“Nothing’s good enough for you. See ya, Juice. I’ll be in touch.” He flipped the phone closed and caught Maggie’s smile.
“Efficient, isn’t she?” she asked.
“You have no idea.” He stood and offered her a hand. “Do you think you can handle a trip to the Miami FBI offices?”
She nodded, letting him pull her up. “Yeah. I think Quinn is in good hands here.”
As he opened the door, Peyton shot by, followed by Quinn.
“We’re going swimming,” he said, throwing the announcement at Maggie as he bounded by. “The pool is like a thousand feet long!”
As he disappeared, she looked up at Dan. “He may never want to leave.”
Alonso Jimenez slammed his massive hands on the table, breathing so hard and so slow that he could feel his nostrils quiver with each shaky inhale. His fury couldn’t be contained.
Across the table, the blood drained from his men’s faces.
“Viejo,” Pedro said.
“Think of your heart.”
“Think of yours!” he spat back. “Think how it will feel when I rip it out of your chest and feed it to wolves for letting a woman outsmart you.”
Both men shifted uncomfortably, looking anywhere but at Alonso. Fear, respect, and shame kept their eyes averted. Not that he’d really hurt them. He had so few loyal men left, he couldn’t afford to lose even a stupid one.
“And now she’s hiding him, of course. You’ve ruined the opportunity, now, when time is of the essence and my . . .” Days are nearly over. But they could never know about the cancer. No one could, until he’d finished and replaced lying, stupid Ramon with his only hope—a grandson he’d never met. “My needs are not yet fulfilled.”
“I can find him, Viejo,” Roberto said. He was older, and his loyalty to the Jimenez family ran deep. But Pedro? Viejo couldn’t even look at the filthy cheat who was in the game for the money only.
That’s all he could find to work for him now, and why his activities had to stay secret and be handled on his own. But getting his grandson to Monte Verde couldn’t be done alone.
“Give me time, and I can find him and bring him to you,” Roberto repeated, his dark eyes burning with intensity.
No, he could never kill this man. Time was, he would have picked up a butcher knife and driven it through his heart to make an example, to maintain his power. But his power, like his body, was faltering, and loyalty like this man’s was more valuable than examples.
“You tried and failed,” Alonso said. “Now he is hidden and protected.”
“I will get him,” Roberto said defiantly. “For you, Viejo. I will find your grandson and bring him to your plantation. He belongs at Monte Verde. He will start the next generation.”
Roberto was also very good at saying exactly what he thought Alonso wanted to hear.
“I will find him,” Alonso replied. “I have many resources.” That was a lie. He had one resource, and it cost him dearly. But he’d paid the fee gladly all these years, rewarded with knowledge. Pictures. Even a videotape of Quinn playing in the park with a big brown dog, a fairhaired boy who obviously favored Caridad’s side.
Across the room, the ancient fax machine trilled with an incoming call. The next shipment must be on its way. He pushed himself up, using both hands, his strength sapped just from this conversation.
He blocked the machine from their view. The readout that lit with the sender’s phone number had long ago burned out, but he knew who was transmitting this information. The same person who would find his grandson.
As the paper inched into the tray, he saw that a strange design trimmed the paper, as though the sender had used some sort of official document to write the information.
This should just be a confirmation that the shipment had been sent from the code name they used: Michael Scott. Alonso frowned, glancing over his shoulder at the two men who shared a look of hope, like chastised children who prayed the worst they would get was a tongue-lashing.
Half of the paper was through the machine now, enough to pull Alonso’s attention from his men to the message.
This was an official document. It was a certificate of some sort.
His belly tightened, because anything out of the norm was never a good thing. He’d been expecting a shipping number, an arrival time, a cargo code.
Finally the document completed printing, and the machine shut down, releasing the paper. Alonso lifted it, frowning as he worked