Zane eyed up and down the dock, but few craft remained in port on the beautiful day. “Promise me you’ll stay right here.”
“Of course.”
He appeared doubtful at her fervent answer, but left after another glance around. It would be hard for her to leave 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.
Odd lures, matches in a watertight capsule and several sets of sunshades were in the first 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.
Nothing in the shelves above the large bed covering the front section of the cabin except a half-empty bottle of sunscreen. The nautical pattern on the tattered covers had faded severely in the center area where she figured the sun burned through the hatch when it was open.
She’d just discovered compartments under the bed cushions when she heard, “Make yourself at home.”
Angel swung around to face Zane standing at the top of the steps to the cabin.
“Sorry, I was just curious.” She took a deep breath. “Boy, is there a lot of storage in here. You really picked a good one.” She nodded her head as she made that declaration.
Zane’s narrowed visage had her thinking he didn’t quite buy the act, but he didn’t challenge her.
“I’ll change out the bowlines and we’ll go.”
Light showered back through the door once his massive body shifted out of the way. She could hear him on the front, shuffling around, and decided she’d be better served to come back alone 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 had no doubt about finding the coins again. Her life depended on it.
Out on the deck, Angel found Zane waiting for her on the walkway beside the boat. He towered over her when he reached down to offer her a hand up. Their gazes locked as he wrapped his fingers around both of her forearms and lifted. His strength amazed her as she flew up into his arms.
The air sizzled between them.
Tall, with a thin athletic body, Angel had never thought remotely of herself as petite, but sometimes Zane made her feel delicate.
Like now.
His hands rested on her shoulders, softly rubbing her tight muscles. His eyes bored into her.
Standing so close to him, her body refused all input from her mind. When his arms slid down around her back, she leaned into the embrace, unable to resist the comfort offered. He raised her up until she stood on her toes.
She held her breath, anticipating another sensual kiss.
Instead, he dropped a quick peck on her forehead and loosened his grip to go.
The man was making her crazy. She refused to be dismissed so easily, and pushed up another inch to nip his lower lip. Her fingers wrenched his shirt, tugging his chest to hers.
Heat banked his eyes. The storm brewed.
She had no time left for subtle. The coins were near. Once she found them, she’d be gone.
He shifted away, but she held firm.
Angel gave it one beat and ran the tip of her tongue over his lips.
He growled, tightened his grip and kissed her as if he meant it. No more teasing, his tongue danced a fevered volley with hers.
One notion chased through her mind.
If he apologized for this, she’d push him overboard.
Vaguely aware he’d moved from her mouth to her ear, she knew exactly where his hand was when his palm skittered over her breast. Her knees threatened to buckle.
She moaned.
He cursed. His hands stilled, robbing her of all the sultry sensations she’d been enjoying.
Glaring up into his mahogany eyes, she warned, “Don’t you dare apologize.”
Long seconds swept past. She braced herself for whatever irritating 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.
Zane shook his head. “You have no idea how close you are to real danger. Let’s go before you find out.”
She groaned out a frustrated sigh.
He kissed her quickly then grabbed her hand and led her up the dock. Once they were both inside, Zane cranked the engine, but didn’t shift the truck into gear.
“You’re not talking. That’s a bad sign for you,” she teased.
“Angel, I like you, but—”
“Stop.” I like you, but? That sentence could only end with a knife to the heart. She liked him, too. A lot. Too much, which was real stupid considering her situation. Regardless, she didn’t want to hear the rejection. She’d heard enough in her life, too many.
“Look, just forget it. Didn’t mean to make you feel uncomfortable.”
“Angel, it’s not that—” He gripped the steering wheel, not looking her way.
“Please, Zane, don’t. Let’s just forget about it.” Easier said than done, but she could handle that better than hearing that he wanted no part of a woman who lived like a homeless indigent. The air thickened with discomfort. She searched for something to change the subject and noticed the large rope still piled in the back.
“You forgot to get one of your ropes.”
“That’s for the anchor.” Zane shoved the gear shifter and the truck moved forward. “I’m not changing it today. That takes a while.”
They left the marina heading in the direction of his apartment. He drove down the beach highway, his profile stern, distant, as if heat hadn’t just flashed between them.
