He’d hate to see the doe-eyed woman go to jail.
Bright sunlight slashed between tall pine trees along Interstate 95. Angel squinted against the strobe effect. She draped a forearm over the worn leather door handle and tapped a quiet rhythm with her fingers. Quiet or not, no one would hear it above the diesel-engine groan.
“Sure you’re not running away from home?”
She swung her gaze left at the question from the truck driver. Sixty, if he was a day, Pete had offered her a ride in Charleston even though she knew he hadn’t bought her story of hitching her way cross-country. She hadn’t lied, just withheld what she considered too much information. Lies were more than a pet peeve to her. They were unforgivable.
“No, I’m not a teenager,” she assured the talkative old guy. He bounced from subject to subject, with occasional pockets of silence, before straying back to her. She preferred his over-the-road stories to questions she’d be hard-pressed to answer truthfully.
She couldn’t risk sharing information with anyone.
“Don’t look much older than my granddaughter who just graduated from high school,” he prodded.
“I’m twenty-five. Little old to be running away from home.” Angel smiled just to let him know she wasn’t insulted.
He scratched his white beard that matched the thin hair on his head. Denim overalls shrouded his lanky body. Shifting gears smoothly with wrinkled fingers, he maneuvered the big rig with ease, content with his own thoughts.
A good man, one of few she’d ever met…like Zane Black.
Guilt still punched her over abandoning the pilot.
Where was her white knight now? Black hair, eyes the color of dark tea, and large as a bear, Zane might have championed her, but he was no fairy-tale knight. There’d been a dangerous glint in his eyes when he held Mason’s man in a headlock. Zane handled himself well, as if he’d been in tight spots before.
For a brief flash in time, he’d sent her heart tripping. Angel rolled her eyes. Timing was everything. Hers had pretty much stunk since the day she fell from the womb.
Besides being ruggedly handsome, he seemed to be decent and honest, but she’d never have the chance to find out for sure. And even if she did, no decent and honest man would want a woman with her past.
“You gonna be hot in that long-sleeved shirt,” Pete said.
Angel glanced down at the white cotton blouse. Comfort hadn’t been a consideration when she’d selected a change of clothes at a salvage store. After the old guy had been kind enough to buy her breakfast, he’d dropped her at an aging strip mall while he unloaded a shipment nearby.
“I’ll be fine. I prefer sleeves.” Angel smoothed her hands over the jeans that also hid dark bruises and cuts. Her butter-colored running shorts and equally bright T-shirt were stuffed inside a linen shoulder bag along with the baseball cap.
Unfortunately, she had to choose between spending on another pair of shoes and something to cover her hair. The yellow sneakers remained, but her hair was twisted up under a floppy hat. Sunshades covered half her face. Angel could pass for an incognito celebrity on a tight budget.
“What happened to that pretty ring you had on?”
“I had to take it off,” she said, noncommittal.
“Yeah, have to take mine off sometimes. Been married forty-eight years and my wife knows it don’t mean nothing. But I can’t wear it when I’m driving. It bothers me.”
Angel unconsciously rubbed the middle finger on her right hand. The ring had bothered Angel as well…when she handed it over to the owner of a pawnshop near the salvage store. She’d worn the ruby heirloom ring since the age of twelve, when her dying mother had passed the cherished possession to her only child. Other than sentimental, the jewelry had little value, but enough for pocket cash—all she had to survive on.
She swallowed the lump of remorse in her throat.
Changing clothes and surviving until she could clear her name was priority number one. Mason’s gold compass would have brought more at a pawnshop, if she hadn’t lost the stupid desk toy. Even if she still had the coins she’d hidden in the boat canvas package, she couldn’t sell them without connections.
Wouldn’t sell them. To do so would jeopardize her only chance at staying out of prison.
If she hadn’t recognized the small painting hidden within a shipping crate as the stolen art flashed across television screen and newspapers for a week, she’d still be working for the animal. What a fool she’d been, racing to Mason with evidence of illegal activity in his warehouse—certain he’d thank her for it.
Mason had just chuckled. “Welcome to the family, Angel. I hired you because of your record, not in spite of it. You’re just the person I want on my 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. She always believed she could overcome the trouble dealt her, but right now being a better person had her running for her life.
The engine chugged down when Pete slowed to exit the interstate.
“Thanks for going out of your way.” Angel picked up the cloth bag she’d wheedled out of the pawnshop owner.
“Shoot, this ain’t out of the way. I’ll just run on down A1A a bit and cut back to the interstate.” He handled the big truck better than most people drove a car, slowly working his way through busy streets until he found a spot to pull over.
“Pete, I really appreciate everything.”
“Just be careful…and, uh, here.” He dug a card out of his pocket. “You need some help, give me a call. Okay?”
She hesitated then smiled. “Thanks.” Angel accepted the card, gathered her bag and climbed down from the truck. She waved as he left. At the first garbage can, she shredded the card into pieces. If Mason found the card on her, Pete would be in danger.
Angel jogged away at a subtle pace. Damp within minutes from the thick humidity, she passed through the Gulf Winds Marina entrance a half mile down the road. No one paid her any attention. Floridians definitely had an easygoing attitude.
