The Perfect Ten Boxed Set

by Dianna Love

  “Why? Are you taking it for a ride?” If he went for a ride in this thing, low fuel should be the least of his worries.

  A life jacket, flare gun, inflatable raft – those were items to be concerned about.

  “No, it’s for safety,” he continued. “An empty tank is more dangerous than a full one. Gas fumes combust quicker than solid fuel.” When he’d finished running the engines, Zane returned the keys to their hiding spot.

  Leaving the ignition keys onboard the boat amazed her. Attitudes in Florida appeared a lot more trusting than in New York or Raleigh.

  “I forgot to grab the new bow lines from the truck and I need to see the manager. You ready?” He stood next to the side offering his hand to help her back onto the dock.

  She caught herself before “no” popped out of her mouth. “I’d like to wait here, if it’s okay with you. I’ve never spent any time around boats, especially like this one.” That was basically true since the closest she’d ever come to boating was riding a ferry.

  Zane eyed up and down the dock, but few crafts remained in port on the beautiful day. “Promise me you’ll stay right here.”

  “Of course.”

  He appeared doubtful, but glanced around then left. Even she realized it would be hard for her to get away without him seeing her.

  As soon as Zane stepped off the end of the dock onto the parking lot, Angel scrambled below to dig through cabinets and drawers. The air in the cabin smelled of mildew. Thank goodness he’d opened the windows and hatches.

  The coins had to still be hidden in the boat curtains or the curtains would be installed and Zane would have figured out that she was the one who’d hidden them.

  She searched through shelves above four flat cushions put together like a puzzle to create a bed that ran wall to wall. The nautical pattern on the tattered covers had faded severely in the center area where sun had burned through the hatch when it was open.

  When she heard Zane moving around up top, she quickly shifted her search to the drawers where she could claim curiosity if caught. He could see through the open hatch. She dug through odd lures, matches in a watertight capsule and several sets of sunshades in two drawers.

  A cabinet below the tiny sink held rags, a rusty battery-operated light that didn’t appear operable, rolls of clear line and a green plastic divided container full of assorted hooks.

  The boat rocked slightly toward the narrow walkway that extended off the main dock and ran between boats. Zane must have stepped off to tie ropes.

  She spun back to the bed to find out if anything was beneath those cushions.

  She’d just discovered individual compartments when she heard, “Make yourself at home.”

  Angel swung around to face Zane standing at the top of the steps to the cabin. Her heart took a hit on that one. How had he gotten back on the boat so quietly and without rocking it?

  “Sorry, I was just curious.” She sucked in a deep breath. Nope, that didn’t calm her one bit. “There’s so much stuff in here. Did the boat come with all this...?”

  “Tackle?”

  Junk had been her next word, but she nodded.

  “The last owner left some of it there. Normal with a cabin cruiser this old. The rest I stocked the other day when I got back from Jacksonville.”

  That had to mean he’d brought the boat curtains here, but asking him about that package would be all he’d need to start asking her questions.

  He was still watching her. She glanced around the cabin, nodding. “Boy, is there a lot of storage in here. Amazing. You really picked a good one.”

  Zane’s narrowed eyes had her thinking he didn’t quite buy the act, but he didn’t challenge her. “I’ll change out the bow lines and we’ll go.”

  Now? What the heck had he been doing before?

  Light showered back through the door once his massive body shifted out of the way. She could hear him shuffling around, and decided she’d be better served to wipe off anything she touched and come back alone later to dig through the boat.

  Leaving with the knowledge the coins might be within reach strained the limits of her patience. As a child she’d been impatient, but twelve months in a jail cell had taught her diligence. Waiting for the perfect opportunity to escape Mason had paid off and, so far, his men hadn’t captured her.

  She’d wait for her chance, but she would get those coins back.

  Her life depended on it.

  Would they be safe here?

  You didn’t find them. Good point.

  Out on the deck, Angel found Zane waiting for her on the walkway that ran alongside the boat. He reached down to give her a hand up. Their gazes locked when he caught her upper arms and lifted. His strength amazed her when she practically flew up into his arms.

  Tall, with a thin athletic body, Angel had never thought of herself as even remotely petite, but sometimes Zane made her feel as though she were delicate.

  Like now.

  Her feet barely touched the dock. She wrapped her fingers around his waist.

  His hands moved to rest on her shoulders, softly rubbing her tight muscles. Dark eyes turned black with desire the longer he stared at her.

  Standing so close to him, her body ignored all input from her mind. His arms slid down around her back. She leaned into the embrace, unable to resist the comfort offered. With a little pressure, he raised her up until she stood on her toes.

  She held her breath anticipating another sensual kiss.

  He had that look that said he was going to do it then ... at the last second, he dropped a quick peck on her forehead and loosened his grip to go.

  Damn him. She refused to be dismissed so easily and held on. She lifted up and nipped his lower lip. Her fingers crawled up his back until she pulled them together.

  He growled, teetering on the edge of a decision, then kissed her.

  And no question that he meant it. No teasing. He went in for the kill. Her heart beat hard enough to explode. His tongue tangled with hers in a fevered volley.

