The Perfect Ten Boxed Set Page 10

  Then she’d smile.

  Yeah, she had a heart-stopping smile and legs ... good Lord, what a set ... that went on forever and...

  Hell. He started getting hard again and she wasn’t even in the room.

  He had the discipline of a goat.

  Shaking his head, he wandered into the kitchen. Maybe another bottle of ice-cold water would help – poured over his crotch.

  If that didn’t do the trick, then how about remembering that he had yet to figure out whether she was a criminal. That should douse any spark of desire that flamed up.

  Angel walked into the kitchen just as Zane managed to stuff his reaction to her under a veil of polite indifference.

  She eyed him warily and hooked a thumb on the waist of her jeans.

  For some reason, it dawned on him right then that she hadn’t given him any panties to wash.

  Don’t go there.

  He’d understand his reaction if she dressed in some skimpy outfit, had her hair styled and makeup exaggerating her finer qualities, but she didn’t have a speck of makeup and only wore the cotton shirt and jeans again.

  Damn if it wasn’t fresh and attractive. He particularly liked the soft, barely-there curls showing up as her hair air-dried. What would it feel like to run his hands through those fine strands or feel them brush against his chest?

  He gritted his teeth. Polite indifference, remember?

  Got it.

  She turned her shirtsleeves up at her wrists, eyes not really settling on any one spot. “Thanks for letting me use your bath. I feel much better.” A loud growl erupted from her stomach.

  “Sounds like you’re ready for dinner.” When was the last time she’d eaten? “Give me a minute to clean up and we’ll grab a bite.” He wanted to check the bathroom before they went anywhere. Before walking away, he pinned her with a serious stare. “You will be here when I come back, won’t you?”

  That she took a moment to answer told him she’d been contemplating leaving, but he’d noticed that she tended to dance around the truth rather than rattle off a lie. After a long sigh, she nodded. “I’ll wait.”

  Zane accepted her word, but also had a security monitor in his bathroom with lights that would indicate if anyone opened a door or a window. He shut himself inside the bathroom then squatted down to view the counter and faucets. Every inch had been wiped clean. He lifted the water bottle she’d tossed into the trash basket next, but knew he’d find no fingerprints there either.

  Impressive, in an extremely suspicious way.

  No problem.

  He had the perfect place to eat. The owner would supply him with her entire set of tableware if Zane asked for it.

  Making quick work of his shower while keeping an eye on the security monitor, Zane strolled back into his living room. He found Angel planted in the middle of the floor gazing out the glass doors. Was she so uncomfortable around the strange environment that she wouldn’t sit down on the leather furniture?

  Or was she so careful to not leave a print?

  “Ready?” he asked.

  Turning to answer him, concern shadowed her face. “Can’t we

  just order a pizza?”

  “I know a great little Italian restaurant, really a hole in the wall. Only locals go there. They make the best pizza, but you should try their lasagna.”

  She slumped in defeat, obviously tired. Once he fed her a decent meal, she’d probably sleep like the dead.

  Cutting her eyes back over to the glass doors to where purple twilight closed in on the beach, she must have seen something that made her decision. “If it’s not too expensive,” she mumbled.

  “I’ll buy dinner. Consider it a bonus for pacifying Suarez today.” He doubted money mattered as much in her agreement to go as the fact that the sun was setting. Dark offered protection from being easily seen.

  “Just a minute.” She retrieved her hat and bag, twisted her hair up and shoved the hat on. “Okay, I’m ready.”

  Hat or not, he’d recognize that body. Who did she hope to outfox? He herded her to the truck, ready to finally nail down her identity. But would he be just as pleased with himself once he had fingerprint results tomorrow?

  In the four miles to the restaurant, the scenery deteriorated from snazzy to worn out. While he described how the area had changed in a mere three years, Angel looked where he pointed but rode in silence, hands in her lap, touching nothing. Her discipline was remarkable, and at the same time disconcerting.

