Hunt Her Down
Roxanne St Claire
The critics love Roxanne St. Claire and the Bullet Catchers
“Roxanne St. Claire leaves us wanting just one thing—
more Bullet Catchers.”
—Romance Novel TV
“Sexy, smart, and suspenseful.”
—Mariah Stewart, New York Times bestselling author
“When it comes to dishing up great romantic suspense,
St. Claire is the author you want.”
—Romantic Times
NOW YOU DIE
“The incredibly talented Ms. St. Claire… keeps the audience on tenterhooks with her clever ruses, while the love scenes pulsate with sensuality and an exquisite tenderness that zeroes in on the heart.”
—The Winter Haven News Chief (FL)
“A nonstop thrill ride of mayhem that leaves you breathless.”
—Simply Romance Reviews
THEN YOU HIDE
“St. Claire aces another one!”
—Romantic Times
“Nothing short of spectacular, with the fast pace and the tension constantly mounting.”
—Kwips and Kritiques
“Knock-your-socks-off romantic suspense right from the get-go… simply stunning.… Roxanne St. Claire to a top-notch writer who has the sexiest heroes going!”
—Reader to Reader Reviews
FIRST YOU RUN
“Nonstop, fast-paced, action-filled romantic adventure that will keep you on the edge of your seat from beginning to end. Filled with heart-stopping suspense and sizzling hot romance.”
—Romance Novel TV
“Deep-felt, exotically sensuous emotions. St. Claire continues to exceed all expectations. This one was ripped from her heart, don’t miss it.”
—The Winter Haven News Chief (FL)
“An exciting, sexy-as-hell, romantic suspense by first-rate author Roxanne St. Claire.”
—Reader to Reader Reviews
“If you love the Bullet Catchers and their cast of hunky investigators, full of action and drop-dead good looks, you will be fascinated with this action-packed start to an exciting trio of stories.”
—Romance Reviews Today
TAKE ME TONIGHT
“Fantastic characters… smart and sexy.”
—All About Romance
“Roxanne St. Claire has outdone herself… you actually have to put Take Me Tonight down every once in a while just to catch your breath.”
—Romance Reviews Today
THRILL ME TO DEATH
“Sizzles like a hot Miami night.”
—New York Times bestselling author Erica Spindler
“Sultry romance with enticing suspense.”
—Publishers Weekly
“Fast-paced, sexy romantic suspense.… A book that will keep the reader engrossed in the story from cover to cover.”
—Booklist
“Roxanne St. Claire’s got the sexy bodyguard thing down to an art form… .”
—Michelle Buonfiglio, Lifetime TV.com
“St. Claire doesn’t just push the envelope, she folds it into an intricate piece of origami for the reader’s pleasure!”
—The Winter Haven News Chief (FL)
KILL ME TWICE
“Sexy and scintillating… an exciting new series.”
—Romantic Times
“Kill Me Twice literally vibrates off the pages with action, danger, and palpable sexual tension. St. Claire is exceptionally talented.”
—The Winter Haven News Chief (FL)
“Jam-packed with characters, situations, suspense, and danger. The reader will be dazzled… .”
—Rendezvous
Also by Roxanne St. Claire
The Bullet Catchers Series
Now You Die
Then You Hide
First You Run
What You Can’t See
(with Allison Brennan, et al.)
Take Me Tonight
I’ll Be Home for Christmas
(with Linda Lael Miller, et al.)
Thrill Me to Death
Kill Me Twice
Killer Curves
French Twist
Tropical Getaway
Hit Reply
HUNT HER DOWN
ROXANNE ST. CLAIRE
The sale of this book without its cover is unauthorized. If you purchased this book without a cover, you should be aware that it was reported to the publisher as “unsold and destroyed.” Neither the author nor the publisher has received payment for the sale of this “stripped book.”
Pocket Star Books
A Division of Simon & Schuster, Inc.
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New York, NY 10020
www.SimonandSchuster.com
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 2009 by Roxanne St. Claire
All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form whatsoever. For information address Pocket Books Subsidiary Rights Department, 1230 Avenue of the Americas, New York, NY 10020
First Pocket Star Books paperback edition September 2009
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Cover design by Min Choi
Art by Gene Mollica
Manufactured in the United States of America
10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1
ISBN 978-1-4391-0221-3
eISBN 978-1-4391-2736-0
This one is for Dante
I cherish the memory of the baby you were and
hold tight (futile, I know) to the child you have been.
More than anything, I stand in awe of the man
you are about to become. I just love being your mom.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Some days it feels like I work in a vacuum, all alone with these fictional folk. The truth is, there are a lot of real, live, amazing people who help me make each book better. A million thank-yous go out to all of them. In particular, there are a few shoulders I leaned on a lot for this book:
Jim Vatter, retired FBI agent, good friend, world-class neighbor. I’m sure it seems like you can’t walk your dog without being inundated with questions about evidence, criminals, procedures, and that pesky palm tree disease.