  He held her close and cupped his palm against her face, holding her exactly where he could destroy any resistance with his mouth.

  One notion chased through her mind.

  If he apologized for this, she’d push him overboard.

  She was vaguely aware he’d moved from her mouth to her ear, but she knew exactly where his hand was when his palm skittered over her breast. Her knees threatened to buckle.

  She moaned.

  He cursed.

  Something splashed the water in the empty slip behind Zane. The world came back into focus too soon.

  His hand disappeared from where he’d touched her. His lips had stilled and all the wonderful sensations shooting through her ended abruptly.

  Glaring up into his mahogany eyes, she warned, “Don’t you dare apologize if you value your life.”

  He said nothing, just let out a long sigh.

  She braced herself for whatever annoying response he’d have this time.

  A feral smile spread across his face. “What am I going to do with you?”

  She had a few suggestions if he couldn’t come up with any. Angel lifted her chin in a silent challenge.

  He shook his head. “You have no idea how close you are to real danger. Let’s go before you find out.”

  She released an exaggerated breath for his benefit.

  He kissed her quickly then grabbed her hand, led her up the dock and loaded her in the truck. As Zane cranked the truck, she noticed the large rope still piled in the back.

  “You forgot to get one of your ropes,” she mentioned.

  “That’s for the anchor. I’m not changing it today. That takes a while.”

  They left the marina heading in the direction of his apartment. This time she wasn’t traveling by a bus on an indirect route, which allowed her to make note of the quickest way back to the marina. Thanks to her marathon and triathlon training, she had the ability to quickly pick up directions and landmarks.

  Warm
air off the blistering pavement blew through her open window as Zane weaved through thick Labor Day weekend traffic.

  With her arm outside the window, she waved her hand against the force of the air, enjoying a childhood practice. Her eyes roamed over the passenger side mirror. A beer truck followed Zane’s pickup then she saw a dark sport utility swing a little wide behind a van four cars back.

  Hair stood up along her neck. A gut feeling triggered her antennae for danger. Traffic slowed to a stop. She got a better view of the suspicious vehicle when Zane moved his pickup over to the left lane.

  The make was a Yukon, not a Land Rover.

  Paranoia must have her imagining that every dark sport utility followed her. But when she noticed the vehicle sliding over into Zane’s lane in what appeared to be a late decision, her heart began to pound against her chest.

  No other cars moved in the two lanes to her right. Heavy traffic chugged forward moving a few feet at a time, clogging the flow of vehicles through the massive intersection.

  What would be the point of jockeying across lanes?

  The driver could just be antsy, but what if she was right? Would someone dare to walk right up to the truck while she sat caught in the traffic jam?

  Zane moved into the left turn lane.

  She watched the side mirror.

  The navy blue Yukon was now two cars back – just entering the turn lane, too.

  Don’t panic. Could be nothing.

  Zane shifted to turn the radio on. Late seventies rock and roll poured out at low volume.

  “I hate traffic the Friday before a holiday,” he mumbled.

  Breathing was difficult. She couldn’t answer him. They inched forward as the gap between cars tightened. Their truck sat in a virtual parking lot with nowhere to maneuver if they had to get away.

  She chewed on her bottom lip. If whoever it was took a shot at her, Zane might be in the line of fire this time.

  Zane asked, “Are you okay?”

  Turning around and shrugging, she said, “Yes, fine. It’s the traffic. I hate it, too.”

  The longer he studied her, the more nervous she became. She had a strange feeling he anticipated her movements.

  Zane had found her too easily this morning. And he handled a gun like he knew what he was doing. He must have learned about more than flying in the Air Force. That still wouldn’t convince her to stay around him if Mason’s men showed up. But for now, she was going nowhere since she knew Zane had the coins.

  Should she mention the Yukon? Nothing had happened other than her bout of paranoia.

  The minute she gave him reason to worry he’d want to keep her locked up in his apartment. She had to get back to the marina. Maybe she’d change her tactic from offering to rearrange the storage room, which had annoyed Zane, to helping him clean up his boat, which ought to thrill him.

  Especially if she cleaned the kitchen and bathroom, the least favorite areas for most men.

  That plan had potential.

  Feeling relaxed for the first time in days, she threw another casual glance at her side view mirror and did a double take. The passenger door swung away from the Yukon. Someone stepped out, all but his gray pants hidden by the door.

  Her lungs backed up in full panic mode.

  She cut her eyes at Zane who was looking intently at something in his rearview mirror. Were men coming up on his left? She quietly unclipped her seatbelt and dove out of the truck, running flat out.

  At the sound of Angel’s door opening, Zane wrenched around to find himself alone in the cab. He slammed the truck into park, hit the release on his seatbelt and jumped out, running around the front of the truck.

  Horns started blowing with the traffic light change.

  She was already through the traffic jam and disappeared around a corner.

  People were yelling. The beer truck laid on his horn.

  Zane took one look back at the vehicles behind him to see if anyone was pursuing her.

  No. So why had she run?

  He stomped back to the driver’s side and dove in, throwing it in gear and driving through the intersection as the light turned yellow.

