Authors: Roxanne St. Claire
She slammed it down and pushed, grinding the gears in the process.
“Damn.”
The clutch! She had to get the clutch down before the gearshift worked.
Ramon’s car stopped at the curb, waiting for a break in traffic. If he headed east, she was in
luck. West? Could get ugly.
He turned right, and she threw a thank-you up to Baba and the universe.
As soon as he passed her, another car got behind him. That was okay; she could still see
him. She turned the wheel, gave the clutch a little pressure, and slipped the gear shift into
first. Then she hit the accelerator and shot like a rocket, narrowly missing the back end of a
parked car.
“Son of a—” She eased up on the gas, almost stalling. God, this thing was delicate. Dan
made it look so
easy
to drive.
Ahead, Ramon got in the left lane, headed straight for wide and busy Biscayne Boulevard,
clogged with Friday lunch hour traffic. She managed to jerk over one lane to the left, grateful
that the low speeds meant she could stay in first gear.
On the passenger seat, the phone rang just as the light changed and Ramon slipped into the
left-turn lane. She had to speed up to get there while the arrow was still green, the engine
screaming for a better gear.
Palms sweating, she blocked out the telephone and pressed the shift and clutch at exactly
the same moment, finding that spot so the gear would slide into second just as Ramon made
the turn and the light went yellow.
And the goddamn car stalled. Grunting in frustration, she hit the brake, twisted the key,
restarted it, and slammed on the gas, flying into the intersection just as the arrow disappeared
and the phone stopped ringing.
She whipped the wheel to the left, cruising to a spot where five cars separated her from
Ramon.
Working her way through traffic, she cut off one guy and gave a wave to another who let
her change lanes. Then Ramon slid into the right lane, a few hundred feet from the next
intersection.
She glanced into the rearview mirror, prayed for an opening, and the phone rang again.
It had to be Dan, furious that she was gone.
Ramon turned right and she careened into that lane, still not used to the billion horses that
powered this thing, and still four cars behind him. Without a signal, she rolled into the turn
with one hand and grabbed the phone with the other, hitting the speaker button and tossing it
back on the seat.
“I know, I know, you’re going to kill me. But I have Ramon in my sights, he’s headed
across Flagler and I just want to see where he’s going. Then I’ll come back and get you, but I
didn’t want to miss the opportunity to follow him. He could go back to Viejo’s house; maybe
there’s been another drug delivery. So did you see Lola?”
“Lena, what in the hell is going on?”
“Brandy!” Maggie choked in surprise. “I thought you were Dan.”
“I was attacked in the street at two in the morning by some thug asshole who wanted to
know where you were.” Panic was not a sound she was used to hearing from Brandy, and the
fear in her voice made Maggie sick.
“Oh God, I’m so sorry.”
“You are Maggie Var . . . something, right? That’s your name? ‘Cause that’s who this guy
wanted.”
Very, very few people on this earth knew her as Maggie Varcek. And almost every one was
part of the Jimenez family. “Brandy, you have to be so careful.”
“No shit, Sherlock! He’s coming back today. He already told me. And he has my keys to
everything!”
“Where are you now?”
“At Milk Dud’s place. I’m not leaving, I swear. And I don’t even want to go near the bar.
I’m scared, Lena.”
“Don’t be. I’ll get you help, I promise.” Superman bodyguards. Dan would send an army
down there.
Traffic thickened as they approached Second Avenue, and Maggie’s head reeled. If Ramon
was right there, could he have been the one threatening Brandy last night? It was only a few
hours’ drive from here to Marathon.
“Did you see what he looked like? Was he Hispanic?” One of Viejo’s men, maybe.
“I couldn’t see a thing. He held me down on the ground and had a gun in my back and—”
“Oh Brandy.” Maggie moaned with sympathy. “I am so sorry to drag you into this.”
“Into
what?
” she demanded. “What the hell is going on, Lena?”
“It’s complicated.” She heard her friend snort on the other end. “Really, it’s life and death.
