The crowd stilled. Not a sound was heard over the whirring of the wind. Everyone stared at him in shocked silence until Angel squinted in concentration and pushed for an explanation.
“Zane, what are you talking about?”
So much for having fun. Zane sighed, resigned to explaining.
“Our cargo is a pedigree bichon frise being sent for a weekend of recreational sex. The evil testing he’ll be put through is to determine if he can make little champion puppies. If it does kill him, that doesn’t sound like a bad way to go, in my opinion.”
Wild threads of silky hair escaped the bundle twisted on top of her head and blew across Angel’s face. The corners of her mouth curled up. “You have a wicked streak.”
For the first time since leaving the apartment, he was in her good graces again. Warmth spread over him at her pixie smile.
He had a wicked streak? She didn’t know the half of it.
“Earnest, you said there was a monkey being shipped today. Where’s the monkey?” Berta wasted no time assaulting a new target. Poor Earnest was no match.
“Hold on, Berta. This isn’t my fault. The Thorntons said Valerie told them the same thing.”
“Blast it all, Earnest. You’re an idiot. Valerie heard you tell me. That’s why she told them.”
Zane had enjoyed all he could stand. “If you’ll excuse us, I have a deadline.”
No one so much as turned to acknowledge him as they formed a circle of finger-pointers. The only person not shouting was Mr. Thornton, who looked at Zane and rolled his eyes.
Zane checked the area carefully while he directed Angel toward the office. A single man in a green High Vision security jumpsuit waited outside the office.
“I’m Zane Black. Black Jack Airlines. Where’s your cargo?”
“Inside, where it’s cool. I’ll be right back.”
The employee returned with a polished chrome animal kennel.
Zane took the kennel from the man. “Who’s picking up Don Juan in Ft. Lauderdale?”
“Here are the transfer papers. I saw the TAF group delaying you out there. Are you still on schedule?”
“Not a problem. This little guy should be popping his champagne cork by sunset.”
Angel chuckled at the silver Suburban full of unhappy campers driving away in a dust cloud then followed Zane to the Titan. He secured the kennel inside the cargo bay and had just lifted the Titan off the ground, when a pitiful whining filled the air.
She twisted around. Two soulful eyes peered through the wire opening at the front. She couldn’t stand to see a sad child or a lonely animal.
“I think he’s scared,” she said.
“He’ll settle down in a little while.”
“What’s his name?”
“It was like Sir something-something Chutney,” Zane said.
Another mournful sound emitted from the cage.
“Poor Chut.”
She knew how he felt. Shuttled from one track-and-field competition to another as a teenager, she’d been exhibited like a circus act. Nothing had mattered—not the long hours she’d devoted to besting her last race time at the expense of no social life, not the physical pain or being put on display like a trained seal.
She’d been willing to endure anything as long as she got what she wanted in the end—four years at Stanford, training under the best track coaches in the country while earning a degree in physical education.
At one time, she’d dreamed of a chance at the Olympics before eventually going on to teach.
Instead, she’d been caged. The world she returned to twelve months later wasn’t the same one she’d left.
Ignoring Zane’s warning to be careful, Angel yanked off the headset and unbuckled her harness. On hands and knees, she came face-to-face with Chut. She sprung the cage door, opening it wide enough to slip her hand inside. The white ball of fluff shook harder than an out-of-control vibrator. He inched forward and sniffed her outstretched hand.
“Watch it, Angel. You don’t know if that dog bites.” Zane’s voice boomed through the cockpit.
“He won’t hurt me. Please don’t yell. You’re frightening him.”
She sat down so she had the dog on her left and Zane on her right. When she opened the wire door wider, Chut made a couple tentative steps through the opening. In the next heartbeat, he straddled her lap.
Angel beamed a triumphant smile at Zane the next time he glanced at her.
She snuggled the terrified dog close to her chest and slipped back into the copilot seat. His animal scent was wrapped in a powdery shampooed fragrance. She ran her fingers across the gossamer coat, white as fresh snow.
Once her headset was back in place, Zane said, “You’re going to be sorry if he gets real excited and makes a mess.”
“No, I’m not. Everyone needs to be held sometimes. Isn’t that right, Sir Chut?”
Zane’s hand stilled for an instant when she spoke. She felt him studying her from behind the aviator glasses and could have kicked herself for the suggestive comment.
It just popped out of her mouth. Zane would use a statement like that to start another conversation delving into her past. Not somewhere she wanted to go. Any deeper prying would open more cavities filled with pain and details she’d rather not share.
She really liked Zane, too much, in fact, if her enthusiastic response to his kiss was an indication. A kiss he’d apologized for.
And she’d encouraged him, for goodness’ sake.
