Tall, sexy, imposing Zane.
More than once, desire flared in Zane’s eyes. He worked to keep his emotions hidden beneath a professional facade, but some reactions were too strong for anyone to shield.
Other women might be put off by a man his size walking his eyes up and down their torso, but for the first time in many years she’d been flattered. Her feminine side wanted to know what those suggestive gazes offered, longed to meet him halfway.
A sense of purpose trampled her fantasies. Her attraction to Zane was blurring her sight of goals one and two—survival and vindication. She rolled her eyes. Wasn’t it time to stop being a fool? A man had gotten her into this mess, getting involved with another one wouldn’t solve her problems.
Enough daydreaming. She owed Zane for a good night’s sleep, but she’d have to find a way to pay it back some other time. Staying would only expose him to Mason’s retaliation.
She peeked out the door to the living room to confirm he still slept, before padding to the laundry room where she changed to the sunny-yellow running shorts, jog top and T-shirt. Angel plopped the limp hat over her ponytail-clasped hair.
Her Annie Hall look, as Zane had tagged her, had failed to fool a middle-aged man in a gray suit at the restaurant. She’d barely caught his blink in surprise when they’d entered. His expression had shuttered back to bored so fast she’d have missed the minute change had she not been intentionally searching the room for a note of recognition.
She could have imagined the brief facial change, the surprise that lit his eyes for a second, but Angel didn’t think so. If it was one of Mason’s men and she hung around, Zane might get hurt.
Mason’s gang of muscle showed no mercy to anyone who got in their way. Hopefully, the man in the restaurant had followed her instead of Zane, but he would have had to been fleet of foot to keep up.
More than fleet of foot, he’d have needed a faster marathon time than hers. Angel’s last one matched the Tamarind Triathlon record holder, convincing her she had a shot this year. Just placing in the top three would begin to restore her ravaged self-esteem, let her believe in a future. Not now.
No triathlon. No future. Just survival.
She jammed jeans and shirt into the shoulder bag.
Zane had washed her clothes—twice. Such a small thing, but not to her. Not after living in a world with men who would scoff at performing that chore for a woman.
No man was like Zane. None she’d ever met.
What a welcome sight he’d been when she opened her eyes outside the apartment last night. He threw her off balance changing from roaring bear to the kindest male she’d ever encountered. A complete gentleman…until she’d walked into the kitchen clad in his shirt.
Then he’d stripped her visually.
For the first time since naively giving away her virginity, she hadn’t wanted to run from a man’s interest. Her skin vibrated when he entered her space, at the mere thought of his touch. The strong desire to kiss him yesterday scared her. Need was a dangerous weakness. She hadn’t needed anyone’s kiss, touch, help.
But one minute they were discussing Trish and the next all she could think about was what his lips would feel like. How would he taste?
Angel pinched the bridge of her nose. Go, go, go before she did something stupid like give Mason a reason to kill a decent man.
She tiptoed to the front door, running shoes in hand.
Zane slept with a white undershirt covering his broad chest, a mat of black hair curled at the scoop neck. One rope-muscled thigh poked out from under the thin sheet covering his lower half.
The man was pure sex wrapped up in a steel casing.
She smiled sadly then mouthed the words “You’re sweet…. Bye,” and blew a kiss.
Zane flicked one eyelid open just wide enough to catch Angel’s air kiss as the door closed. He dashed to the bedroom, thankful he’d worn a shirt and shorts to bed for her benefit. Not having to dress saved him enough time to shorten the gap between them. He laced his running shoes and raced out the door.
He hit the sidewalk just in time to see her turn south down the main highway. Brilliant rays of sun pierced the ruby horizon above the ocean on his left, highlighting her slender shape in the distance.
Angel’s stride lengthened to a loping jog.
Where could she be going?
He’d intentionally let her go, thinking he’d follow and find a clue to her situation. Keeping a safe space between them, his mind worked through the possibilities, starting with the obvious—criminal intent.
Was she meeting someone? He tried to convince himself she ran because of fear, but then logic would raise its ugly head to laugh in his face.
Hard as he tried, attributing the lack of fingerprints to a compulsive cleaner was a stretch under the best circumstances.
Sweat trickled down his back from the rising humidity. He maintained a steady pace over the first mile. Few people stirred so early. He ducked behind cars and bushes to stay out of view when she glanced around.
Angel’s quick head checks changed his mind. She wasn’t meeting anyone, but avoiding someone.
She cut across the street then took a sharp corner. Twice she made a complete loop to end up somewhere she’d already passed. He didn’t understand at first, but finally grasped that she was backtracking to circle behind someone who might be following.
He had too much experience to be tricked that way.
Angel slowed near a heavy business district, rotating her head, definitely scanning her surroundings. The street traffic picked up on the four-lane–divided highway Zane traversed behind her. He was beginning to wonder how long she’d hold this pace, when the screech of tires against asphalt disrupted the morning peace.
At the sound of a vehicle braking hard, Angel stumbled and spun around.
A black Land Rover. No identifying logo on the side, but she didn’t need a gold triangle to confirm she was in trouble.
