Finished with her shoes, Angel stood up and leaned a hip against the counter. “What did you mean when you called Zane a mystery man?”
Trish shot a conspiratorial eyebrow up. “He doesn’t like me to talk about him. Says it’s inappropriate.”
“Why is it inappropriate?” Angel prompted casually.
Trish raised her shoulders in a shrug. “Beats me. He just says his work isn’t up for discussion. His exact words. He comes and goes on a wild schedule.”
Angel frowned at Trish’s roundabout answer. “Yes, but a charter pilot probably has to work at odd times. He told me that’s the nature of his particular business.”
“This month it is. Next month, who knows?”
Intrigued, Angel asked, “What do you mean?”
Trish studied her mug as though debating on how much to share. She raised her head, smiled wryly.
“Zane must think something of you or you wouldn’t be here, so I’ll tell you what I think,” Trish said. “He isn’t always a pilot.” Both of her dark sculpted eyebrows waggled as if she had a secret. “Sometimes he goes off to do some side work, but he won’t tell me what it is, just that he’s helping someone with a problem. He takes off with hardly more than a goodbye, telling me to use his cell phone if I need him, then shows up anywhere from a couple days to a week later.”
Just like Zane had this morning.
Angel knew very little about Zane Black. What if his side work was an illegal activity? Was that what he’d meant when he assured her he could help?
He’d flown out of the airport that first night fully aware she’d stowed away with armed men chasing her. He hadn’t been overly concerned about any of those incidents.
Would she always choose men to become involved with who led secret lives? Had she stepped right back into the fire?
Angel sifted through everything she knew about Zane and could put her finger on a couple of odd coincidences, but nothing of significance. She’d detected a dangerous side of him—attribute that to a man his size mixed with a dose of protective nature. He watched over his sister, worked hard at whatever he did and had shown Angel unprecedented kindness.
How could she fault a man who opened his home to a woman he knew absolutely nothing about? His elusive schedule might be little more than not wanting to trust Trish with sensitive business information.
“Maybe all of that is in the past, Trish. He’s working pretty hard to build up Black Jack Airlines. Look at today. He’s flying on a holiday weekend,” Angel pointed out.
Trish shrugged again. “I don’t know. You have to be around for a while to see it the way I do, but it doesn’t matter. He’s the best man to ever come out of the Jackson bloodline.”
“Jackson bloodline?” Angel cocked her head, confused. “Who’s that?”
“Us.” Trish slowly lowered her mug and stared. “Haven’t you two exchanged last names?”
“Are you saying Zane’s last name is not Black?” Angel countered.
“Okay, I see what happened.” Trish visibly relaxed, then continued, “You misunderstood. The name of his company is Black Jack.”
Angel hadn’t misunderstood.
Zane had introduced himself as Zane Black. She remained silent, wanting Trish to expound.
“I suppose Jack is short for Jackson or maybe he named the business Black Jack because he’s always been good at cards. Our last name is Jackson.” She took a sip from her mug and grinned. Zane’s grin. “It wouldn’t be a big deal if you called him Zane Black. He’s too nice to embarrass you about something like that.”
Too nice or too sly. Which was the apt description?
Angel kept her reaction hidden from Trish, but it was difficult. Zane had misled her from the beginning.
Why would he use an alias? Her heart started beating double time. She began to understand why Trish interpreted her brother’s activities as mysterious.
Angel didn’t want to know anything more. Curiosity would serve no purpose but to waste precious minutes, and right now it was time to go.
The minute she pushed Trish out the door, she was gone, too.
A whine from the laundry room announced the spin cycle on the washing machine. Trish had changed to fresh clothes from the ones stored in Zane’s closet, opting to wash the smelly ones from the night before while she waited on Heidi.
Snagging the receiver from the wall phone, his sister switched topics as she dialed.
“Heidi spends Saturday afternoons communing with the sun, but the weather’s going to be crummy so she’ll probably be home soon. I wish she hadn’t forgotten—again—to leave the answering machine on. Love her to death, but she’s so absentminded about that. I’d take the bus, but I left my pass in her car.”
Trish was right. The wind had picked up this morning and the sky was pretty dark when Angel walked in from the patio.
She considered offering Trish money from her limited funds just to get her out sooner. Bus fare was a tiny amount until you had no idea where any future money would come from.
Besides, if she waited, she could hitch a ride with Heidi when she picked up Trish, use the excuse of sightseeing to be dropped near the marina. Maybe she’d get lucky and make it to the boat before she got drenched.
Then she could search through the cabin alone.
“What are your plans for today?” Angel asked. “Think Heidi could drop me off somewhere? Thought I’d do some sightseeing.”
Trish gave up on the phone and was digging through the refrigerator. “Sure, but do you want to go out in this weather?”
“Maybe it won’t be so—”
Thunder boomed outside.
“Wow. Better close the glass doors before the rain soaks the carpet.” Angel jumped from her chair and ran toward the patio.
She stepped into the living room in time to see a black-clothed figure climb over the patio rail just beyond the opening. Paralyzed on the spot, panic welled up inside her. Air clogged in her constricted throat.