She had nothing to attribute her careless behavior to except the dangerous situation she’d constantly been in since the day they met. Even though her body reacted with a will of its own from merely being in the same room with Zane. Sure, he had smoldering eyes and knew how to use his mouth to curl her toes, but she’d resisted men in the past. On the other hand, none of those men were anything like Zane. She’d never lived in close quarters with another man who was not family. That had to be the reason she lost her head when Zane touched her, looked at her, smiled.
Just a matter of too much time together.
That wouldn’t be a problem once she found the coins.
Soon.
In the meantime, she wanted to steal this memory, enjoy his attention for what little time they would share. Even if it was only hours. Once she left, she’d have this memory to get her through what promised to be a dismal future.
The upside of leaving so soon would be that he’d never know the ugly details in history. If he did, he’d back away just as everyone else had. Watching the change in his eyes from caring to disgust would kill her.
Which is why she had no business daydreaming about him. She had to tell her heart to stop.
Sand continued to spill out of her invisible hourglass. She had to find out what happened to the package where she’d hidden the coins. Now was as casual a time as she’d get to investigate where Zane took it.
“I’ll bet you’ve had a lot interesting cargo,” she started.
“They’re more high priority than interesting.”
“Who are some of the companies that use your service?” If he told her the name of the custom curtain manufacturer, she could find out if they were notified of delivery.
“High Vision, Suarez and Associates, Wizard Computers. There are a couple others, but those are the main ones.”
She chewed on her lip. How direct a question could she ask without tipping off what she wanted?
“Aren’t there a lot of boat companies in Florida? Don’t you get any of their business?”
“Not really. They aren’t willing to pay my price for parts in a panic.”
She noticed Chut panting. “I think Chut’s thirsty. Got any water?”
“Hang on until I get the autopilot set.”
After several minutes, Zane found a cup and a jug of water. He cut the plastic cup down to half the height and filled it with water then handed it to her.
“Thanks. Here, Chut, have a drink.”
Chut lapped up the water, dripping
it all over his coat and Angel’s lap. When he’d finished, she swore he was smiling.
Zane lifted the cup from her fingers and said, “I’ve got a cup holder on this side. We’ll keep it handy in case he wants any more.”
Chut stopped shivering. He reached his paw up to her gratefully, then squiggled once and settled into her lap.
With enough time, she felt certain Zane would slip up and give her a clue to the whereabouts of the package, but time was at a premium. While she cooed to Chut, another idea struck her.
“As long as I’m an indentured servant, I could help you get your business organized.” That earned her a frown.
“You’re not a servant,” he said testily. “All you have to do is translate. And my business is just fine, thank you.”
Oh, yeah. Zane had a business in south Florida but doesn’t speak Spanish. He puts more effort into sparring with a radical animal rights group than calming an irate client. No wonder he had the storage room from hell.
“You can’t possibly know where anything is in that storage room of yours. When we get back, I’ll help you put it in order. Really, it’s the least I can do,” she said and answered his dubious expression with what she hoped was an encouraging smile.
“We’ll see.”
Not the resounding agreement she’d wanted, but not a rejection either. Somewhere in that hangar there had to be a clue or name that would help her.
“So what races have you won, Angel.”
Ugh. “I’d rather not talk about running, okay?”
“Why? I don’t understand your aversion to the topic. You’re obviously good.”
She sighed. “Because in my world today, it really doesn’t matter how good I was at one time.”
His forehead wrinkled at that comment, but he left her alone.
Nor did it matter that she’d lost it all after being convicted of a crime she’d naively committed. That was all behind her. Now she only had to worry about staying alive and out of prison.
When the radio beckoned his attention, her eyes wandered over his profile. His strong chin and no-nonsense posture spoke volumes. He knew nothing about her past, but he’d accepted her, caring only for her safety. The man was good all the way through.
Nothing like her father, who’d put her in the middle of his criminal activities then sacrificed her to the district attorney, who refused to believe she had no knowledge of the drugs she’d been duped into transporting.
Zane was the kind of man dreams were built upon. A man she could believe in and depend on. If only she’d met him in another time and place. She would love to share her troubles with Zane, but not at the risk of implicating him.
To tell the truth, she wanted to share more than her problems with Zane. He awakened strong needs, desire she’d buried years ago. No man had interested her enough to take a chance, but Zane made her want to wish for things she’d never have—a home, a family, respect.
Zane called for clearance into Ft. Lauderdale airspace, breaking into her thoughts. Angel coaxed Chut back into his chrome shelter.
At the hangar, Zane refused to let her leave the Titan until he’d confirmed the van parked outside contained only High Vision personnel. He had her loaded into his truck, zooming down A1A, before the ink dried on the transfer papers. She didn’t ask where they were headed and he didn’t offer to explain.
Angel sunk low in the seat to stay out of sight. Zane must have understood her reticence to being visible since he didn’t comment. From her angle, blue skies flashed past, interrupted by the occasional commercial sign.
The Gulf Winds Marina sign came into view.
She shot up in the seat.
“What are we doing here?”
