It dawned on him she hadn’t given him any underwear.
Don’t go there.
Accustomed to women with elaborate makeup and chic hairstyles, he found her undecorated appearance and combed hair refreshingly attractive. He particularly liked the soft, barely there curls showing up as her hair air dried.
He gritted his teeth. Polite indifference, remember?
Got it.
Back to wearing the cotton shirt and jeans, she rolled up the sleeves at her wrists. “Thanks for letting me use your bath. I feel much better.” A loud growl from her stomach cut her off.
“Sounds like you’re ready for dinner.” He wondered when she’d last eaten. “Give me a minute to freshen up and we’ll grab a bite.” He wanted to check the bathroom before they went anywhere.
Zane closed the door to the bathroom then squatted to view the counter and faucets. Every inch had been wiped clean. He lifted the water bottle she’d tossed into the trash basket, but knew when he felt the damp label he’d find no fingerprints there, either.
She was good.
No problem. He had the perfect place to eat. The owner would supply him with her entire set of tableware if he asked.
In the living room, Angel stood planted in the middle of the room 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 not to leave a print?
“Ready?” he asked.
Wariness shadowed her eyes when she turned to answer. “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, obviously tired. Once he fed her a good meal, she’d probably sleep like the dead.
Angel cut her eyes around to the glass doors. Purple twilight shrouded the beach under a setting sun. The cover of dark must have been a key to her decision.
“Okay. If it’s not too expensive,” she mumbled.
“I’ll buy dinner. Consider it a bonus for pacifying Suarez today.”
“Just a minute.” She retrieved her hat and bag, twisted her hair up and shoved the hat on. “I’m ready.”
Hat or not, he’d recognize that body. Who did she hope to outfox? He herded her to the truck, curious if tomorrow would bring good or bad news once he received the fingerprint results.
Tomorrow would be soon enough to worry about that.
In the four miles to the restaurant, the scenery deteriorated from snazzy to shabby. While he described how the area had changed in a mere three years, Angel rode in silence, hands in her lap touching nothing. Her discipline was impressive, but at the same time disconcerting.
He wheeled into a run-down strip mall with one big store in the center surrounded by small eclectic retail shops. Once a high-end grocery store, the cavernous anchor of the center now housed a sprawling flea market. Zane parked in front of De Nikki’s. He opened her door and she stepped down, her eyes cautiously flicking about.
Inside the restaurant, a rotund Nikki, with a salt-and-pepper handlebar mustache, greeted Zane like a lost cousin. The crowd was heavy for an early Thursday night. Must have something to do with it being just before Labor Day weekend.
As Nikki directed them to a small table in the back, Zane almost ran over Angel, who abruptly ended her forward progress. He caught her shoulders to keep from knocking her down.
“What’s wrong?” he asked.
Something had pricked her attention. He scoped the entire room of people in a matter of seconds, but nothing appeared out of place.
The smile she offered him was counteracted by the apprehension in her eyes.
“Sorry. I stumbled.” She turned to Nikki. “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. When she backed away, he caught her by the arm.
“Are you okay?”
“I’m fine.” She didn’t look fine. Something had rattled her. Or someone.
“Please, Zane, people are staring.” Angel slipped from his hold and walked quickly back the way they’d come then scooted around the hostess stand 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. Who knew? Women always had something going on men didn’t understand. He might be reading more into this than he should.
Nikki waddled up to Zane. “Is there a problem, Mr. Zane?”
Before he answered, Zane waited until a stockily built middle-aged man in a gunmetal-gray suit stepped past them on his way to the front door. He 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 actuality Angel was the dubious one. He turned to answer 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 something to go and we fix it up for you.”
“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, Zane’s patience was spent. He asked Nikki to send a waitress in to check on Angel.
The woman returned immediately, wide-eyed and confused. “The bathroom is empty.”
Chapter 6
Zane pounded the steering wheel in his truck.