  He pulled into a rundown strip mall with one significant store in the center surrounded by small eclectic retail shops. Once a high-end grocery, the cavernous anchor of the center now housed a sprawling flea market he’d spent a couple of outings wandering through with Trish when he couldn’t get out of it.

  Parking in front of De Nikki’s, he strolled around to open Angel’s door. She stepped down, eyes cautiously flicking about, which put him on alert.

  Inside the restaurant, a rotund Nikki, with a salt-and-pepper handlebar mustache, greeted Zane like a lost cousin. Nikki had a heavy crowd for this early on a Thursday night. Must have something to do with the upcoming holiday weekend when locals dined out the night before the tourists descended.

  As Nikki directed them to a small table in the back, Zane almost ran over Angel when she abruptly stopped in front of him.

  He caught her shoulders to keep from knocking her down.

  “What’s wrong?” he asked, quickly scanning the room, taking in the people and assessing everything for threats in a matter of seconds. Nothing appeared out of place. What had pricked her attention?

  The smile she offered him was countermanded by vivid apprehension in her eyes.

  “Clumsy. I stumbled.”

  Nikki had noticed them not following and walked back. “Problem?”

  She smiled the way women do to make men think everything is fine. “Where’s your ladies room?”

  Nikki pointed to the far side of the entrance. “To the left of the front door, next to the hostess stand.”

  Zane didn’t want to let her out of his sight, but what could he do? He’d sound ridiculous telling her not to go, especially while Nikki listened. He caught her by the arm as she stepped away. “Are you okay?”

  “I’m fine.”

  She didn’t look fine. Something had rattled her.

  “Please, Zane, people are staring.” Angel slipped from his hold and walked quickly back the way they’d come then scooted into the ladies room.

  He gave the dining room another once over before going to wait for her at the hostess stand. Nothing unusual stood out. He might be reading more into this than he should.

  Nikki stepped around Zane and asked, “Is there a problem, Mr. Zane?”

  Before he answered, Zane waited until a slender, middle-aged man in a gunmetal gray suit stepped past them on his way to the front door. Zane gave the man a second look, then grimaced at the direction of his thoughts. Here he was, acting suspicious of Nikki’s clientele when in truth Angel was the dubious one.

  He answered Nikki. “No. My friend hasn’t felt well and I’m a little concerned. I’ll wait to see how she’s doing before we sit down.”

  “Oh, poor thing. Not a problem. You just tell me if you want me to fix something to go.”

  “Thanks, Nikki. Oh, one more thing. Is that the only door in and out of the bathroom?”

  Nikki gave him a quizzical look. “Yes. That is it.”

  Ten minutes later, patience spent, Zane asked Nikki to send a waitress in to check on Angel.

  The girl returned immediately, wide-eyed and confused. “The bath-room is empty.”

  Chapter 15

  Zane pounded his steering wheel.

  What could have spooked Angel?

  He’d been confident she couldn’t get past him. He knew the men’s room had no other way out than the door used to enter. Unfortunately, an exterior wall on one side of the ladies room held two old-fashioned crank-out windows, which she’d managed to slip through.

>   His chest tightened at the thought of her alone again on the streets. The change of clothes helped to camouflage her, but she’d been worried about spending money on food. How far could she travel on limited funds?

  Another aggravating thought hit him.

  He still didn’t have a fingerprint. Damn.

  Zane kept methodically cruising streets around the area near the restaurant. Maybe she’d run a sufficient distance to feel safe and stop. If she saw his truck, he wanted to believe she’d trust him enough to come out of hiding.

  Trust him? She didn’t trust him at all or she’d tell him who was chasing her.

  He drove slowly through the residential sections near the restaurant, up and down back streets. Solitary streetlights illuminated crossroads, but not much else. She could be hidden anywhere within the unlit maze of thirty-year-old homes surrounded by enormous tropical vegetation.

  No lost female flagged him down.

  An hour later, he quit the hunt, frustrated at losing her a second time. His own stomach growling, he picked up a pizza on his way home. A mild wind blew through the silent parking lot of his complex as he locked the truck. He carried the pizza into his apartment, dropped it in the kitchen then walked through the living room to slide the door open to his patio.