Deputy Becky Herron of the Monroe County Sheriff’s Department, for taking the time to answer questions and provide information about Marathon, Florida law enforcement, response to kidnappings, and geography.
Kenneth A. Smith, U.S. Immigration and Customs Enforcement Office of Investigations, for directing me to valuable information about drug trafficking and money laundering.
Kim Whalen of Trident Media Group, my agent and advocate and phenomenal beta reader. You are brilliant and beautiful!
The marvelous and incomparable Micki Nuding, who is truly an editorial gift to me, and the entire team of supportive professionals at Pocket Books, who work tirelessly to publish, package, and sell my work. I can’t thank you enough!
My posse of peeps, my dearest of dears, my circle of writers, who are with me from CHapter One to The End. You know who you are! Must give a shout-out to Kresley Cole, for a ridiculous amount of perspective and laughter, and Ma
rilyn Puett, for the HGFR installments to inspire me. And major props to the pool party plotters, who helped me craft this one: Kristen Painter, Lara Santiago, Lee Duncan, Maggie Lynch, Babe King, and Carrie Hensley (special thanks for the GPS For Blondes assistance).
Always and forever, my precious family, Rich, Dante and Mia. Nothing would matter without you. (And a great big dog bone to Rojo Loika, who loves my Pepper and inspired Goose.)
HUNT HER DOWN
PROLOGUE
THE UNIVERSE GAVE them rain the night of the delivery. A drenching summer downpour that swept in from the Everglades and turned Miami’s expressways into one long blur of red and orange over slick pavement. The kind of rain that would hide anything, or anyone.
Maggie blinked once, then again quickly to ward off bad luck, but also to make sure the blur was on the window and not in her eyes. She’d been teary ever since Lourdes had sneaked her that stupid fortune cookie this afternoon.
She slipped her fingertips into the front pocket of her jeans and ran a nail over the edge of the paper she’d folded into a tiny square, every word committed to memory.
“Now that love grows in you, then beauty grows, too.” When the universe spoke, Magdalena Varcek listened. That’s what her grandmother taught her. Follow the signs the universe sends you, Baba would say.
This one was kind of hard to miss. And there was only one thing to do: she had to tell Michael tonight. He’d know what to do.
She closed her eyes and imagined his face, his reaction to her news. She loved to think about his face. The way she got lost in his soft brown eyes. His perfect mouth, the little bump on his nose, the way he kissed, the way he—
She looked up and caught Ramon’s unrelenting gaze on her in the rearview mirror. She’d once thought those sultry Venezuelan eyes were sexy, that curled lip of a smile was dreamy. But now her stomach flip-flopped for a whole different reason when she looked at her boyfriend. If he knew what she’d been doing in that shed behind his father’s house, he’d kill Michael.
And his father would kill her.
She didn’t want to die at eighteen. Especially not at the vicious hands of El Viejo. Ever since Ramon had brought her home like a stray cat, his father had looked for excuses to get rid of her. She was only allowed to stay so she could be a free nanny to little Lourdes.
In the front passenger seat, Carlos tapped his fingers to some imaginary tune, his head bobbing like a fool’s, his chubby jowls wiggling as he chewed and cracked gum. He’d probably snorted a gram before they left. He said something to Ramon in Spanish and threw a look over his shoulder at Maggie.
Ramon unhooked the car phone from the console, the red brake lights in front of them illuminating the rattlesnake tattoo that ran up his forearm. She used to think that was the last word in sexy, too.
After dialing, he asked, “Where are you, bro?”
English, so it had to be Michael on the other end. Viejo and Ramon didn’t always include him, but she’d told him about tonight’s job, and he was pretty good about worming his way in. She liked to think that was so he could see her.
Maybe when the guys were unloading the crates, she could give him the signal. Move one bracelet to the other arm… meet me in my room. Move two bracelets . . . meet me in the shed. Three meant follow me when I leave the house. And he usually did.
“They’re through? Already?” Ramon turned to Carlos and muttered something.
He whizzed down the next exit, water hissing under the tires as he sped through the deserted industrial section near the airport. In a few minutes, he pulled into the lot in front of the warehouse, the words AJ Cargo and Shipping barely visible in the rain.
El Viejo’s Stash House was more like it. But Alonso Jimenez wasn’t there tonight. He usually was, but something in the silent looks volleying between Ramon and Carlos told her that things weren’t exactly going smooth and easy this time. Starting with the rain and ending with Juan Santiago puking on Chinese-food poisoning, so that Ramon freaked and brought Maggie in his place. At least the Chinese food delivery had included her message from the universe.