  Damn! She was gone again. He wanted to bang his head against a wall.

  Slapping the wheel, he blew out a breath. At least this time, he’d gotten a break. She’d been too involved with the dog on their way back from Jacksonville to notice he’d taken the cup she’d used to serve Chut water.

  With one good fingerprint he’d finally know who she was—whether he found her again or not.

  The minute he had her identification, he was turning it over to the police and requesting they put out an APB for her safety.

  ~*~

  Zane drove straight to his apartment. The last time Angel vanished she’d gone back there, but the route had been shorter and easy to remember. Ten miles of turns and bridges separated his home and the marina.

  He swung into the first parking spot and wished with every breath he took she’d be waiting at his door.

  Negative.

  Regardless, he dashed into the house just to make sure she wasn’t magically sitting at the kitchen counter eating cold pizza. The further he went on his irrational search, the deeper his disappointment.

  His immaculate apartment appeared undisturbed. And there should be no trace of her. He paced the floor, opened the microwave and shut it, and decided he was losing his mind.

  His perfectly tidy apartment had suddenly become a problem. Now it was as strong a reminder of his compulsive-cleaner houseguest as her yellow running shoes would be if they’d sat in the middle of the floor.

  Shit.

  Grabbing his keys on the way out, he punched in Ben’s number and jogged to the truck. The fingerprint specialist might give him grief, but he’d always come through when Zane had to have a name.

  And he had to have a name. Now.

  He had to find her or report her as missing.

  Chapter 24

  Angel watched from a fast food restaurant as Zane pulled away from his apartment complex. She’d been lucky to arrive ahead of him, but it had taken accepting a ride from a kid with a motorcycle who’d dropped her a few blocks away.

  No one had followed Zane in or out of his apartment parking lot. At least he was still safe. She waited another half hour until clouds covered the sliver of moon to give her plenty of darkness before she started hunting a way into the complex without attracting undue attention.

  It took her even longer to zigzag a convoluted half-mile route that sometimes meant crawling between bushes and buildings, but she finally managed to sneak around to the rear of the apartment. Hunched over most of the time, she worked through the thick foliage, hesitating when tenants strolled by on the paths.

  When she found the patio belonging to Zane’s apartment, she rolled over the wrought-iron railing onto the tiled floor. The cool surface offered a better hiding place than sitting in his comfortable deck chairs. With no idea where Zane had gone, she probably had a long wait until she could get inside the apartment.

  If he let her back in.

  He had to be pissed and she couldn’t even justify her panic. When she’d gotten through the traffic and found a place to stop, she’d looked back to see all the vehicles turning left. Even the dark blue Yukon.

  Had she imagined the threat?

  Her gut said no, that she was right to run, but her gut didn’t have to face Zane’s anger.

  She’d just eased down in the corner of the patio into a semi-comfortable position when she heard the muffled two-tone chime from Zane’s front door. A tap-tap-tap against the door sounded, but no voice called out to see if anyone was home.

  Could that be one of Mason’s men at the front door?

  Why would he knock? To pretend he was a visitor or making a delivery?

  If that was Mason’s men, would they be watching the rear to intercept her if she ran?

  Damn. Sit here like an easy target? Or run and make herself visible?

  She crawled aro
und behind the chairs to hide, as far out of sight as possible. Trapped.

  A shiver raced down her spine when she saw the front door handle turn and the deep blue barrier inch open.

  The piercing security alarm screeched with the broken connection.

  Angel scrunched down so low in the corner of the patio that her knees and chin met. She needed an escape route if the intruder proved to be a threat, but where would she go at this point?

  A narrow hand slipped inside the front door and punched several numbers on the flashing panel, quieting the hideous noise. Zane’s sister peeked around the edge of the door into his apartment.

  Trish leaned in further and called, “Sugar, are you home? If you are, get your drawers on ‘cause I’m coming in.” She calmly entered, then closed the door, turned, and walked to look down the hallway toward Zane’s bedroom.

  “Za-ane.” She shrugged and strolled into the kitchen.

  Angel expelled the breath she’d been holding and her heartbeat slowed to halfway reasonable.

  How long would his sister stay or, worse, what if she wanted to sit outside? She mentally ticked through a selection of possible scenarios, all of which ended with being found hiding on the patio.

  Another rule from her survival training popped into her mind.

  The best defense is a good offense.

  And truth be known, Trish had no idea what type of relationship she and Zane shared so finding Angel here without him might not look unusual.

  Even better, maybe Trish knew where he’d stored the canvas boat curtains.

  Angel stood up, straightened her clothes, and twisted all of her hair back up into the clasp she’d borrowed earlier from Trish’s drawer. She tapped on the glass door, waited a minute and then rapped harder the second time.

  When Trish stuck her head out of the kitchen she immediately cocked it to one side in that confused-dog look before her eyebrows shot up in recognition. A cheery smile popped into place as she hurried across the room to unlock the glass doors, chattering the whole time.

  “Oh, Sugar, I’m so sorry. I didn’t see you sitting out there. Did you lock yourself out?”

  That worked. “Yeah, I was locked out. Good timing for you to show up.”