She couldn’t have been more surprised if he’d driven up to the Taj Mahal. Excitement and anxiety tripped through her. Had Zane loaded the package into the truck bed without her seeing him? She calmly stretched her head up and around. The bed was empty. Her palms dampened at the possibility of finding the package of boat curtains.
“A quick stop,” Zane explained. “Won’t take more than ten minutes.” He parked the big truck in front of the dock for slip eighteen and opened his door, saying, “Just stay here and I’ll be right back.”
“No.” She hadn’t meant to snap at him.
“That’s becoming my least favorite word. No, what?”
“I want to come with you, please.” She smiled to sweeten her request, elated to be at slip eighteen.
Zane shifted, subtle, but she caught the change from casual to alert mode. He scanned the marina lot. So did she. Two empty, late-model pickups and a rusty Jeep sat in the desolate parking area.
“Okay, but—”
“I know, I know, stay close.” She hopped out after him. It took immense discipline not to run down the dock. Zane lumbered along, with her close on his heels.
The young man from the day before was nowhere in sight and neither was Wet Dream. Empty water filled slip seventeen.
Next to it in slip eighteen floated a wooden cabin cruiser Noah must have passed over in lieu of the ark. The ancient teak deck was sun-bleached gray. What little varnish still covered the mahogany trim along the sides of the cabin sprung out in peeled tufts.
Zane stepped down onto the deck of the archaic vessel appropriately named Hard Luck.
“Should you be walking around on that thing?” Angel asked.
Zane grinned up at her. “Sure, this is my boat.”
C.K. pulled the vibrating phone from the lower pocket in his camo cargo pants. “Speak.”
“Joe, here. Your girl and the pilot are back in town. They just pulled into a marina. No way to follow them inside without being seen, too open, but there’s only one way in and out. Got a man ready to follow. Want a man on foot to go inside just to make sure they don’t leave by boat?”
“Give it a little bit. They don’t come out, send him in. Don’t get too close. I don’t want her spooked again,” C.K. warned.
“You got it.”
“Call me when they get back to the apartment. That’s where I want them.”
“Will do, boss.”
Chapter 9
She couldn’t believe her ears.
Zane’s boat? Where was the package?
“Don’t look so shocked, Angel. Pilots like the water, too. I plan to restore it. Bought it in Miami and hired a captain to bring it up here for me.”
He cast an admiring gaze over the craft. “I won’t be able to work on it for another couple months, but she’ll be shipshape by next spring.”
Angel caught half of what he’d said. Her mind raced to figure out where the package of new canvas enclosures could be stored. This boat wasn’t anywhere near ready for side curtains.
Zane stared up at her expectantly.
She realized he waited for her to say something about the boat. “It’s, uh, nice. Lot of potential, roomy.”
Right answer. He grinned like a man who’d won the lottery.
He’d need a big jackpot to make this thing into a usable watercraft.
Zane opened the cabin and stepped down into what appeared to be a living area. He opened small windows, pushed them out from the inside and lifted the hatch. She’d squatted on the dock to watch him, hoping to see a brown paper package miraculously lying around in the open.
No such luck.
She stepped around on the walkway extending from the main dock between the slips. Grasping the sidewall of the hard-top covering the cockpit for support, she jumped down onto the deck. At the cabin door, she found Zane digging through a small cabinet above a compact kitchen area. He pulled out two key rings, each with an orange plastic float attached.
She moved out of the way when he climbed out onto the deck and moved over to the right side of the boat, where a steering wheel and gauges looked like a cockpit area. Probably what lured pilots to boats.
Zane stuck the keys into the dual ignitions then moved to the center of the deck and dropped down on one knee. He raised a hinged secti
on. With a flip of his wrist, he switched a silver toggle.
After standing up, he explained. “Have to switch the battery on.”
Sounded reasonable. She had no clue what he was talking about, having rarely been on a boat, but he said it with such authority she assumed he was correct.
Zane moved back the wheel, gripped the handles mounted against the wall on his right and shoved them forward a couple times then returned them to the middle position. After several attempts, the right motor cranked with a throaty rumble. The left one started up on the first try, eliciting a triumphant grin from Zane.
Men and their toys.
He tinkered with the controls for a few minutes, then tapped one of the gauges and frowned.
She leaned in to see what concerned him. “Something not working?”
He shook his head, more to himself than to her. “No, that’s the problem. It does work.”
“I don’t understand.”
Zane studied the dash. “These are the fuel gauges. Both tanks are too low. Had a message from the captain that he ran into weather and arrived later than he’d planned, so he couldn’t fill the tank before docking. I can’t blame him, but I have to get the boat fueled soon.”
“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 on board the boat amazed her. Attitudes in Florida were definitely more trusting than where she’d lived.
Zane snapped his fingers. “I forgot to grab the new bowlines 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 been on a boat like this.” That was basically true since the closest she’d ever come to boating was riding a ferry.
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