Small white signs above each dock listed the slip numbers. The second one read: 11–20.
Twelve hours after thumbing a ride with a trucker, she’d found the dock for slip eighteen. Hopefully, the package hiding her coins had arrived.
For the benefit of anyone watching, Angel strolled casually down the weathered planks. Most of the slips held twenty-thirty-foot long boats backed up to the covered dock. A copper-tanned young man dressed only in a pair of faded cutoffs scrubbed a boat named Wet Dream, moored in slip seventeen.
A snow-white center console fishing boat, outfitted with impressive tackle, floated silently in slip nineteen.
Two seagulls paddled through the middle of slip eighteen.
No boat.
Now what? She turned to the guy laboring on Wet Dream.
“Excuse me,” she called out.
He dropped the scrub brush and ambled to the rear of the boat. “Yes, ma’am.”
“Do you know who owns the boat that stays in slip eighteen?”
“No, ma’am.”
She waited for him to offer more than a charming smile, but he didn’t seem inclined to elaborate. This was a little too laid-back.
“Do you know the name of the boat that parks here?”
“Can’t say.” He scratched his head covered in sun-bleached shaggy hair. “Slip’s been empty for three months. Heard someone rented it, but the boat hasn’t shown up yet.”
The package had been addressed to the security office for the marina, which now made sense. The boat hadn’t arrived.
“The security office was closed when I passed it. Have any idea when it will be open?”
“Yes, ma’am. Soon as I finish cleaning this boat, I’ll be back up there.”
Going through the tiny office shouldn’t take long.
He grinned with apparent satisfaction over having given
her the right answer.
Angel smiled, happy to find an advantage in being female for a change. “You’ll save me some time. My company sent a package of boat curtains marked for slip eighteen in error. I have to make sure it arrives at the correct boat. Would you mind if I checked to see if you received that package?” She held her breath, waiting on him to ask the obvious questions, starting with identification, what boat it was intended for and on and on. She had no idea what she’d say next, but somehow she’d gain access to that office.
The mocha-skinned guy didn’t ask her the first question, just shook his head and said, “I’ll save you a lot of time. We haven’t had a delivery all week.”
Damn. Where was that package?
A possibility popped into her mind.
“Do you know where Sunshine Airfield is?” she asked.
He smiled. “Yes, ma’am.”
“What do you mean there are no prints on the cup or the band? Even I touched the cup at one point,” Zane barked into the cell phone as he jockeyed through A1A traffic along the beach. He’d tossed and turned during the few hours of sleep he’d managed.
Long, bruised and bleeding legs had haunted his dreams.
“Sorry, Zane, I’ve been all over this thing. It’s clean as my mother’s kitchen floor,” Ben Stevens said.
“Damn,” Zane swore. She had to leave a print somewhere. “I’m going back to check 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 asked.
They’d met in grade school and grown up together in Texas, staying in touch over the years. Having been hired after college by the DEA, Ben encouraged Zane to join the task force and use the skills he learned in the military. Besides being a whiz in the lab, he was Zane’s best friend.
“She’s overdue.” Ben’s weary voice attested to the strain of waiting to be a father for the first time. “We’re scheduled to induce on Tuesday, if she doesn’t go into labor before that. Made her doctor swear I could reach him over Labor Day weekend. Hey, man, if I’m not here the lab will have someone on call.”
“If you aren’t there, I’ll wait. This is for something I’m doing on the side.”
“Oh, I see.” After a pause, Ben asked, “What 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.
“Get me a print as soon as you can. I’ll try to turn it around quick.”
“Thanks, Ben. See you later.” With a couple hours of daylight left, Zane headed for Sunshine Airfield.
The cup and band had obviously been wiped clean.
Not a good sign for a person with nothing to hide.
Who was she hiding from? He’d run a check on all police activity in the Raleigh area from the night before. Nothing significant had shown up, leading him to believe someone chased her for personal reasons.
Removing her fingerprints stumped Zane. Angel didn’t know he was in law enforcement and she hadn’t stolen from him. So he couldn’t assume she’d done it with criminal intent.
Someone wanted her back bad enough to band her with a tracking device and send a team of trained thugs after her. Why? And the guy played rough.
Zane clenched his fists. No woman should be mistreated. After seeing the brutal marks on Angel’s body, he couldn’t blame her for covering her tracks so well. He should have pushed for more information, a last name.
He wheeled into Sunshine Airfield. As he drew near the whitewashed, concrete-block office building, a leather-faced elderly man stepped from the door.
Zane slowed the truck to a stop and rolled down the window. “Hola, Salvador,” he said, smiling at the old guy.
Salvador’s sole purpose in life these days was to make coffee in the airfield office and offer a game of checkers to anyone willing to be beaten by the wily opponent. Long since retired from managing the terminal, he was unwilling to abandon the airport entirely.
“Buenos días, Señor Black.”