  And froze.

  Angel was curled up in a corner, asleep and hidden from view by a thick bush on the other side of the patio railing.

  She was alive. He kept telling himself that so his chest would relax.

  For the second time that day, relief flooded through him.

  He should shake her until her teeth rattled for the anxiety she’d put him through. But lying there with that floppy hat half on her head, she looked so vulnerable that all he wanted to do was wrap her in his arms, tuck her close, and keep her safe.

  Another day of this and he’d lose his mind.

  He opened the door slowly and stepped into the warm night breeze. She stirred. Her eyes blinked open then she jerked, looking around, clearly trying to orient herself. Two exhausted amber eyes peered up at him, looking as relieved as he felt.

  He gave her a moment then walked over and squatted down. “Hey there.”

  She murmured something that echoed his words.

  He ran the back of his finger lightly along her baby soft cheek, inhaling the fresh smell of shampoo, no mousse, no spray, just plain shampoo. How could soap and shampoo smell sexy? He didn’t know, but it did.

  The urge to kiss her hit him square in the chest.

  Kissing her might make him feel better, but he wouldn’t risk anything that would send her running again. He spoke softly to not startle her. “I was worried about you. Where’d you go?”

  She rubbed her eyes and mumbled something that sounded like, “A guy stared. Didn’t know, um, had to go. Sorry, don’t worry.”

  Her eyes fluttered a couple of times.

  This little Energizer Bunny was out of energy. No run left in her. Damp hair stuck to her face from a light sheen of sweat. She must have traveled the four miles back on foot.

  “Come on, Angel, you need to sleep.” He snaked his arm around her waist to lift her to a standing position.

  She let him lead her forward, but once inside the apartment she stopped, shook her head, and said, “Not until I get another shower.”

  The back of her blouse was damp from her exertions. He’d seen no clothes other than the running outfit she’d worn when he first met her.

  “Sure. I’ll give you one of my T-shirts to sleep in and we’ll throw your clothes back in the washer,” he said.

  “Thanks. Really sorry to be so much trouble.”

  “Honey, it’s no trouble, but I wish you’d tell me what’s going on.”

  She smiled, the shy expression too sweet to be criminal. “I don’t want you to get mixed up in this mess. You’ve been so nice to me. I owe you that.”

  He sighed. One tap and she’d fall over. He hadn’t slept much during the last two weeks himself. Any questions would keep until tomorrow. “I’ll get you the T-shirt.”

  By the time Angel walked into the kitchen fresh from her shower, Zane sat at the counter sifting through mail. She wore his pale blue cotton T-shirt with a redfish busting a wave on the front. It hung halfway down her thighs.

  Nothing else, just her and the T-shirt. He knew it.

  Warning signals screamed from the side of his brain that had been trained to take note of suspicious activity. No one wiped her fingerprints clean everywhere she went. She’d been held captive – he was certain – and then chased down by a deadly group. He’d caught her digging through his storage room looking for something he’d bet played a major role in her tenuous situation. Hard not to think that when his instincts said she’d followed him from Jacksonville looking for whatever she’d lost.

  His mission should be clear – determine her identity and find out if she was tangled up in anything illegal that could cause him big trouble.

  With complete lack of regard for all that logic, his body was still interested in all that creamy skin not covered by his T-shirt.

  She’s probably cold, the brain in his pants suggested. Yeah. She might be chilled, need him to run his hands over that exposed skin and warm her up.

  Or he might just be a goat after all.

  Zane beat his randy side back into submission and tried to see her with the objective threat assessment skills expected of someone with his background.

  He’d studied the enemy. He should pay more attention to the criminal behavior.

  But she didn’t fit the profile of a threat of any kind. Damp hair framed her face. A soapy clean fragrance filled the air between them. She couldn’t seem to lie to him without acting as though she felt guilty. His eyes trailed down the two enticing legs that spanned the break between shirttail and floor.