Worse, as if he’d judged her and she came up lacking. He ran hot, cold, hot. She’d figured out little about him.
Why was she even trying? Where would it lead?
Nowhere. Heartache.
Forget about what you’re supposed to be doing? Men with guns, coins, Mason—any of that ring a bell? She fisted her hand. Get back on track. Wanting more out of life is what made Mason’s job so appealing.
Find the coins. Nail down an alibi. Contact the FBI.
No room left for lusting after a pilot she’d never see again.
Angel pressed the window button, lowering the glass. She never could get enough fresh air after the stale atmosphere inside the prison. She snuck a peek at Zane.
His window was down as well. He drove one-handed, thumb tapping against the steering wheel.
She cut her attention back to her surroundings, noting the main roads she’d seen in the past two days. Marathon training had taught her to quickly pick up directions and landmarks along any route. Locating the marina again would be no problem.
Warm air coming off the blistering pavement blew through her open window as Zane slowly wove through the thick Labor Day traffic.
With her arm outside the window, she waved her hand against the force of the wind, enjoying a childhood practice. Her eyes roamed over the passenger-side mirror. She saw a dark sport utility swing wide behind a van four cars back.
Hair stood along her spine. A gut feeling triggered her antennae to danger. Traffic slowed to a stop. She got a better view of the suspicious vehicle when Zane moved his truck over to the left lane. The make was a Yukon, not a Land Rover.
Paranoia must have her imagining 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 around in the two lanes to her right. Heavy traffic chugged forward, m
oving a few feet at a time, clogging the flow of vehicles through the huge 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 was caught in a traffic jam?
Zane moved into the left-turn lane.
She spied into the side mirror.
The navy blue Yukon was now two cars back—in the turn lane.
Panic sucker punched her.
Zane reached over and pressed buttons on the radio. Late seventies rock and roll poured out in a 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.
“Angel, are you okay?”
She jerked around at the question. “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. He must have had some special training in the navy. Getting away from him was becoming a bigger challenge than the mock-survival weekends she’d endured to gain an edge for triathlon training.
One more glance in the side mirror threw her into full panic. The passenger door swung away from the Yukon. Someone stepped out, all but his gray pants hidden by the door.
Blood pulsed through Angel’s chest.
“Oh my God, Zane! Look at that!” she yelled in a panic, pointing to his left. The second his head swing away, she hopped out of the truck and ran.
Alarmed, Zane had hardly turned his head when the passenger door slammed.
Spinning back around, he found himself alone in the cab.
Damn! She was gone again.
He jumped out to search the sea of cars for a female in flight. Beyond the three lanes to the right of his truck, a dash of white shirt dissolved into a gaggle of sightseers ambling along the sidewalk. Seconds behind her a gray blur arrowed into the same crowd.
Had the gray shirt behind Angel been someone chasing her or a teen on skates?
He slammed an open palm on the hood.
Unbelievable! Absolutely, un-damn-believable!
An enclave of horns honked as soon as the turn signal changed to green. Zane dived into the truck and threw it in gear, amazed he’d managed to lose her once more.
“Not very impressive for a seasoned undercover agent,” he lambasted himself.
But this time, he’d gotten a break. She’d been too involved with the dog on their way back from Georgia 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—if he found her again.
Angel fought her way through sidewalks strangled with tourists. She cut across an intersection then turned against slow traffic to run down the centerline, receiving appreciative honks from male drivers. She switched back and forth through cross streets that all ran in square patterns.
When a bus shelter came into view, she dived inside, completely lost. A man in a gray T-shirt and jeans had jumped from the Yukon. After the first mile she hadn’t seen him again, but felt as if every pair of eyes she passed watched her. Cars flowed along the secondary streets, slowed next to the bus shelter. Nerves drove her back out to the street. She darted into the midst of sluggish traffic once more.
A cabbie slammed on his brakes and his horn at the same time.
She jumped as if a rattlesnake had struck at her.
The driver added a flurry of hand gestures to the garble of blistering Spanish muffled inside the car. He was in the process of sticking his head out when she dashed over and climbed into the empty rear seat.