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 started methodically cruising streets around the area. 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 from 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 backstreets. Solitary streetlights illuminated crossroads, but not much else. She could be anywhere within the unlit maze of thirty-year-old homes adorned with enormous 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 stepped into the breezeway covering his apartment entrance and froze.
Slumped on the mat next to his front door, asleep and unharmed, was Angel. 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. Curled up in a ball with her cap half-cocked, she looked so vulnerable that all he wanted to do was wrap her in his arms, tuck her close and keep her safe.
Placing the pizza on the ledge beside the door, he eased down next to Angel. 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—a sexy scent on her.
She stirred. Two exhausted amber eyes peered up at him, looking as relieved as he felt.
He spoke softly, not wanting to star
tle her. “I was worried about you. Where did you go?”
She mumbled something that sounded like, “A guy stared. Didn’t know, um, had to go. Sorry, don’t worry.”
Her eyes fluttered a couple times. She was beat. There was no run left in her. She must have traveled the four miles back on foot. He snaked his arm around her waist to lift her to a standing position, grabbing the pizza with the other hand.
“Come on, Angel, you need to sleep.”
She let him lead her forward, but once inside she stopped, shook her head and said, “I’d really like another shower.”
The back of her blouse was damp from her exertions. He’d seen no other clothes 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. I’m 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. She was whipped, and he hadn’t slept much during the last two weeks. Any questions would keep until tomorrow.
“I’ll get you the T-shirt.”
Zane sat at the counter sifting through mail when Angel walked into the kitchen fresh from her shower. 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 his professional side. No one wiped their fingerprints clean everywhere they went. She ran from a rough group. He’d caught her digging through the storage room looking for something he’d bet played a major role in her tenuous situation.
His mission should be clear—determine her identity and find out if she was tangled up in anything illegal.
He visually skimmed the creamy skin not covered by the T-shirt, wanting to cover the same area with his hands.
She didn’t fit the picture of a felon. Damp hair framed her face. A soapy-clean fragrance filled the air between them. 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 in his brain.
The only thought firing every cell in his brain.
He wanted her. Bad.
“Pizza smells good.” She raised her eyebrows, waiting to be invited.
“Sure. Here.” He fumbled with the box like a schoolboy caught staring. “Want it heated?”
“Nuh-uh. It’s perfect.” She picked up a slice and proceeded to devour it as if he’d served her beluga caviar. She licked her rosy lips after each bite, the pink tongue destroying his state of mind.
He finally broke loose a slice and lifted it to his mouth to save himself from any further fantasizing. She’d wiped out three slices by the time he finished one, but he’d lost his appetite—for pizza.
“I’m ready for bed,” she said.
Dangerous visual. He was also tired, but had serious doubts that he’d actually rest knowing she slept within the same walls—wearing next to nothing. Before he could dislodge that image, she interrupted his thoughts with a suggestion.
“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?
Angel finished her pizza and cleaned her area with the efficiency of a compulsive cleaner. Could that explain the neatnik personality? Maybe she had a germ phobia.
Yeah, sure.
At the door to his bedroom, he watched her climb between the sheets. Silky hair trailed across the pillow as she rolled onto her side with a whispered “Good night.”
A painful throb pumped in his groin. Zane drew the door almost shut.
How in the hell was he supposed to sleep with that image crawling through his spent brain? He rolled his shoulders, loosening taut muscles. Did nothing for the one part of his body that needed it most. Fatigue would save him. He always slept hard the first night home.
Not tonight.
He got up and down during the night to confirm she still slept in his bed. With each check he made she’d shifted to a different position, leaving less and less sheet covering her.
The last time he peered through the slightly ajar door, a band of moonlight beamed over her backside from the break in the drapes. She lay facedown on her stomach. The T-shirt had ridden up to her waist from tossing about.
Oh man, he’d been right. No underwear.
Feeling like some lowlife voyeur, he forced himself back to the foldout to struggle through the few hours left until daylight.
Mason answered his cell phone. “Lorde.”
“M.L., I’ve got some news.”
“Good news, I hope.” Mason was in neither a patient nor forgiving mood. But one man had never failed him. If anyone could find his gold coins and the bitch who stole them, C.K. could.