When both feet hit the tiled surface, the massive intruder lifted cold, steel-gray eyes to hers. A face more evil than Mason’s stared at her from less than twenty feet away for only a second.
He moved forward quicker than she’d imagined possible for anyone that huge.
Triggered into action, Angel streaked for the hallway, thinking she wouldn’t get the locked front door open fast enough. He flew around the sofa hard on her heels. A concrete arm nailed Angel across the back, knocking her to the floor. She felt the blow to her ribs and rolled in pain.
“Sugar, that’s some storm brew—”
Trish’s words morphed into a scream.
The attacker snatched Angel by the hair. White-hot pain daggered her skull. Tears spilled from her eyes. She pushed up to her knees and yelled, “Run, Trish!”
He let go of her hair.
Trish screamed again.
Angel shot up and lurched around.
Trish stood rigid as a statue, her face deathly white, mouth and eyes stretched wide open in horror as the giant advanced on her.
In one long stride, Angel leaped up and landed on his back, flinging her hands around to gouge his face.
“Run, Trish, go, go, go—”
A snarled yell spewed from the beast.
Vise-grip fingers locked on Angel’s forearms then snatched her over his head. Her back smashed against the floor between him and Trish, knocking the air from her lungs.
She wheezed for a breath of oxygen.
The front door banged open in the distance.
Through watery vision, Angel watched her attacker’s polished bald head snap up at the sound. He raised a leg to step over her. She shoved her foot up into his groin with everything she had and was rewarded with a scream.
He fell to one knee.
She flipped over and scrambled to her feet. The door stood open. Thank God.
She almost made it.
He yanked her by the hair. Her head snapped back, stars flashed in her vision. Could she hold him o
ff long enough for Trish to get away?
She felt herself being swung around like a rag doll on the end of a line just before a steel fist connected with her jaw.
Help.
Trish?
Zane?
Pain faded away. She sank into a black void.
Zane paced the terminal at the shipping docks in Jacksonville.
Something was wrong.
High Vision’s shipment was hung up in customs, but not because the officials thought contraband was involved.
A paper glitch. Computers were down and nothing would get processed before Tuesday. Probably the damn storm.
He’d made it out of Ft. Lauderdale ahead of the incoming squall ripping off the ocean only to land in a wicked thunderstorm. As soon as the narrow band of rain had moved off the coast, the sun blazed out from behind the clouds, bringing the humidity up with a vengeance.
The rental car he’d requested had been at the airport on his arrival. He’d tracked down his local information source only to be told a different version of what he’d expected to arrive at the docks. Nothing in the High Vision containers on board the ship could be construed as suspect. His contact ran an online check on the transfer status then informed Zane the shipment wouldn’t be released for two days.
He didn’t care when it got processed. The damn shipment amounted to nothing more than custom-built equipment for the new lab High Vision was constructing in Montana. Black wrought-iron fencing alone filled one container.
The shipment would be checked thoroughly by customs as well as the task force working undercover on site in Montana as part of the construction crew. So why had he been sent on a wild-goose chase? Either the agency’s intelligence had a major breakdown or someone was feeding them false information on purpose.
That would point to a mole within his group.
Zane dialed his apartment again while he waited on Sammy’s call to confirm what he’d figured out—that his entire trip had been an exercise in futility.
His home phone rang six, seven, eight times.
It was barely after eight in the morning. He slapped the phone shut. Where the hell were Trish and Angel? He hoped she hadn’t gone for a run. She’d promised to be careful.
Then he recalled her searching through the cabin of the boat. Had she gone to hunt for the coins?
Dockhands moved along the pier, paying him no attention. Sweat streamed down his back. The ball cap he’d thought to grab offered little shade from the scorching sun. When his phone rang, he flipped it open.
“About damn time.”
“Whoa, Zane. I know you’re working a holiday, but I’m doing the best I can.”
“Sorry, Sammy. I don’t care a rat’s ass about working a holiday. You know that. Just a little frustrated right now.”
“Me, too. For what it’s worth, everyone is jumping out their butts.”
“They should be. Where the hell did the information come from?” Zane demanded.
“Don’t have that this minute, but you can bet it’ll be traced before the day’s out. Got a bad apple somewhere. If that’s the case and they’re on to us, all this work is going down the drain.”
Great, Zane thought disgustedly. “How much longer until I’m cleared to leave?”
“I should know any minute, but I don’t think it’ll do you much good.”
“Why?” Now what?
“We’ve got a hell of a front blowing through. Sounds like a tropical storm building close to Miami. I don’t think even you can fly back in this mess. Hang on a minute.”
Another call beeped through during the silence. Relief swept over Zane at his home number on the caller ID. Maybe Trish was still asleep and Angel had been in the shower. He stretched his neck to relax his tense shoulder muscles while he waited on Sammy.
“Zane, you’re cleared to leave. Soon as they track this down, you’ll get called for a meeting. Going to be a huge powwow over this fiasco.”
“I’m gone. Later,” he said and clicked over to the other call.
“Zane, here.”
“It’s Heidi. I’m at your apartment. We’ve got a problem.”
