Free Hunt Her Down by Roxanne St. Claire Page B

faded. He didn’t want to tell her at home, when Quinn was there, and not while she
    worked the bar or cleaned tables. Hopefully he could talk her into one more midnight
    rendezvous.
    As he climbed out of the Porsche, a loud bark pulled his attention and he spun around,
    seeing Goose, and then meeting those very green eyes that had haunted him for two days. The
    hero worship he’d earned over their dinner was replaced by cold teenage distrust and disgust
    as Quinn yanked the leash and pulled the dog back.
    “Hey, Quinn.”
    “What are you doing here?” Quinn demanded, the big Australian shepherd winning the tug
    of war and gaining ground. The boy’s flip-flops snapped on the pavement as Goose dragged
    them both closer, a bushy tail whipping side to side, that massive tongue waving with each
    loud pant.
    Dan closed the space and knelt down to rub the dog’s neck. “I stopped by to see your
    mom.”
    “She doesn’t want to see you.” He yanked the leash, as if to say don’t touch my dog.
    Slowly, Dan stood. “Why’s that?”
    “Beats me.” He brushed his hand over his hair in a gesture so familiar, Dan almost laughed.
    In a few years, when the kid had a beard, he knew exactly how he’d rub that, too.
    And, shit, he kind of wanted to be around to see it.
    “She didn’t tell you?” Dan prodded.
    Quinn managed to inch the dog back. “I don’t know. It’s, like, not my business, and I don’t
    really get her all the time, but whatever you did to her the other night . . .”
    “I didn’t do anything to her,” Dan said quietly. “What happened?”
    “She cried all night, that’s what. I hate that.”
    So did he. “Then I really better talk to her.”
    “No, you really better leave her alone.” His gaze flickered to the car for a second, and
    regret darkened his face. “Just . . . leave us alone.”
    He fought the leash one more time and started off.
    “Where are you going?” Dan’s question was natural, and came out without thinking.
    Damn. He cared. Already.
    “None of your fucking business.” Despite the tough guy talk, maybe because of it, he
    suddenly sounded very young, and vulnerable.
    “Quinn, don’t talk like that.”
    He shrugged. “Whatev. You’re not the boss of me.”
    And that, son, is where you are wrong . But Dan said nothing as Quinn jogged away, trying
    to keep up with Goose, who’d moved on to the next interesting scent.
    He headed in, rethinking his plan for a late night meeting. There might not be time for that.
    Or the opportunity.
    The bar was empty except for one older man at the far end, watching ESPN on the flat
    screen, the vague smell of stale beer and conch fritters in the air.
    Brandy looked up from a magazine and gave him a wide, friendly smile. “Well look what
    the hundred thousand dollar Porsche dragged in.”
    At least she didn’t think he ought to leave them alone. “It’s a rental.”
    “So I’ve heard. And it tells me a lot about a man who rents a car like that as opposed to,
    say, a Taurus.”
    Dan smiled as he leaned on the bar, resisting the urge to look around for Maggie. “What’s it
    tell you?”
    “That you’re rich.”
    “Only that I have expensive tastes.” He tapped the bar and glanced around. “She here?”
    Brandy cocked her shiny blond hair toward the door next to the back bar. “In the office.
    Want me to get her?”
    The office. Perfect. “Can I go see her?”
    She frowned, considering. “She hasn’t talked much about you the past few days. I thought
    maybe the crush got crushed.” Then she pointed a finger at him. “My godson, on the other
    hand, hasn’t talked about anything else. That’s how I know what your rental cost.” She looked
    hard at him. “You evidently made quite an impression on both of them.”
    He nodded and took a few steps toward the office. “Is it unlocked?”
    “Yeah. Go ahead. She’ll wished she had worn a little make up, but go on. Make her day.”
    “That’s my plan.” He turned the knob