The Perfect Ten Boxed Set Page 5

  Shorty stepped up close. An ugly smirk on his face matched the evil coffee-bean eyes. He flipped a switchblade open, the sharp tip nicking the underside of Zane’s chin.

  Several possible reactions came to Zane. Snatching away that knife and shoving it into Shorty’s throat while disarming his sidekick topped the list. But that would leave a body to explain and blow his good old boy routine.

  “Listen closely,” Shorty warned. “You mention this little event to anyone and we’ll be back to see you. And if you ever touch me again, I’ll cut off your hands.” He snapped the knife shut, threw a “let’s go” head jerk at his towering sidekick and stalked off toward a black sport utility thirty yards away.

  Walking sideways, the big guy kept his gun leveled on Zane until he reached the driver’s door.

  Zane squinted to see the emblem on the door. He saw a flash of gold as the door opened, but in the low light the markings were impossible to make out. Gravel crunched as the driver backed up fast, spun around, and tore out of the terminal.

  Too far to get a tag number.

  He let out a pent up breath. Lethal encounters still played through his nightmares, years after he’d been rescued from enemy territory in a country where US forces were not welcome – the longest fifty-four hours of his life as a prisoner.

  He never gave up a lick of intel.

  When he left the military, his best friend, Ben Trenton, and another buddy from his military days, Vance Dern, were already working with the DEA. Ben and Vance had convinced Zane to consider an offer from the agency as a paid informant with Vance as Zane’s handler.

  His answer? No, no, and by the way, no. Zane had a business to build and no time to play spy games.

  Then Vance laid out a cherry deal that included the DEA paying for Zane’s Titan, even signing it over to him, and saying they wanted him to build his charter business.

  All he had to do was fly the runs they needed and feed them info when he got it. Go after charter accounts “of interest to them.” He kept everything he made in bona fide charters and got paid for his undercover work.

  Money from both ends, without being on the DEA’s official payroll.

  Sweet.

  He needed the unofficial side work to pad a special account he’d set up to help his sister’s new business get off the ground.

  Any real criminal involvement would put his charter business – and his DEA gig – at risk. Bottom line?

  He shouldn’t get involved in someone else’s troubles.

  Okay, that might be logical, but it didn’t do a damn thing to shut up his conscience that hadn’t stopped yammering about Angel’s fate. He’d put his life on the line for people he didn’t even know almost daily in his former life.

  More than his duty, protecting the innocent was in his DNA. He could not turn his back on someone in need, especially a woman.

  Just who in the hell was Angel, and where had she gone?

  Black night wrapped the airport. He scanned the direction she’d run as if he expected her to be waiting within sight. Had she made it to the road and flagged a vehicle?

  She could be a stone’s throw from him or traveling seventy miles an hour in an over-the-road transport truck right now.

  One look at those legs would bring any eighteen-wheeler to a screeching halt.

  An hour later, Zane checked the Titan, disappointed to find it empty. His analytical mind flipped through what little he knew. Those goons had found her quickly, suggesting they were local. They couldn’t have made the trip by car.

  Hack didn’t have Zane’s flight plan.

  That meant one of two things. Either those guys had a contact where the flight plan was filed or Angel was tagged with a tracking device.

  If she still had the tracker on her, they’d find her again. This time she might not have someone willing to save her.

  He mentally kicked himself for worrying when he had no idea how to find her.

  The woman had shared only her first name and she was tangled up in something that smelled suspicious.

  Forget about her and deal with your already loaded plate.

  If only it were that easy.

  Terrified eyes and a battered body kept flashing through his mind. Something more tugged at him, but he was too tired to figure it out and unwilling to analyze anything else right now.

  A hint of dawn lightened the skies enough to see clouds moving off to the east. Zane checked his watch. It had been a hell of a start to Wednesday morning. Most people were on their way to work as his day wound down.

  Climbing into the cockpit to prepare a flight plan for home, he glanced over at the cup holder and grinned.

  Maybe he could find out who Angel was after all.

  He dug out a small plastic bag from a pocket next to his seat. He put the bag over his hand like a glove and used it to pick up the cup, then turned it inside out so the cup was inside.

  It paid to have friends in the right places.

  Ben was a forensic science specialist for the Miami DEA division. The man could process fingerprints and track the DNA of a gnat. He was the only person Zane would trust with Angel’s prints right now. Ben and Vance would be very interested in the high-priced thugs after Angel, no doubt, but they didn’t need to know that yet.

  Zane froze. What the hell was he doing, holding out on his two best friends – men he’d trust with his life – because of a woman he barely knew?

  Should he tell them? If he did, Vance would have to follow procedure and report everything to the proper authorities, which might end with Angel surrounded by law enforcement.

  His mind clicked through that scenario. She’d escaped someplace dangerous and stowed away on an airplane without a clue where she was going or if she could trust the pilot.

  That was desperate.

  Zane couldn’t do it. He wouldn’t add to her problems by sticking law enforcement on her when he had no evidence she’d committed a crime, and neither would he put Vance or Ben in the middle of this.

  Was he being a fool?