Angel spun away. Pedestrians impeded her progress as she wove in and out of the small groups ambling along the sidewalks. Bumping bodies, she shouted curt apologies then dashed through the middle of an intersection, dodging cars as she sprinted against traffic.
She headed east toward the beach—wide space, hard to follow her by vehicle. Rounding a corner, she stumbled to a stop.
Either the buildings were lined up too tight, with one fence connected to the next, or the land was so sparse it offered nowhere to hide. She stood out like a caution flag in a car race.
Spotting an opening to the beach between two towering condominiums farther down, she decided to gamble and plowed through the soft dunes toward the surf. The hot breath of fear clogged her lungs. Wading through the deep sand conjured the image of sinking in a quicksand pit. She whipped her head around, expecting a black sport utility to fly airborne over the dunes, a la Hollywood.
On the other side of the dunes, the sand firmed under her feet. Better traction meant speed.
Miles of shimmering beach stretched in both directions bordered by the rolling ocean on one side and an endless row of skyscraping structures on the other. She churned her legs fast, heading south.
Flying along the packed surface, she could only hope to outdistance Mason’s men. She certainly hadn’t outwitted them. This would only last so long. She might outrun his goons, but no legs could beat the speed of radios and cell phones.
She passed a group of shirtless old men surf fishing. A loose shoelace slapped one ankle. Way down the beach, tiny people speckled the wide shoreline. None were running toward her with guns drawn. She stopped and squatted to retie the shoelace, sucking in air, preparing for the next sprint.
Her fingers deftly performed the task while her eyes swept over the beach. She started to rise, when a ping sounded. Sand blasted up next to her foot.
That was all it took to turn on her afterburners.
Angel charged away from the surf with the speed of a missile seeking a target, angling toward the protection of the buildings a
nd highway. She hadn’t moved this fast since the last time she’d been in a dead-heat finish at a 10K road race. Her heart beat painfully against her breastbone, but not from exertion.
No, this was bone-deep fear.
Would Mason kill her without getting the coins back first?
She’d never considered that possibility, but hadn’t thought his men would take a shot at her—unless they assumed she carried the coins on her body.
At the ocean side of a high-rise condominium, she slowed to work her way around the fence circling the pool area. A driveway separated this condo from the next one. She scampered down the paved path to a connecting parking lot.
At the only obvious hiding spot, between a tour van and a late-model Cadillac, Angel ducked low to hide while she got her bearings.
She forced herself to breathe slower, to quiet her panting.
A car cruised by slowly. She raised her head above the sedan hood to see a two-lane road with vacant structures and local retail businesses scattered among souvenir shops. None were open for business yet.
She had to keep moving until she found a suitable place to hide. An abandoned building was her best bet for cover until nightfall.
Three well-tanned senior citizens picked their way down the sidewalk, a block south from where she hid. From the north, a cocoa-skinned teenage girl in tights pumped weights, speed walking toward Angel on the same side of the street.
As the girl passed her, Angel casually slipped in behind, then dashed across the thoroughfare at the nearest intersection.
She turned down an alley next to a long derelict brick building and grabbed the first door.
It was locked tight. She rushed farther down and tried two more. No good. The last one gave when she yanked. With a quick look behind her, she stepped inside.
She stumbled through debris on the floor until her eyes adjusted. Angel wrinkled her nose at the mildew-tinged air. Shafts of light pierced through cracks in the disintegrating roof. This had potential.
Noises echoed through the hollow structure. She stopped.
Potential, but maybe not ideal.
Scurrying sounds wafted through the stagnant air from different directions. The place was probably a breeding ground for every imaginable critter. Domestic animals weren’t a concern, but her time in jail had only amplified a healthy fear of rats.
Flashes of light beaconed from a door swinging half off of squeaking hinges on the far side of the narrow building. Every noise encouraged her to search for a better hideout. She picked her way to the opening, waited for several heartbeats and peeked out to make sure the coast was clear. Then she was moving again.
A narrow street ran adjacent to the rear of the buildings like a back-door access road. Two boxy produce trucks were being unloaded at a grocer’s a block away to her right.
She eased to her left, away from the activity. A wooden barricade connected the next two buildings, blocking any exit there.
Her pulse raced at staying exposed so long. It would take a helicopter to keep up with her twisting route, but she still felt like an exposed duck on opening day of hunting season.
Single-story homes, knitted together with chain-link fences, filled the other side of the backstreet.
A German shepherd barked from inside a boundary.
She jumped, cursing her case of rattled nerves, but the last thing she needed was an animal pointing out her position.
The sound of footsteps on gravel nearby froze her. She started to go, then stopped.
Which way should she go? Her pulse spiked. The longer she stood paralyzed in indecision, the better chance of being captured.
Survival instincts took over. She ran in short bursts, casting a hasty look over her shoulder, and paused behind a stack of tires at the rear of an abandoned gas station. Her heart raced, every breath coming in painful bursts.
She fought to keep the panic at bay, but couldn’t ignore the truth.
Mason would eventually kill her.