“Why? What’s wrong?” Palpitations hammered in his chest.
“When I got here, your front door was wide open and nobody was here.”
“Nobody?” he shouted.
“No. I forgot to leave the answering machine on. I don’t know where Trish is, but she didn’t have any money for a bus.” Heidi’s normally high-pitched voice reached the squeaky stage when she was very upset.
“Listen to me, Heidi. I’ll be back in a couple hours. Leave the apartment.”
“Do you want me to call the police?”
“No.” He didn’t want anyone there until he’d had a chance to check it out himself. Without sufficient information, the police would actually get in his way.
“Zane, I don’t want to leave in case Trish comes back. I’m worried about her.”
“I am, too, but since I don’t know what happened, I don’t want you in the apartment. It might not be safe. If you want to wait, stay in your car. Leave immediately if anyone strange shows up. Got it?”
“Okay. I’ll wait outside until you get here.”
His worst nightmare had come to life.
Air. Angel needed air to fill her lungs. Her chest wouldn’t expand for a simple breath of air. She was going to suffocate.
She could hear rumbling, thunder. Her clothes hung heavy on her body, soaked. She opened one eye. Black pavement shone under a veil of water. Raindrops beat down across her back, splattering against the ground. Water ran around her neck, across her throbbing face and into her eyes. Hair streamed down past her face, slapping her outstretched arms as she bounced. Her legs were held together at the knees.
Someone carried her facedown on his shoulder.
Had to be a man. Even in jail she’d never met a woman this big.
She pushed against the rock-hard back to allow her chest expansion for oxygen.
“Be still.” The rough order left no room for argument.
“I…can’t…breathe.” She squeezed the words past her sore jaw.
He shoved her higher on his shoulder as if she were nothing more than a child. She pushed against him once again and pulled in a deep breath. Her head throbbed, nausea threatened.
It all started coming back to her. The black-clothed figure crawling onto the patio, being attacked in the apartment, Trish…did she get away?
Please, God, don’t let Trish be hurt. It would kill Zane.
The thought of Zane brought tears to her eyes. She was beyond miserable physically, but the emotional torture of never seeing him again set in. That’s what she got for letting her guard down, becoming comfortable.
The bouncing stopped.
She heard the jangle of keys, then a car door opening. He slid her down in front of him, picked her up and pitched her onto the back seat of a big sport utility, bumping her head against the far-door panel. She tried to push herself up.
Either he moved with amazing speed or she was sluggish from the battering. Frigid gray eyes hovered over her. His noxious cologne and sweaty masculine odor accosted her. An obsidian gun handle protruded from the waist of his pants.
With his left hand, he reached over the seat into the rear cargo area.
She breathed shallow pants, anxious at what he’d do next.
His arm moved as though he worked to open something, his attention focused on the task. When his gaze sliced to her again, a nasty smile spread across his face. Goose bumps pebbled along her arm.
Supported by his knees, her crazed captor slid his right hand across the front of her shirt.
She sunk backward deep into the seat, trying to move away from his touch. He squeezed one breast as if to gauge her cup size then moved his hand under her neck. She shivered in revulsion.
He misunderstood her reaction.
“Good. I like my women more agreeable than you were earlier.”
His coarse voice drove te
rror through her. Her mind shifted from fear of Mason to a new threat. Maybe this man had no connection to Mason. There were hundreds of big sport-utility vehicles in the country. Maybe he was just a sexual deviant who saw an opportunity with the patio door open.
Her fear redoubled at the possibility this could be worse than being caught by Mason. The giant had her pinned to the seat. Muscles bulged in his left arm as he raised his hand from the cargo area behind the seat.
Waves of panic shot through her. Angel swallowed and opened her mouth to scream for help, but he slapped a damp cloth over her face. She flinched at the acrid smell, then passed out.
Chapter 15
Zane slammed on brakes in front of his apartment. His sweaty palms hadn’t dried since he lifted off from Jacksonville, but he couldn’t attribute it to the vicious weather he’d confronted. Flying into a tropical depression didn’t compare with the sick fear something had happened to both Angel and his sister.
Heidi’s ancient, lime-green Volkswagen bug sat in the lot. Empty.
Damn. Couldn’t at least one woman he knew follow directions?
Rain soaked his shirt by the time he raced around the corner and flung open his unlocked front door.
Heidi jumped up from the sofa, her spiked hair wilder than normal. “Am I ever glad to see you,” she declared.
“You shouldn’t have waited in here, Heidi. It wasn’t safe.”
“But, Zane—”
“I don’t even know what happened to them. You could have been hurt,” he blazed on.
“But, Zane, you don’t understand—”
“Yes, I do.”
“No you don’t, sugar.”
Zane spun to his left. A pale Trish emerged from the bathroom, tears streaming down her face.
She ran to him. Thank God she was safe. Zane clutched her shaking frame.
“Oh my God,” she sobbed against his chest, oblivious to his wet clothes.
“Are you okay? Are you hurt?” he asked, his voice strained.
“I’m okay.” She hiccuped between sobs. “It’s Angel.”
Worth Every Risk Page 17