She touched the paper again, scanning the empty lot for Michael’s car. Nothing but three AJ Cargo trucks lined up near the loading dock in the back.
Michael would be following a fourth one in at any minute, and the men driving it would help Carlos and Ramon unload furniture boxes from Caracas, sofas and chairs stuffed with bags of cocaine that had traveled from Colombia to Maracaibo, Venezuela, then shipped out of Caracas.
Ramon had told her the whole thing. And anything Ramon told her, she passed on to Michael because, well, he was kind of low on the totem pole in this operation and even if it was a drug business, he was ambitious. She loved that about him.
God, she loved everything about him.
“Sit up here and don’t get out of the car, Maggie,” Ramon ordered as he threw it into reverse.
How would she get to Michael then?
“What if—” “What if nothing,” he said harshly. “When Mike calls and tells you he’s on Hialeah Drive, you flash the brights three times.” He tapped the turn signal stick on the steering wheel. “Just pull it like this. You know how to do that, Maggie? Or are you so stupid you can’t flash the brights?”
She glared at him.
“We’ll come out and open up the cargo door and you wait.”
“And when you’re done?” Could she talk to Michael then? Give him the sign?
He backed up to a dilapidated fence that separated this parking lot from the next, a good hundred yards from the trucks and the loading dock.
“When we’re done, we’re done,” Ramon said. “You don’t get out of this car, understand? If we gotta move fast, you have to be ready to drive.”
“What if Viejo calls and needs you? Should I come and get you?” she asked.
Ramon just shook his head. “He won’t.”
He threw open his door and Carlos did the same on the passenger side, and they hustled off while she got behind the wheel. The motor was still running, and the wipers smacked from one side to the other, clearing the windshield for a split second before it was drenched again. Smack, slap, smack.
Were they giving her a message, those rhythmic wipers? Baba would say . . . listen. Smack, slap, smack. Smack, slap, smack.
Mich . . . ael . . . Scott. Tell . . . him . . . now. This . . . is . . . it.
She dropped her head back to watch Ramon disappear around the back of the warehouse, the air-conditioning blowing her hair off her face, the wipers thwacking their cryptic messages.
Mich . . . ael . . . Scott. Tell . . . him—
She startled when the phone rang. “Hello?” The only reply was a mix of a choke and a soft intake of breath. “Michael?”
“What the hell are you doing there, Maggie?”
Juan’s sick. He was throwing his guts up.”
Under his breath, she heard him swear. “You’re supposed to be taking Lourdes to the movies.”
She liked that he kept track of her schedule. “She went to a sleepover ‘cause Ramon was losing it, screaming that he needed me here. But now I can—”
“Don’t go in to the warehouse.”
“I won’t. I’m just going to flash the lights when you turn on Hialeah. I won’t get out of the car.” His concern touched her and she tucked the phone deeper into her shoulder, wishing it were him. “Michael, um, listen. Can we meet later?” The silence on the other end lasted one beat too long. “Michael? Did you hear me?”
“You have to get out of that car. Now. You have to get out of there, away from there.”
She frowned, confused. “Why?”
“Because you do. You’re not supposed to be here tonight.” His voice was strained, the tone sending a chill down her. “I mean it. Get the hell out of there. Fast.”
Just as he said it, she heard the rumble of a truck turning into the lot and caught the AJ Cargo logo between wiper swipes. The delivery.
She twisted in the seat to see down the
road. “Aren’t you behind these guys?” she asked.
But he was gone. The line was dead. Why would he tell her to leave?
And why hadn’t he called when the truck was on Hialeah, like he was supposed to? They needed to get the cargo bay door open.
Should she do the brights now? If she didn’t, Ramon would kill her. If she did, and this wasn’t the delivery, then El Viejo would kick her ass from here to kingdom come anyway.
She curled her fingers around the stick and pulled once, yellow light spilling onto the rain-slicked asphalt. After a few seconds, she let go and the pavement went dark. She waited the same amount of time, then—
The driver’s side door popped open.
“Get out!” Michael pulled her out, yanking her harshly from the seat.
“Hey! What are—”
He whipped her out as if she weighed nothing, pulling her by her shoulders into his face. His breath was warm, his face furious.
“Go through that fence and run to the next block and get the hell out of here.” His eyes burned darkly.
“Michael, why—”
“Just do it!” he ordered. “Go as fast as you can. Don’t stop. Don’t come back. Just run, Maggie. Run.”
He pushed her away, madder than she’d ever seen him.
She stumbled and looked back at him. “Michael! I have to—”
“God damn it! Go!”
She lunged, grabbing his shoulders. “Listen to me!” she screamed. “I have to tell you something—”
“Just go!” He shoved her toward the fence again, but she braced her legs and refused to move.