  Probably, but he couldn’t forget the way she’d looked at him as if he could protect her from the world. Then he’d touched her and forgotten there was a world beyond the two of them.

  She’d gotten to him.

  Did she belong in jail?

  Maybe or maybe not. But until he found out for sure, he couldn’t stand the thought of anyone hurting her any more than she’d already been abused.

  His gaze landed on that coffee cup in the plastic bag. First he had to find out the identity of the woman who had his insides tied in a knot.

  He sure as hell hoped Angel wasn’t running for the wrong reasons because if she was, Ben was sworn to act on what he found and Zane couldn’t ask him not to.

  And damn, he’d hate to see the doe-eyed girl go to jail.

  Chapter 6

  Food. Water. Now. Or Angel wouldn’t make another mile.

  Not after making a twelve-mile run from the private airport where Zane had landed to reach downtown Jacksonville by daylight.

  What had Zane done with Vic?

  She hoped he’d turned Vic loose and hadn’t called the police, but right now she needed to worry about getting her hands on some cash. Then water, and food, if her stomach could take it.

  As hiding places went, this one stank. Really.

  But this narrow cut between a high-rise building and a dumpster had been her best option at daybreak. Based on the smell of rotten food, the dumpster probably belonged to a restaurant in the brick building she leaned against. Tuesday morning workers would be showing up soon and she didn’t want to be standing here when someone came out to empty the trash.

  Mason had an office somewhere in this city. Could be here in downtown Jacksonville.

  Every black Range Rover that passed by sent her diving out of sight.

  As if that didn’t look suspicious? But the last black sport utility she’d seen half an hour ago had the Lorde Industries logo on the side.

  A wave of
dizziness assailed her. She breathed through her mouth. If she passed out, she’d put herself in a vulnerable position that could bring in the police.

  Late August heat rose with the morning sun. She licked her dry lips and swallowed against a debilitating thirst. Her stomach rumbled in spite of the nauseating stench from the dumpster. She hadn’t eaten since yesterday afternoon.

  Sweat trickled from under her ball cap, stinging her eyes. She flipped it around backwards to peek beyond the corner of the building and check the sidewalk.

  A steady flow of cars tried to beat the red lights, the drivers trying to slide into work before nine. Dehydrated or not, Angel still wanted one of those coffees cruising by in the hands of pedestrians just a few feet away. Smelled heavenly. She lifted the damp tail of her T-shirt and used it to wipe perspiration burning her eyes.

  Keep procrastinating about stepping out in the open, and dehydration would get her before Mason did.

  She lifted her foot to take a step.

  A loud boom shocked her.

  Angel jerked backwards against the wall and scratched her shoulder in the process.

  Grinding gears echoed loudly in the canyon of tall structures. She glanced at the dilapidated pickup truck that rolled by. The boom had been a backfire.

  Calm down. She’d be hallucinating giant rabbits soon if she didn’t get food and water. She took a couple of deep breaths.

  Where was her white knight now?

  Home safe in Ft. Lauderdale, she hoped.

  Ebony hair, eyes the color of dark tea, and as imposing as a house, Zane Black might have championed her, but he was not some fairytale knight. He was someone far more deadly. There’d been a dangerous glint in his eyes when he’d had Mason’s man in a headlock. Zane handled himself like he’d been in a tight spot with an enemy before.

  Guilt still punched her over abandoning him.

  For a minute, just a brief flash in time, he’d sent her heart tripping. Had made her feel warm and protected, cared about. She rolled her eyes. Timing was everything and hers had pretty much stunk since the day she fell from the womb.

  But her rogue pilot had all the makings of Mr. Perfect. Too bad she’d never have the chance to enjoy him beyond a fantasy. And even if she had that chance, no decent and honest man would want a woman with her past.

  She swallowed and inhaled a fortifying breath, determined to get moving.

  With a quick glance each way to check pedestrian traffic, Angel veered from the alley and merged into a mixed group of business people and teens moving at a steady pace. She slowed her steps until she ended up near several young people wearing stylish grunge. Hanging with one wave of humans after another, she kept walking when she wanted to lie down and sleep.

  Toying unconsciously with the ruby heirloom ring on her right hand, she lifted her finger and gave the ring a hard look. Her dying mother had passed the cherished possession to Angel at twelve. She had no siblings to squabble over the gift.

  And she had nothing left as a memory of her mother, except this ring. Her mother hadn’t been perfect, but who was?

  At least she had loved Angel. Now no one did.

  Her ring probably had little value beyond the sentimental, but the idea of giving up her only connection to her mother twisted a knife in Angel’s stomach. How much would she have to sacrifice just to live a normal life? Her mother had been a survivor and would expect Angel to do whatever it took, even if that meant trading this ring for food.

  But she also needed to change clothes and find transportation.

  Her throat tightened at forfeiting the ring. She clenched her eyes shut to stem any ridiculous tears.

  Life had taught her not to covet anything more than survival. And she’d learned her lessons well.

  She had to find a way to that marina in Ft. Lauderdale where the coins were headed. Mason’s gold compass would have brought more than this ring at a pawnshop.

  If she hadn’t lost the shiny little ball.

