She hadn’t been at the airport or the boat. He couldn’t think of anywhere else she might go.
With Ben and his wife in the delivery room expecting their first child, Zane wouldn’t get a rundown on the fingerprints for at least a day or two.
By the time he found out who she was, it could very well be a moot point.
Angel would be long gone, maybe permanently.
His stomach churned at the idea that someone wanted to kill her. He forced his thoughts away from that possibility.
She’d been a frustrating puzzle from the minute he’d met her—a multilayered, three-dimensional puzzle with dangerous, razor-sharp pieces missing. Where had she been kept against her will and why?
All he knew was she had the talent of an elite athlete and had lost a scholarship for some unknown reason. Everything came back to that one word—unknown.
He wanted to shake some sense into her, make her understand how much she needed his help. She’d been tagged with a transmitter like a banded bird and placed under armed guard. The thugs he’d met in Charleston were dressed in thousand-dollar tailored suits.
Against an organized and financially robust lethal group, how did she expect to protect herself, much less him, too?
He couldn’t recall when a woman had put him first in her life. Certainly not Sylvia, the dazzling jewel he’d fallen for in Texas. She’d been anything but what she presented. Truly a woman who planned for her future by covering all bases, Sylvia was engaged to another man while dating him.
Just when Sylvia had convinced Zane she loved him, he discovered she had a clueless fiancé who couldn’t wait to marry the lying witch.
Good thing Ben still lived there. Observing Sylvia with objective eyes had given Ben cause to run a very revealing background check.
All Sylvia really sought were the material proceeds Zane’s family name and eventual inheritance would offer. Basically a businesswoman, Sylvia had been shopping her engagement deal to see if she could improve her investment. Since then, Zane gave few women little more than casual interest. Others had proved to be just as materialistically driven.
Except for Angel. For someone who desperately needed help, she refused his every offer.
He trusted few people in his life, understood Angel’s reticence to share her private problems. But he didn’t believe she’d survive on her own for long. Not without a lot of luck and a chunk of money. Neither of which appeared readily available to her. What would it take to convince her she could depend upon him? He might never find out.
She was gone, maybe forever.
Out of sight, out of mind?
Whoever came up with that saying never met Angel. Auburn hair and mile-long legs remained emblazoned as a header to all his thoughts.
As he made the last corner into his development, images of Angel clicked past his mind’s eye in slow motion. Wide-eyed and terrified in his airplane, then curled up, sleeping against his front door.
She’d danced her fingers through the wind as she’d ridden beside him in the truck. Shampooed and showered, draped in a single towel next to his laundry. Zane smiled, remembering the look on her face when he’d found her.
Half covered in his shirt, she’d slept in his bed.
Her hazel eyes flashed with fire when he annoyed her, but they were pure whiskey—warm and intoxicating—when he kissed her.
He shook his head at his wandering thoughts. A dial in his brain flipped to his professional conscience, jeering at him to admit the truth.
Black and white, right and wrong battled in his mind. When had the lines blurred?
Angel behaved as a fugitive.
That’s the real reason he should be hunting her. With a little more time, once he uncovered her identity and knew why someone chased her, he could help her. But, if she’s not a criminal, why did she refuse to bring in the police?
If he did corral her again, he’d turn her over to the authorities. They had more time to deal with an uncooperative female in trouble, he reasoned.
Right?
He parked the truck just outside the door to his apartment and sat there, watching the halogen parking-lot lamps begin to brighten.
Who was he kidding? Zane snorted at his lack of honesty.
Hand Angel over to a bunch of strangers? No way. If he found her, he knew what he’d do—drag her into his arms and taste her lips. There’d never been a woman he’d been driven to have in the way he desired Angel.
If he got his hands on her one more time, he’d…
Mason answered the private line in his Manhattan office. “Lorde.”
“Sir, this is Richardson.” Richardson oversaw Mason’s warehouse as head of security. He knew about all shipments, legitimate and otherwise.
“Is there a problem?” Mason asked.
“Possibly. An auditor from the underwriting group for the warehouse insurance came by.”
“What’s the problem?”
“Smelled like a fish,” Richardson said.
Mason gritted his teeth at the nickname his group used for the FBI.
“What did he want?” Mason demanded.
There was a slight pause on the other end of the line before Mason heard, “Most of his questions were standard until he asked for the inventory clerk.”
Weiland, one of Mason’s best men from his private compound, had replaced Angel when she’d been removed from the operation.
“What did Weiland tell him?”
“Uh, Weiland didn’t speak to him. The auditor asked specifically for Angelina Farentino. Said she was listed as the contact. I told him she no longer worked for Lorde Industries. He asked a couple vague questions and left.”
A prick of concern crept along Mason’s neck. Richardson was right. The auditor smelled like a fish.
“Did you get his card?”
“Yes, sir. I called the underwriters. They confirmed he was a freelance auditor.”
That meant nothing. The FBI was capable of infiltrating anywhere they needed an operative.
Mason was sure he’d convinced Angel that she’d played a role in the smuggling operation, and that with her record no one would believe she was innocent. As long as she ran, he felt certain she’d avoid the authorities, but if they picked her up first, she could be used against him.