  There were dozens of reasons he should keep an emotional wall between the two of them.

  But right now he didn’t want a wall between them.

  Hell, he didn’t want that T-shirt between the two of them and couldn’t ignore the inappropriate thought pounding through his mind.

  The only thought firing every cell in his brain.

  He wanted her. Bad.

  “Pizza smells good.” She raised her eyebrows, waiting to be invited.

  Don’t make her ask for food, moron. “Sure. Here.” He opened the box. “Want it heated?”

  “Nuh uh. It’s perfect.” She picked up a slice and proceeded to devour it like he’d served her Beluga caviar. She licked her rosy lips after each bite, the pink tongue destroying his state of mind.

  He broke loose a slice and lifted it to his mouth. Kept his eyes averted, anything to shut down the crazy fantasies over how much he wanted to feel that mouth on his body. She’d wiped out three slices by the time he’d finished one.

  But then he’d lost his appetite – for food.

  Pausing, she caught her breath, seeming at peace after eating pizza. “I’m ready for bed.”

  Dangerous visual.

  He should be able to sleep around the clock at this point, but had serious doubts he’d get any rest. Not with her lying on a bed within the same walls – wearing next to nothing. Before he could dislodge that image, she interrupted his thoughts.

  “If the foldout has sheets ... I’m set.”

  No way. If she slept that close to the front door she’d turn into smoke and float out through the keyhole.

  He cleared his throat. “You sleep in the bedroom. I’ve got buddies who come by unannounced sometimes. You don’t want to be out here if one of them shows up.” He could tell she didn’t believe him, but what argument could she offer?

  It was true anyway. Ben was liable to show up at any hour, too ramped up on his weird geek adrenaline to go home after working a bust or a crime scene. Or he would be liable to show up, if his wife wasn’t about to spit out a Ben Mini-Me.

  Angel finished a last bite of pizza, then grabbed a sponge and scrubbed her area with the efficiency of a compulsive cle
aner. Could that explain the neatnik personality?

  Maybe she had a germ phobia.

  Yeah, sure. If he believed that, he’d be buying swampland in the Mojave Desert next.

  At the door to his bedroom, he watched her climb between the sheets. Silky hair trailed across the pillow. She rolled onto her side with a whispered, “Good night.”

  That pumped another painful throb through his groin. Zane pulled the door almost shut then headed for a shower.

  Cold water would only do so much.

  He was up and down during the night to confirm she still slept in his bed. With each check on her, she’d shifted to a different position, slowly leaving less and less sheet covering her.

  The last time he peered through the small opening between the door and the doorframe, a band of moonlight beamed over her backside from the break in the drapes. She lay face down on her stomach. The T-shirt had ridden up to her waist from tossing about.

  Yep, he’d been right. No underwear.

  Shit.

  He’d never been a damned voyeur. Forcing himself back to the foldout, he battled through the few hours left until daylight. The bad thing about going so long without rest was the danger of sleeping too deeply, which wouldn’t be a problem if not for needing to hear Angel if she tried to sneak out.

  No if to it.

  When she did sneak out, he’d be ready for her.

  Chapter 16

  Mason answered his cell phone. “Lorde.”

  “ML, got news,” CK reported.

  “Good news, I hope.” Mason was in neither a patient nor a forgiving mood. But one man had never failed him. If anyone could find his treasure and the bitch who’d stolen it, CK was that man.

  “It’s all in how you look at it. Your hot little number has gone south.”

  “How far south?” Mason sat forward in his leather chair, hand automatically reaching for the gold compass that had also gone missing. Angelina wouldn’t get far now that his bounty hunter had caught her trail.

  “Way down. She thumbed rides with truckers. Last one dropped her in Ft. Lauderdale.”

  Florida. Why would she go there? Her background checks had been thorough. Angelina’s parents were dead. She had no siblings, didn’t even list a next of kin when he’d hired her. Had listed a charity sponsoring Olympic hopefuls as her beneficiary for her retirement fund.