Oh, crap, I’ll never make that left. Hang on a second!”
She checked the rearview mirror and punched the gas, grinding the gears as she cut off
another car to get in the left lane. She powered through a light that was more red than yellow,
screeching into the left turn and praying that didn’t get Ramon’s attention, even though his
little car was now eight ahead of her. And two were view-blocking SUVs.
In the brief silence, she heard the soft beep of an incoming call. Dan, no doubt.
“Where are you?” Brandy demanded.
“In Miami, and I don’t even want you to know more than that. Quinn is in a safe house,
totally protected. And I’m . . .” Chasing an ex-con down Biscayne Boulevard. “Trying to find
out who threw him in that boat the other night, and how we can stop them.”
“What do they want from you, Lena?”
Ramon caught the empty lane and zoomed ahead, forcing her to do the same.
“A fortune.”
She caught the gear and the lane and held him in her sights as he approached a bridge over
the Miami River, continuing south. She glanced at the blue street sign hanging over the
intersection. Brickell Avenue.
“A fortune from you? Good luck with that.”
Brickell Avenue? Where Lola James lived?
“Listen, Brandy, I have to go.” She had to call Dan and tell him where she was. “But do
not
leave Dudley’s house, and make sure someone is there with you all the time. By tonight you’ll
have professional protection. I promise. And they’ll arm the bar.”
The incoming call beeped again.
“Okay,” Brandy said. “But this really sucks, closing the bar and all. We made a ton of
money last night.”
“Just be safe—that’s all I care about. I gotta go. I love you. Be careful.”
“You, too.”
The connection ended just as Ramon moved into the much slower right lane and the
landscape changed to palm-lined sidewalks and sky-high condo buildings perched on man-
made rises along Brickell Avenue. He jammed on his brakes, zipping into a tight U-turn and
parking in a spot across the street.
She drove right past him, almost pounding the steering wheel in frustration, looking for a
space that wasn’t there.
In her side-view mirror, she watched Ramon get out of his car. She had no option but to
wait for a truck to pass, then make her own U-turn, which put her in front of a handicapped
spot. She took it while Ramon crossed the street.
The cell phone rang and she didn’t even have a chance to say hello after she pressed talk.
“Where the hell are you, Maggie?”
“I followed Ramon, and he’s going into—”
“What?”
“Just listen to me,” she insisted. “I followed him to 2180 Brickell Avenue. Isn’t that the
address in Lola’s file?”
“Don’t even think about it, Maggie. Get back here.
Now
.”
She did think about it, but not for long. Following Ramon on foot was stupid and
dangerous.
“Okay. I’m only ten minutes away.” She pulled out of her spot and worked back into traffic.
“But listen to me. Someone attacked Brandy last night. Someone who called me Maggie
Varcek. No one knows me by that name except you and the Jimenez family. What did Lola
say?”
“Nothing. Just hurry up and I’ll tell you.”
“Be right there.” She saw Ramon disappear into a condo building. “But, Dan, please, I need
you to get someone down to Marathon to protect Brandy. That guy said he’d be back today.
And he has the keys to the bar.”
“Done. Now drive, fast, Maggie.”
Traffic was on her side on the way back, and she spotted Dan waiting outside the office
building. While he headed for the car, she braced herself for a barrage.
You shouldn’t have
done that. I told you to stay there. What were you thinking?
“Good work,” he said as he got in and yanked on his seat belt. “How’d it drive?”
She managed a smile. “Like a dream.” She pressed the clutch and eased into first without a
pop. “I thought you’d be furious that I followed him.”
“I was. And worried when you didn’t answer the phone, but I’d’ve done the same thing.”
She merged into traffic and threw him a look. “Bodyguards for Brandy?”
“Lucy’s working on getting a team down there today.”
Taking her hand off the gearshift, she placed it on his arm. “Thank you. What happened
with Lola?”
“She’s missing.”
“Missing? What do you mean?”