She whipped out a ten-dollar bill, apologized in Spanish and gave him an address. Spending the money galled her. She could easily cover the distance on foot, but outrunning a vehicle wasn’t possible.
The cabbie’s anger appeased at the sight of cash. He hit the gas pedal, throwing her against the back of the seat. She’d given him a street crossing near Zane’s apartment and could only hope the wild man knew where she was talking about.
She kept watch out the back window, but it would take someone with a death wish maneuvering a race car to keep up with this guy.
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. Eight 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 farther he searched, the deeper his disappointment.
His immaculate apartment appeared undisturbed. There should be no trace of her. However, the perfectly tidy apartment was as strong a reminder of his compulsive-cleaner houseguest as her yellow running shoes would be if they sat in the middle of the floor.
Regret coursed through him. He hadn’t meant to hurt her feelings after he kissed her on the dock, just not step further over the line of being a professional than he already had with her. His logical side warned him to be careful where she was concerned. There was too much at stake to risk losing it over a woman who wouldn’t even tell him her last name.
He knew that, knew all the arguments he’d give someone else in his predicament.
On paper, it made perfect sense.
Deep inside, where feelings overruled logic, nothing made sense.
She was hurt when he withdrew in the truck, battled with what he wanted to do and what he had to do. He was searching for a way to help her, to help himself.
He had to find her for his sanity if nothing else.
Grabbing his keys on the way out, he punched in Ben’s number and jogged to the truck. The fingerprint specialist might give him guff, but he’d always come through when Zane had to have a name.
C.K. needed to do some housecleaning when this job was finished. Joe was one of his best men, but one more mistake and he’d be demoted.
Demotion in C.K.’s world was permanent, all the way down to the bottom of a lake or a six-foot-deep hole.
“C.K., I don’t have wings.” Joe’s exasperation came across the phone line. “She takes off on foot through six lanes of traffic, not much our men could do. I’ll find her, but we got company.”
“Who?” Had Mason gotten nervous and hired a backup group?
“Don’t know, but I think that’s why she ran. Some guy jumped out of a dark blue Yukon right behind her. His buddy drove the truck across the median in the other direction before we could nail a tag number.”
Joe just added another demerit point to his next evaluation. CK couldn’t believe this bitch was outmaneuvering the best men in the business.
“Cover all the bases. Keep a tail on the pilot. If she doesn’t turn up quick, we’ll have a chat with him.” C.K. flipped the phone shut. The pilot had a bogus address. The apartment in Kendal had a few pieces of furniture, enough to fool most people just tracking down a paper trail, but not a professional. Mason’s girl had teamed up with a cagey character who had something to hide.
His men would locate the correct address by this evening. C.K. grinned. No one hid from C.K. for long.
Angel watched from a fast-food restaurant as Zane drove away from the apartment complex. She’d been lucky to arrive ahead of him. Catching a ride with a man on the edge had helped. No one had followed Zane in or out of the parking lot. Good. At least he was still safe. She waited a little longer before hunting a way into the apartment without attracting undue attention.
It took her fifteen minutes to zigzag
a half mile, but she finally managed to slip 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, Angel rolled over the concrete railing onto the tiled floor. The cool surface offered a better hiding place than his comfortable chairs. She had no idea where he’d gone and probably had a long wait. That being the case, she had no intention of spending it perched up in plain view.
The longer he was gone, the better.
She’d use the time to figure out what to tell him. No matter what she said he wouldn’t be happy. Angel eased back into a semicomfortable position.
A muffled two-tone chime sounded from Zane’s front door then tap-tap-tap.
Her pulse jumped into high gear. She struggled against the urge to flee. The only thing stopping her was the fear there could be more than one person watching the rear who would intercept her. She crawled around behind the chairs to hide, as far out of sight as possible.
A shiver raced down her spine as she watched the front door handle turn and the deep blue barrier inch open.
Chapter 10
A piercing security alarm screeched as soon as the connection at the door was broken.
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? Her eyes darted back to the front door.
A hand slipped inside.
It punched several numbers on the flashing panel, quieting the searing noise. A pile of dark curls bobbed around the edge of the door, followed by an impish face peeking into Zane’s apartment. His sister.
Trish leaned in farther 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.
Worth Every Risk Page 12