For the next few minutes, Zane chatted amiably in Spanish with Salvador about airport activities. Zane kept his language skills sharp though he used them sparingly. Sometimes it served his needs to hide them as much as it did to use them. It was amazing what someone would say when they thought you couldn’t understand their language, particularly a criminal.
With a nod goodbye, Zane moved on to the last building. The overhead door to his hangar stood wide open, allowing access to anyone, but he was unconcerned. His mechanic was bent over the Titan, working neck deep on the scheduled service required before he could fly again.
As he strolled by, the mechanic lifted a finger off his flashlight in acknowledgment, obviously too busy to visit. Zane headed to the storage room to get another stack of rags to replace the ones he’d used cleaning up yesterday. He reached for the door, but stayed his hand at a sound on the other side. Had a cat or raccoon gotten in? A cat wasn’t a problem, but he wanted no part of a cornered raccoon.
Rotating the handle slowly, he eased the door ajar and peered inside. Instead of a wild-animal sighting, a fine-looking derriere, covered by a pair of faded jeans, faced him.
Bent over at the waist, the denim-clad owner inspected a large package on the floor.
Zane’s gaze skimmed down to the yellow running shoes.
It couldn’t be.
Chapter 4
Where is that blasted package? Angel leaned down to read the label on another odd-shaped box, grumbling to herself over the haphazard room. Assorted shipping containers and mechanical parts covered every inch of the disorganized storage area from cluttered floor space to packed shelves.
None were addressed to the Gulf Winds Marina.
She lifted her hands to her hips as she straightened up. Iron fingers locked around both of her wrists, snatching them behind her.
“Oh, oh…no.” She wrenched around to see who held her immobile and came face-to-face with the pilot who’d saved her. Staring up into his narrowed gaze, every coherent thought fled her mind.
“Nice to see you again, Angel.” Rich brown eyes walked up and down her. “The Annie Hall look is different.” His warm demeanor from the day before now flashed stormy dark. A good match for his irritated tone.
She dropped her head down and her shoulders slumped from relief. He didn’t sound happy to see her again, but at least he didn’t want to kill her.
Twisting around for a second glance, Angel realized she might be wrong. They hadn’t parted on the best of circumstances. Getting back into his good graces as quickly as possible was her first mission.
“Hi. How are you?” She lifted her eyebrows, hopefully.
“How am I? As in, was the flight back smooth? Or as in, how did I get away from your buddy?”
“I’m sorry,” she whispered. What had Vic done after she’d left? Mason’s men never traveled alone. Had they ganged up on Zane and hurt him? “Did you have a problem with that guy?”
“Problem?” Sarcasm laced through his voice. “Nooo, not unless you consider having his sidekick shove a gun in my face a problem.”
“Oh, God. What happened?”
Zane shrugged. “I told them I didn’t know who you were and that I thought you’d had a falling-out with your boyfriend. Once you were gone, they lost interest and let me go.”
Luck had never been her strong suit, running from bad to worse. She’d spent a large portion of her funds on clothes. In the past thirty hours, she’d had one meal and a few hours of sleep. Now she couldn’t find the damn package hiding the coins. If Zane—the sole person who knew where the package had gone—handed her over to the police, she was sunk.
Yeah, this qualified as bad to worse. Time for some major sucking up.
“I’m sorry,” she started. “I didn’t mean to involve you in my problems. I had no idea where I was going and didn’t know those guys would show up in Charleston. I was too afraid to think clearly.” She was ba
bbling. Shut up and change the subject. “I never thanked you for getting me out of Raleigh.”
Angel took a breath. “Thank you.”
His face softened. The muscle in his jaw no longer twitched, but his eye had a tic. Zane might not kill her, but calling the authorities was still a high possibility. Between smoothing things over with this guy and figuring out what happened to the package—without specifically asking where it was—she had her hands full.
How did a simple plan to hide the coins get so screwed up?
She wrenched against his steel grasp. “Would you let go, please?” she implored sweetly. “You’re hurting my wrists.”
His fingers loosened immediately and she freed one hand. He kept the other hand, massaging it with his thumb.
“Sorry. I didn’t realize how tight I had you.” He didn’t stop until both wrists had been given equal attention, confusing her completely.
Zane Black went from annoyed to caring within a heartbeat. Like the heartbeats rapidly thumping in her chest from his warm touch. He’d touched her with the intent to soothe more in two days than any male had in the past seven years. Except for her one failed relationship as a teen, contact with men had not been by choice. Her limited experience amounted to being handcuffed and physically abused.
Gentle had rarely entered the equation.
Merely standing next to Zane Black catalyzed a physical response. She’d definitely never had a man excite her just by rubbing her wrists.
Chocolate cake had raised her pulse more than any male who’d shown an interest in the past.
“Angel, why don’t you tell me what’s going on before someone gets hurt, mainly you?”
Her heart did a small trip at his genuine concern. His intense stare roamed over her face as if searching for a window into her thoughts.
What could she say that he’d believe? Even if he did accept her story as true, he’d want to call in the police. That would drive a nail in her coffin. Once the authorities pulled up her record, they’d lock her away forever. Against a prominent businessman like Mason, her word was less than dirt.
Worth Every Risk Page 4