“She left the office yesterday afternoon and didn’t come in this morning.”
“She must be home. Ramon just went into her condo.”
“Let’s go find out. According to her assistant, it’s very unusual for Lola to miss a Sunday,
let alone a normal workday.”
While he replayed his conversation, Maggie retraced the route down to Brickell Avenue
until they reached the condo.
“There’s his car,” she said, pointing to it; then she turned to the condo entrance. “And look
at that. There he is.”
Ramon was far enough away that they couldn’t make out his expression as he paused in the
arched entryway to light a cigarette. Dan had the seat belt off and his hand on the door before
she took her next breath.
“What are you going to do, shake him down in broad daylight, on the street?”
“I’m a little more subtle than that. Drive around for ten minutes, then come back for me.”
“I’ll find a place to park.”
He peered at the row of parallel-parked cars. “Doubtful.” He leaped out of the car before
she’d even brought it to a full stop and she drove on. She expected him to walk toward the
condo, toward Ramon, but instead he crossed the street and headed right for Ramon’s car.
This time he didn’t look sexy. He looked like a man capable of killing someone.
Still watching him, she touched the accelerator, then looked back at the road—and
slammed on the brakes with a gasp, screeching inches from Ramon.
She held her breath, half expecting him to recognize her, but he just flicked his cigarette
onto the hood of the Porsche and sauntered to his car.
AY, MEIRDA!
RAMON resisted the urge to flip the bird at the moron chick in the sports car. But
his frustration was really aimed at someone else.
Where the fuck was his sister?
First she tried to end-run him by sending someone else to shake down Maggie. Then she
didn’t show for their meeting at the office. And now she wasn’t home at all.
At least he hadn’t told her everything he knew. She was a conniving
puta,
no matter what
she called herself or how much she rearranged her face and their father’s business. But as long
as he was on El Viejo’s hit list, he needed her. That’s why he’d told her about the fortunes.
Next thing he knew, she was lying, and now she disappeared.
He yanked the car door open and slid in.
An arm shot out from the backseat and crushed his throat, making his eyes pop open as he
choked.
“You really ought to lock your doors.”
He sucked in a breath and looked up at the rearview mirror, tilted so it landed right on his
attacker. Mother of God, it was that prick who kicked him out of the bar. Maggie’s muscle.
The man loosened his chokehold, but replaced it with the cold nose of his gun.
“What the fuck do you want?” Ramon’s gaze slipped to the glove box. Had he been in
there? Had he found the only thing of value he owned?
The man dug the muzzle of the weapon deeper into Ramon’s neck. “Were you making
trouble in the Keys again last night?”
Ramon didn’t dare move, but studied the mirror reflecting both their faces. Blazing sun
torched the leather seats as the temperature rose in the little car, forming beads of sweat on
Ramon’s upper lip. This mother didn’t even look lukewarm.
When he didn’t answer the question, the guy jabbed the gun harder. “How’s your sister?”
Ramon’s eyes widened, staring back at the cool green eyes. No one knew Lola James was
his sister, except his father. Was this one of Viejo’s hit men?
“Did she have want you want? Did she keep it all these years?”
He knew that? Then it couldn’t be one of Viejo’s hit men. Besides, he was in bed with
Maggie, this one, so he probably had one of the fortunes already. And there wouldn’t be time
for talking when his father’s men found him.
“I don’t know what you want from me, man, but you ain’t gettin’ it. Get the fuck out of my
car and leave me alone.”
“What’d you two talk about, you and Lourdes? Planning your old man’s funeral?”
“You yankin’ my balls for fun, bro?”
“I’m not having any fun,” he said. “And I’m not your bro.”
If this guy did work for Viejo, this was the last conversation he was ever gonna have.
Didn’t he have anything left to bargain with? One more time, he cut his gaze to the glove box.
“Shit.” He dragged out the word, flipping his hair out of his face. “I faced badder
motherhumpers than you in prison.” He reached for the keys he’d left under the seat but that