“It’s all in how you look at it. The hot little number I’m tracking for you has gone south.”
“How far south?” This was good news if his bounty hunter had Angel’s trail. Mason could always depend on him to find anyone, anywhere. Would love to know how he did it, but didn’t particularly care as long as the tracker didn’t fail.
“Way down, but not quite to the Keys,” C.K. answered.
Florida. Why would she go there? Her background checks had been thorough. Angel’s parents were dead. She had no siblings, didn’t even list a next of kin when he’d hired her.
The year in jail had played in her favor, though she hadn’t known it at the time. She’d been thrilled that he’d hired her in spite of a jaded background. Had told him so then proceeded to become his best employee, busting her butt above and beyond in every aspect of her job.
He’d been certain she’d play ball once he brought her into the organization. Who’d have expected an ex-con to possess an honest streak?
“M.L., you want the problem handled when it lands in one spot?”
“No. Just keep her in sight until we find out where she took my collection. Then I’ll deal with her.”
Mason didn’t want anyone to touch her. She was his alone. He’d wanted her from the first minute she walked into his warehouse. Planned to take her at the compound, if she hadn’t forced him to teach her humility after her first attempt to flee.
Silly twit. Useless for days after that, she was unconscious most of the time. When he found her this time, he’d bring her to heel, but with enough restraint so she was fully lucid when he buried himself inside her.
“M.L., you there?”
“Pinpoint the exact location and confine the problem, then contact me. I’ll deal with it personally.”
“You got it.”
The first glimmer of dawn burst through the separation in the drapes to wake Angel from a troubled sleep. Men with guns and dogs had invaded her rest. Her feet were tangled in the covers. Caught in her nightmares, she’d struggled to move beyond a snail’s pace as Mason’s ice-blue eyes and sneering lips floated through the terrifying scenes.
She climbed out of the gigantic bed, shivering at the repulsive thought of Mason touching her again. Angel arched and stretched her stiff muscles. Her roving gaze landed on a framed photo on the teak chest across the room. Using the tail of her T-shirt as a barrier against touching the frame, she carried the photo to the window.
She angled the picture under the light. A much younger Zane hugged a teenage Trish dressed in a graduation gown. Pride was evident in his wide grin. Trish had been blessed with the devotion of a protective brother. What would it have been like to be watched over by a strong protective male while growing up?
All Angel could credit her father with had been to feed and clothe the three of them. He’d been more a stranger than a parent. She’d never questioned his late-night security work. Not until a detective charged her with delivering drugs for her father, then snapped handcuffs on her wrists. A few months later she got a crash course in the desolate world behind bars.
Honesty had always been her policy, but the detective had shown her the fallacy in that way of thinking. She’d spilled her insides, answering every inquiry he put to her. Then he gave the tape recording to the district attorney who used her as another notch in his political belt.
Her first hard lesson in life had been simple. Don’t trust a man, particularly if he wore a badge.
Angel replaced the photo and slipped through a door connecting the bathroom to Zane’s bedroom. A haggard face stared back at her from the mirror. She twisted her hair into a knot on top of her head while she waited for the air-conditioning to kick on again. The pleasant hum of the cooling system would cover any noise she’d make attending to her personal needs and dressing.
Trish’s large vanity drawer was filled with a stash of hair clips and lotions. When Angel found a bottle of plum-colored nail polish she had the sudden urge to primp.
The last time she’d dolled up had been in high school. As a lanky teen, taller than most of the boys, she’d been more at home on the track than on a date. Her one serious relationship had lasted two weeks. Just long enough to lose her virginity to the boy who first swore his love then revoked that decree by sleeping with Angel’s only girlfriend.
Her nails needed help, but plum polish wouldn’t save them. She hadn’t worn makeup since getting out of jail, preferring to project a clear “not-interested” message to men in general.
As she looked back now, where Mason had considered her a challenge, most men had heeded her unspoken missive, allowing her a wide berth—until Zane.
Worth Every Risk Page 7