And the minute she tried to sell those coins, she’d be arrested.
He ended the call and dialed his bounty hunter’s number. The receiver clicked on the other end then he heard, “Speak.”
“C.K., I want an update,” Mason said.
“I’ve nailed down the city. Think we’ve got an address.”
“Think? Not good enough.” Mason’s fingers strangled the phone.
“M.L., hold it a minute. The pilot who moved your problem last time is still handling the package. That’s the address. I’m checking it out.”
“Your sources aren’t working fast enough,” Mason charged.
“We’ll get her, but looks like somebody else has an interest. You don’t have another team down here, do you?”
“No. What are you talking about?” Mason said.
“Had another group try to intercept her, but she ran from the pilot’s truck. Better not be another contractor. If they get in my way, I’ll remove them,” C.K. warned.
“You’re the only one on my tab, but we may have interest from the government.”
Time was no longer on Mason’s side. C.K. had to pick her up before the feds did.
“Secure the problem somewhere out of the way, then call me,” Mason said.
“I expect some resistance.”
“Don’t damage my merchandise.”
“What about the pilot?” C.K. asked.
“I don’t care what you do with him. Just don’t leave a trail and don’t draw attention.”
Mason hung up and dialed his favorite reporter, the one who owed him for a favor.
Zane parked the truck then trudged to the apartment, hating the emptiness that awaited him inside. He unlocked the door. When the alarm
failed to sound, he tensed.
Reaching down in his boot to retrieve the .32 Smith & Wesson, Zane eased the door open. Through the dark shadows cast across the room he could just make out a figure silhouetted against the hazy light beyond the glass doors.
A woman stood with her arms folded against her chest, staring out at nothing.
His throat closed up.
Angel. He couldn’t believe she was here.
Zane stepped in, closed the door and dropped the gun back down in his boot. He moved gradually into the room, afraid she’d vanish into thin air. His lungs struggled to draw oxygen.
She was really here.
An arm’s length away, he stopped. She hadn’t moved to acknowledge him. Scattered thoughts raced across his mind, but only one broke through to the surface.
She’d come back to him.
He swallowed and whispered, “Angel?”
A soft glow emitting from a single bronze lamp tinted the room. Turned away from the light, her face was hidden in shadow until she lifted her head. The sight of her tear-streaked cheeks ripped his heart to pieces.
He opened his arms and she came into them. Zane wrapped her in a close embrace, so very glad to feel her warm body next to his.
“I thought you were gone,” he said, his voice raw with emotion. “Forever.”
She shook her head against his chest. Her tears dampened his shirt.
“Are you okay?” he asked.
She nodded against his chest, hugging him around the waist.
He stroked up and down her back, his fingers massaging along her spine. His chin rested against her silky hair. A lump of gratitude formed in his throat. She was alive.
Angel tilted her head back. Sad eyes beseeched him through wet lashes. “I had to get them away from you.” Her fervent words, spoken quietly, floated through the still room.
He breathed out a deep sigh and leaned his forehead against hers.
“Honey, I wish you’d trust me enough to tell me what’s going on,” he pleaded in a whisper.
She pushed her hands up past his chest to each side of his face, stroking lightly until two fingers rested on his lips.
He kissed the soft pads.
“Zane, you’re the one person I do trust,” she admitted.
Her sheer breath flowed against his neck. She trailed her fingers across his face and neck, tormenting him with the wispy touch.
“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have come back here, but I had nowhere else to go,” she apologized. “My being here puts you at risk. I never meant to cause you trouble. I don’t want anything to happen to you.”
He hugged her close. From what was she trying to protect him?
“Who is the guy that’s after you?” he urged.
She shook her head no against him.
He’d have laughed at her favorite word if he weren’t so worried.
“I can’t keep guessing. I need to hear it from you,” Zane said. “He’s not your boyfriend or husband, is he?”
“No,” she said, barely above a whisper.
“Then you either did something to make him angry as hell or you have something he wants,” Zane said.
“Yes.”
“Which is it?”
“Both.”
What did she have? Zane had the compass, but that couldn’t be it. Could it?
“If you give it back, will he leave you alone?” Zane asked.
“No.”
“Why not?”
“It doesn’t belong to him,” she explained.
Zane drew his head back. She was killing him. None of this made sense.
All his questions fled when she blinked wet lashes up at him. He realized she wore one of his T-shirts. Her hair was damp. She’d showered, which told him she’d probably covered some of the distance by foot, if not all.
He ran his fingers up her back, combed them through her hair, fine strands lacing around his hand.
Nothing mattered at that moment. Not her past, not his future, nothing but the luxury of her in his arms.
Zane lowered his lips, gently raked across hers. He kissed her cheek, her nose, her eyes, tasting the salty tears.
She twined her fingers around the back of his neck, snuggling herself up against him. His lips swept softly over her warm mouth until she returned his kiss with an intensity that rocked him.
Of its own accord, his hand moved down along the smooth contour of her back. He scooped her bottom, his hand meeting with soft bare skin, and lifted her against him.
