had for Jose Navarro.

  A young Indian boy came scampering up to Maggie. “Do you need a boat, lady?”

  They glanced at each other, then the boy.

  “Tourists want to see the lightning!” he continued with a wide smile. “I can take you to the lake before the lightning starts.”

  Dan reached into his pocket for change. “We’re looking for Jose Navarro. Do you know him?”

  “He lives there.” He pointed to a red wooden structure across the street. “But he’s been gone for five, six days.”

  Dan ignored Maggie’s “I told you not to jinx us” look and checked his phone. No Service. It was spotty here, at best.

  “He went to find more tourist business,” the boy said, his accented English fairly easy to understand.

  “We do need a boat,” Dan said, deciding that Navarro might never materialize. “Can I rent yours?”

  The boy shook his head. “No, sir. No rental. But I will take you to the lake, because you will never find it without me. I make the trip every day. I know the best waters, the fastest route. There are several ways on the river.” He made wiggling motion with his hand. “Several, uh, trib… trib . . .”