  Even if she still had the coins and was willing to sell them, she couldn’t take that risk. Any dealer would know they were stolen. Losing even one coin would jeopardize her chance at staying out of prison.

  The ring was her only hope and not much of one.

  If someone would give her money for it.

  Suck it up and deal with the situation.

  She’d heard that mantra enough to last a lifetime.

  The foot traffic thinned outside the central business district. She went on alert as the area went downhill. Small independent stores with expanded metal doors and steel bars over the windows filled the lower levels of shabby buildings.

  She held her breath as she passed a longhaired man in baggy clothes who hadn’t seen a bar of soap in a while. On the opposite side of the street, a woman pushing a banged-up grocery cart full of junk.

  Would that be me some day?

  A faded banner in the lower corner of a discount shoe store caught Angel’s attention, forcing her feet to stop.

  She recognized the event’s insignia.

  In two months, the Tamarind International Triathlon would be held in Colorado. Elite competitors would travel from all corners of the world.

  Last year, the event had been in Greece.

  She’d trained for the last sixteen months straight for that race – to prove to the world and herself that she was still a competitive athlete, not a criminal. Every waking minute not spent working to feed herself, she’d pushed her body to the limit. Her running times in particular had improved, making her a contender. Or she would have been one, if she hadn’t been so set on proving she was a conscientious employee.

  When she’d informed Mason about finding the stolen painting, he’d just chuckled and said, “Welcome to the family, Angel. I chose well in hiring you. Just the person I wanted on my personal acquisition team. You’ll need some training, but I’ll handle that myself.”

  Refusing to join his band of merry thieves hadn’t gone over well, to say the least.

  “Be a better person” had been her motto after her release from prison.

  She’d always believed she could overcome the problems dealt her, but right now, being a better person had her running for her life and trying to avoid being locked away.

  When a shop front with burglar bars on the door and windows came into view, she knew what she had to do. Twisting off her mother’s ring, Angel stepped through the door of Quick Deal Pawnshop.

  But would she walk out with enough money to reach Ft. Lauderdale?

  Chapter 7

  “What do you mean there’s no print on the coffee cup? Even I touched that cup at one point,” Zane barked into his cell phone while he wove his truck through Ft. Lauderdale’s Wednesday afternoon traffic. That news pretty much ruined what was turning into the longest day he’d ever endured.

  He eyed the dregs left in his coffee cup.

  That sludge wouldn’t fix his level of sleep deprivation. Crawling into his own bed last night should have been the ticket to a solid eight to ten hours sleep, but he’d tossed and turned during the few hours he’d managed to stay horizontal.

  Long bruised and bleeding legs had haunted his dreams.

  He’d given up and spent the rest of the night searching the Internet for anything he could use as a lead. Nada.

  That he understood, but no fingerprint on the cup?

  “Sorry, Zane, I’ve been all over this thing. It’s clean as my mother’s kitchen floor,” Ben said.

  “Damn.” Zane raked his hand across his head. Where else would Angel have left a print? She’d been on her own for over twenty-four hours. Was she still alive? “I’m going back to check the Titan again. I’ll swing by as soon as I get something.”

  “Sooner the better or I might not be here.”

  “Haven’t you had that baby yet?” Zane teased. “Thought Kerry was gonna pop while I was gone to Raleigh.”

  A wife, and now a baby. Ben had chosen well.

  Zane had never envied another person and wasn’t read
y to settle down, but there were days he’d trade his empty life for one like his buddy’s. He’d met Ben in grade school and they’d grown up together in Texas. Always had each other’s backs. Even when Zane flew fighter planes halfway around the world, they’d never gone a full week without a phone call.

  “She’s overdue.” Ben’s weary voice attested to the strain of waiting to be a father for the first time. “We’re now scheduled to induce on Tuesday, if she doesn’t go into labor before that. Her doctor assured me we’d be able to reach him over Labor Day weekend. Hey, man, if I’m not here I might be able to get a friend to run the prints for you.”

  “If you aren’t there, I’ll wait. I don’t want anybody else in on this. Not even Vance.”

  Ben’s pause stretched too long. “Zane ... Buddy, what’re you up to?”

  “I’ll tell you about it when I stop by.” Zane wasn’t ready to discuss this yet, not even with Ben. And definitely not over an unsecured cell phone.

  “Don’t mess up your gig with the agency.”

  “I don’t plan to.”

  “Wheels turn slow in the dot gov,” Ben sympathized, using current computer-based slang for government agency. “But investigating on your own is bad juju. If you get into deep water, they won’t blow a big investigation to pull you out.”

  Too late for that advice. “I hear you.”

  Ben made a grumbling noise but didn’t push his point. “Get me a print as soon as you can and I’ll try to turn it around quick.”

  “Thanks, man. See you later.” Zane swung into the terminal of Sunshine Airfield and parked next to the Titan. He yawned as he opened the cargo door then jerked his head back. Good God. Mouse stink left over from the critters woke him up like no caffeine could.

  A slash of light from the late afternoon sun reflected off of something small just beneath the copilot seat.

  Standing on the ground, he moved his shoulders down to eye level with the corner of the seat. He leaned close to confirm what he saw.

  A silver band.