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 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