Hunt Her Down by Roxanne St. Claire Read Free Book Online

to
    come clean about my son.’ “
    Her gaze moved to Quinn’s seventh-grade school picture on the table, filling her with love.
    “I live for the kid, and I would die for him. It’s just that . . . I don’t know. Last night, I wanted
    to be . . .”
    “Screwed?”
    She pulled her legs up and hugged. “Loved.”
    “From a bar hook-up?”
    “I know. It’s just that there was something about that man. He even said it. It was like I
    knew him in another life.”
    “Oh, please. He was smokin’ hot and smooth as silk. Another life? What a line.”
    “Hey, it worked. But I just don’t think a man like that would be remotely interested in a
    woman who has a teenager.”
    “I’ll go file these.” Brandy stood up and cracked her back with a groan. “Look, what’s to be
    interested? He lives in New York, not Miami. Use him for what he’s offering, get your rocks
    off a few times, and kiss him good-bye. You’ve got one more night of maternal freedom. Who
    cares if he knows you have a son or not?”
    “He might not come back tonight.”
    Brandy snorted as she headed to the office. “Oh, he’ll be back.”
    Alone, Maggie picked up the other picture on the end table, taken their last Christmas as a
    whole family. Smitty with his insanely wide smile and shiny bald head, one arm around
    Maggie, the other around a skinny nine-year-old, glowing like he’d found buried treasure and
    was keeping it all for himself.
    Except if Smitty had found treasure, he’d have bought a bigger boat and spent the rest on
    live bait, and told Maggie it was securely in the bank.
    “Uh, Lena. You been cleaning?”
    “No.”
    “Then you better come in here.”
    Maggie pushed off the couch and headed toward the third bedroom she used as an office,
    where Brandy stood with one hand out to a completely empty file drawer. “Any chance Quinn
    had the sudden burning need to go through the last twenty years of bar tabs? Because this
    puppy’s been wiped out.”
    For a moment, she just stared, unable to comprehend. Then she slowly turned and took in
    the rest of the office. Nothing looked touched. She pulled open another file drawer. Empty.
    And the top desk drawer. Still full of junk, but the red folder where she kept unpaid bills was
    gone.
    “Someone’s been in here—oh God. The strongbox!” Maggie dropped to her knees to her
    hiding place under the desk where she kept their most important papers. The deed to the bar,
    passports. Quinn’s birth certificate.
    “Brandy, call Deputy Nusbaum. Someone robbed us.”
    “What about your jewelry? Anything else?”
    Maggie darted down the hall to her room. She yanked open the top drawer of her dresser
    and let out a groan. The pink cloth–covered jewelry box was moved to the left. She flipped
    the top, and the tiny diamond ring that had been Smitty’s mother’s was still there. Along with
    Baba’s tarot cards. Next to the box, the tarnished silver container that said Baby’s First lay
    open; a single yellowed tooth lay in a lock of flaxen hair.
    She put her hand on her stomach, the violation so intense she almost gagged. Someone had
    broken into her house and touched her personal treasures.
    “Nusbaum’s on his way,” Brandy said from the doorway, snapping her phone closed.
    “Goddamn teenagers looking for drug money.”
    “They were neat, then. I never even noticed when I came home. I just went to bed.” Maggie
    closed her eyes, the realization hitting hard. “I’m so glad Quinn wasn’t home last night.”
    Lola James strode across the expanse of her office, her three-inch heels snapping to the
    rhythm that propelled her forward. The familiar beat of the way she lived her life: fast, steady,
    ferocious.
    She picked up the ringing PDA, not bothering to look at the ID. She knew who it was.
    Instead, she glanced at her reflection in the corner window, which was far nicer than the view
    of downtown Miami. She smoothed the hip-hugging skirt and lifted her chin to admire the
    strong