His tongue arrowed between her lips, delving again and again for the exquisite taste that could only be Angel. A taste as narcotic as those he kept off the streets. Her fingers clutched his shoulders and, with a shift of her hips against his throbbing arousal, she sent shock waves through him.
Caution sirens screamed in his head.
Her scent overrode them.
Zane moved his lips along her chin up to the crest of her ear. He buried his face in her hair, inhaling the wonderful fresh smell.
She crooked her head to one side, allowing him to scorch a trail of fevered kisses down her slender neck. Feather-soft hair flicked over his fingers as his hand roamed across her shoulders.
With one arm supporting her, he leaned her backward to enjoy the sweet access of her throat. Her purred moans drove him to the brink of no control. He’d never sate his taste for her. Covering her mouth with his, their lips joined in a sexual dance.
In the recesses of his mind, a voice pleaded with him to slow down, don’t act irrationally.
Her fingers combing through his hair silenced the voice.
A chirping noise broke through his fervor, annoying him.
What the hell was that?
She tugged on his hair when he tore his mouth away. He sprinkled kisses along a southern path to her shoulders. She stretched up on her toes, a feline leaning in to be stroked.
The chirping grew more constant.
Damn. What was that?
With deft movements, the oversize T-shirt rose to her chest. He cupped a breast, just the perfect size to fill his hand, sent two fingers across the areola.
She sucked in a sharp breath, expelling the air in a long pained moan.
The chirping was back.
It finally dawned on him his cell phone was ringing. He didn’t want to answer and thought seriously about pitching it out the door.
With each loud chirp of the phone, consciousness hammered his aroused senses back to reality. He was in the middle of an investigation. His sister and Heidi had the number for emergencies.
For once in his life, Zane wished he was undisciplined enough to ignore his responsibilities.
Every nerve in his body stood on end. He was so hard the zipper outline had to be embossed on his erection.
And he was seconds from stripping the woman in his arms.
That woke him up.
What the hell was he doing? For the second time, he’d completely lost his grip.
Resigned to his fate, Zane pulled his hand from her breast. He stroked her shoulder, shifted the shirt back down to cover her and kissed her face.
He didn’t want to take his hands off her.
“Honey, I’m sorry,” he whispered.
Sorry they weren’t in his bed, sorry his life was not his own, sorry some jerk had invented cell phones.
Angel lifted her head. She stared at him as though he’d said there were elephants coming at them. Dazed and mussed as if she’d just been loved, her lips were puffy, waiting to be kissed.
If their lips touched again, he wasn’t sure he could back away.
Quiet reigned for several seconds once the phone ceased, but then the irritating sound resumed.
“Damn.” He kissed her forehead. “I’ve got to take this call.” He eased her out of his arms and jerked the phone from the clip on his hip.
“Zane,” he snapped, anger, frustration and self-disgust wrapped around the short salutation.
“This is Heidi. Sorry to bug you, but you sai
d to call if Trish ever needed you.” As his sister’s best friend in Texas, Heidi had decided to stay in Ft. Lauderdale after one visit. She was the closest Trish had ever come to having a sister. Her concern for Trish rivaled Zane’s, the reason she was the only non-agency person besides his sister who had his cell number.
“What’s wrong? Where is she?” Several possible situations crossed Zane’s mind, all of which soured his stomach.
“She’s okay, but she’s at the Pink Baby and some guy is giving her a hard time. I dropped her at the shop earlier and was supposed to meet her at the bar. I went home to let Dazzle out in the yard and my car won’t start. I know you don’t want her walking to a bus at night,” Heidi said.
Zane groaned.
“Trish heard from one of the other girls he’s into weird stuff, and I think he scares her. Trish didn’t want to bother you, so I told her I’d get a ride and come get her, but you’re only fifteen minutes away. I’m close to an hour once I get the car started.”
Zane looked at Angel. In the minute since he’d answered his phone she’d withdrawn. The distance between them felt as wide as the ocean crashing against the beach outside. She’d turned to him for comfort and he’d practically mauled her.
“Okay, Heidi. I’ll get her.”
He snapped the phone shut. “Angel…”
She held up a hand to stop him. “I shouldn’t be doing this. I’m sorry. Really. It won’t happen again.”
He closed his eyes then opened them. When would his life get any easier?
“Look, Angel, it was my fault, not yours.”
“Then let’s just call it even and drop it.”
Not sure what to say without making things worse, he decided to take her advice and let it go, for now.
“I’ve got to go pick up Trish. Do you want to come with me?”
“No. I’d rather stay here,” she said.
Zane sighed. Trish had to be picked up before she got hurt.
“Will you promise me you won’t leave the apartment?” he asked. “I don’t think I can take too many more surprises today. When I get back, I want you to tell me why you took off earlier.”
“I won’t leave,” she said, then added, “I promise.”
Based on her posture—arms crossed, back straight, chin high—a casual observer would think her confidence had returned. Not Zane. He’d noticed her habit of chewing on her bottom lip when she was nervous. The nibbling gave her away.
Worth Every Risk Page 14