Her options were disintegrating into thin air. She didn’t have a clue where she was or how to get out of Ft. Lauderdale. Her hands shook as she swiped perspiration away from her eyes. The hat had flown off, somewhere. She could feel her hair hanging loose on one side.
It didn’t matter. She hadn’t fooled the gunman.
Her heart pounded a jungle beat. Hands shaking, she picked her way around the garbage-strewn rear of the gas station and peered down a wall shrouded in thick green ivy vines. Next door, clumps of thorny sandspur plants covered the vacant lot, offering no protection.
The derelict gas station looked to be her best choice for a hideout. There were several doorway openings not completely overtaken by the verdant growth of vines spidering over the whitewashed concrete block structure. She felt her way along the wall with trembling fingers, eased toward the street, sticking tight as a shadow to the building.
Yellow shoes and a bright yellow shirt—some shadow.
As she passed the first two openings—dilapidated exterior bathrooms—she gave each an obligatory glance then held her breath against the urine stench and moved on.
She considered ducking into the next open doorway to what must have been the waiting area of the service station at one time. Tall half-broken glass windows stretched from the other side of the doorway to wrap around the front.
Damn. She couldn’t hide there.
In her haste to reach the street, she assumed no one would stand inside, exposed by the glass.
She was wrong.
Just as she cleared the door, a massive hand covered her mouth. A powerful arm encircled her chest and jerked her inside.
He had her.
Chapter 7
“Shh. It’s me, Zane.”
Angel slumped against his chest.
Zane switched his hold from one of capture and restraint to support and comfort. He moved his hand away from her mouth to cup her face, lowering his thumb to stroke along her neck.
Her heart hammered under his arm. Her breathing rushed out in gasps.
She’d had the hell scared out of her.
He’d had the hell scared out of him, too.
Following her had been challenge enough. His heart had lurched up into his throat when the bullet barely missed her. It took everything he could muster to catch her when she’d torn away at world-class speed.
Why hadn’t the shooter gone for her body? The shot hit too far in front of her to have been aimed for the bulk of the target.
Had the shooter meant to kill or only wound?
Who in the hell was after her? The bullet could have just as easily entered her head as the ground next to her shoe.
Her body quaked against his chest. Trying to calm her, he rubbed her arm, still glistening from her exertion. Before he thought, Zane brushed his lips over her hair. He’d love to bury his face in the soft mass, a welcome improvement over the dank room they hid within. Weeds fought refuse for floor space.
Zane expelled a breath of pent-up anxiety.
An eternity had passed after seeing her head toward the gas station. He’d hurried to reach it first then stood in the doorway, worried he’d guessed wrong and she was gone, permanently. His usual calm had almost deserted him. He’d been seconds from bolting out of the building to search for her, when the flash of yellow passed the doorway.
Zane folded her closer, enjoying the feel of her body next to his, safe and alive, for the moment.
Just as soon as he got her somewhere secure, she’d get an earful from him. Expecting patience at this point was too much. She’d tell him who was chasing her and why. No more cat-and-mouse games.
The thought of anyone harming Angel raised his ugly side. He’d left his share of casualties over the years, but he’d never intentionally hurt anyone who hadn’t deserved it. The next person to put a mark on Angel would land on top of his physical-retribution list.
First he had to get her out of here—alive.
It took him a minute to realize she struggled against his hold.
When he loosened his grip she turned to face him.
Fear for her life had him ready to unleash his frustration, until she raised tear-rimmed eyes to him. She shook from head to toe. One side of her hair drooped to her shoulders, while the other remained in a badly twisted knot. Her crimson face attested to the effort she’d expended in flight.
Her eyes searched his. She obviously waited for judgment, a naked plea for understanding written across her face.
His heart twisted. He lived in a world of good guys and bad guys, mostly bad. Until he met Angel, knowing who wore the black hats had been a simple process.
Every logical neuron in his being placed her with the bad guys. His heart begged to differ and defend her honor.
Therein lay the problem. His heart didn’t have a good track record.
Her bottom lip quivered.
Ignoring the debate raging between intellect and emotion, Zane pulled her protectively to his chest. Her sleek body fit perfectly next to his.
An old man, leaning on a cane, strolled past the front of their hideout, tapping the ground as he went.
Zane shifted her deeper into the shadows. He scanned the surroundings beyond the dingy glass windows for any sign of threat. When nothing ominous moved along the silent street he returned his attention to Angel.
She tilted her head back. Her lips parted as though she meant to speak, but she nibbled on her bottom lip instead. Her breathing eased to an even rhythm, rubbing firm breasts against his chest with each inhale.
Heat bulleted through him with each slight movement.
He swallowed.
Her lips parted a tiny bit more. The pink tip of her tongue left a wet trail across the cinnamon lips. He stared into the depths of eyes the color of fine bourbon. Time slowed.
At that moment, nothing could have stopped him from dropping his head down.
He kissed her, gently, tasting the salty sweetness of Angel’s lips. She hesitated at first then moved into his arms. Her hands pushed up his back to hook around each shoulder, anchoring him tighter.
The simple action was trust of the most basic level and it fed his hunger for her.
Worth Every Risk Page 8