Free Hunt Her Down by Roxanne St. Claire Page A

street.
    They left the door open when they ran out, which gave out the tiniest bit of light. He
    waited, listening for the sound of the engine to fade away before he carefully pushed himself
    up from his hiding place. He took a few silent steps, the dim light from outside giving him a
    fairly clear view of the storage area. All of the crates appeared to be as they had been, except
    for the ones he’d emptied, piece by tedious piece.
    He had a job to do. And a grandchild to do it for.
    He lifted the crowbar to raise the lid of the crate he’d come to empty, just as he heard the
    infinitesimal whisper of a breath behind him.
    Whipping around with the bar raised, he flung himself on instinct without seeing his
    attacker. The crowbar smacked against a head, the crack of the skull snapping through the
    warehouse walls, instantly followed by a yelp.
    Alonso took another vicious swing as the man fell to the ground, landing the blow right on
    his temple. That silenced him. But was it enough?
    He whacked again, thudding the skull one more time, then again, and again, until his
    attacker lay completely still.
    Alonso looked at the door, waiting for the next one, the crowbar in his right hand, his knife
    in his left.
    Had this one been alone? Had he been the only one to suspect something of value might be
    in the old, abandoned warehouse?
    Nothing stirred, not even the rats.
    After a minute, he dragged the body to the crate he’d emptied last time.
    Alonso Jimenez was a strong man. He might have a cancer in his body, a broken family,
    and a wrecked life, but he was still El Viejo. He hoisted the body into the crate, closed it, and
    returned to the one he’d been about to open. He jabbed the bar in and grunted as he pushed,
    the hinges squeaking. Then he reached in for a very heavy hammer to close the intruder’s
    coffin.
    He quickly finished his business, got what he needed to make this next deposit, and slipped
    back into the night, satisfied. Almost satisfied.
    He wouldn’t be truly happy until young Quinn Smith was home.
    After seventy-two miserable tequila-soaked hours staring out at the ocean from a different
    room at the same resort, Dan still didn’t have any answers. The questions just kept piling up.
    Quinn had lived his whole life, thinking another man was his father, so what difference did
    it make if he spent the rest of it with that mistaken notion?
    Maggie was clearly running from her past; what right did he have to blow it up in her face
    and wreck her life?
    Dan had just dodged the commitment bullet with a woman he knew well and nearly loved;
    why the hell would he seek it with a virtual stranger?
    And the biggest question of all—how would Maggie feel? He had no doubt that she’d seen
    what happened that night in Miami, and knew he’d betrayed her and used her to rat out the
    whole operation, so the chances that she’d be overjoyed to have a reunion with Michael Scott
    were nil. More likely, she’d use her little .22 right between his eyes. Or legs.
    She hadn’t figured it out yet, but wasn’t he living on borrowed time? Couldn’t she see the
    genetic imprint of him on her son?
    It didn’t matter if she did or not. He had to tell her the truth.
    Otherwise he’d have to go on knowing he had a son living on this earth whom he didn’t
    know. Not to mention the financial responsibilities. Maggie was obviously struggling, and he
    could make her life easy with the stroke of his pen.
    Was it the right thing to do . . . or the wrong thing?
    One thing he knew: he owed Maggie honesty. Then he had to respect what she did with that
    information. If she chose not to reveal the truth to her son, he would abide by that. He’d still
    give her money and whatever she needed, but he wouldn’t force his fatherhood on Quinn.
    He waited until he was fairly certain she’d be at the bar, early enough so that there would
    be few customers. As he parked his rented car in front of Smitty’s, the last vestiges of
    sunshine