“What happened?” He hadn’t meant to snap, but worry for Angel overshadowed his ability to remain civil.
“I’m so sorry,” Trish wailed. “I couldn’t help her. I tried, but I just stood there until she told me to run.” Another sob escaped her.
He clenched his teeth to keep from shouting. The more anxious Trish became, the less coherent she’d be and he needed all the information he could get right now.
“It’s okay. Just calm down and tell me what happened,” Zane coaxed.
She sniffled and cleared her throat.
“I was in the kitchen and heard thunder. When I walked in here to close the doors to the patio, Ang…Angel was on the floor over there.” She pointed down the hall.
“Go on,” Zane urged.
“This huge man was standing over her. I swear he could be one of those guys who wrestle on television. He’d knocked her down. When he heard me and turned around, I just froze. I’m so sorry.”
Zane felt as if his nerves were being dragged through a field of razor blades while he waited on Trish to tell him everything. Was Angel lying hurt in a hospital somewhere? He took a deep breath to keep from shouting and pushed his sister for more.
“Okay, take it easy, but tell me what happened to her.”
Trish raised pained eyes to him. “Angel jumped on his back and screamed at me to run.” Her voice dropped to a whisper. “So I did. I ran away, scared out of my mind. I hid behind some bushes by the next building. I was crying, trying to figure out what to do.”
Trish sniffled, then said, “Finally, I had to come back to see if Angel was okay. Thought maybe I could get his tag number. You always told me to get a person’s tag number.”
Patience was paying off, but at the cost of his sanity. Chinese water torture would be easier than waiting on Trish to finish. If he could just make it through the strain of another agonizing minute, his sister might tell him where Angel had gone.
“When I got back here, I found Heidi.” Tears spilled out of her swollen eyes.
“Angel’s gone. He took her.”
Pain drove Angel from the dark fog. Her first remnants of consciousness surfaced. A chill shook the length of her body. Where was she?
She blinked to clear the cobwebs from her brain. A dank and oily odor invaded her senses. With another blink, her vision began to clear.
Way up, maybe twenty feet, from where she was lying on her back, flashes of light backlit a row of dingy windows near the top of a rusting metal wall. Cold seeped through her bones. Wet clothes clung to her clammy skin.
When she slid her elbows back to push up, her head spun. A sharp pain stabbed her side. She swallowed hard to settle her roiling stomach. Barefoot pygmies had tromped through her mouth, leaving a dusty trail.
Very slowly, to control the dizziness, Angel shifted her head around, surveying the room. A tall overhead garage door stood on one end of the fifty-foot-long room. Wire hung loose from a panel next to the door as if someone had ripped the control box from the wall. Her eyes trailed down to a large silver padlock threaded through a shiny new hasp at the bottom of the door.
No exit there.
She scanned the next wall, opposite the windows. This one was a short interior wall, but still close to fifteen feet. It must separate the room she was in from another area. A pigeon landed on the top ledge of the wall. Several holes large enough to drop a chair through yawned across the ragged metal roof. Water pooled on the floor from past rain showers. At least it wasn’t raining now.
Dreading the dizziness movement caused, Angel turned farther to check out the last barrier of her accommodations.
An oil-stained floor covered the distance between her and a standard office door. She surmised the building had been a truck garage long ago.
Other than a five-gallon plastic bucket next to an office-type door, the room was void of any furnishings.
She should go check the door, but common sense, being the funny animal it is, came to her aid. Sometimes common sense told her to do something she’d really rather not. Other times, like now, it convinced her to sit still, since she felt like the devil and that door was very likely locked. And, even if it wasn’t, there was a good chance someone guarded the other side.
Sliding back down to a prone position, she tried to use mind over matter to will her body to stop hurting, but two days’ sleep and an ice pack would do more good.
She massaged her forehead as she recalled her abduction. Blurry images of her running through the apartment and being knocked to her knees were the first thing she remembered. Most details were vague, but not the chilling gray eyes belonging to a behemoth of a man.
What had he done? She took a quick mental inventory of her body. Of all the pain coursing through her, none indicated she’d been sexually attacked.
An attacker with restraint? Morals? Her mind rambled back to the apartment and Trish stepping into the room. She’d yelled at Trish to run.
The fact that Trish was not here with her should indicate she’d gotten away. Or, had the man left Angel alone because he’d attacked Trish?
Her stomach flopped again. Had Trish been hurt or worse? Guilt pushed through her physical misery. She’d brought this danger into Zane’s home. What a way to repay his generosity.
If Zane returned to find Trish hurt he’d never regret anything more in his life than the night Angel had stowed away on his airplane.
She tested her ribs with a slow breath. Pain, but tolerable, so she rolled over and crawled to a sitting position. She slapped a hand over her mouth in a feeble attempt to avoid tossing up the coffee she’d drunk…when?
Her head pounded in complaint over the thirty-inch change in altitude. Little by little, stars chasing around in front of her eyes disappeared. Her watch was missing along with one of her shoes. She rubbed her wrist out of reflex, wondering how long she’d been there.
Ignoring the ache in her side, she struggled to a standing position. The room listed to one side, then righted.
Careful not to make a noise, she tiptoed across the room. She pressed her ear against the scarred door. Muffled voices came through as though they were spoken in a bucket.
She recognized the first one as belonging to the man who’d caught her.
“—me back a double burger, two fries and a big Coke. Make that two double burgers. I worked up an appetite dragging that bitch here.”
“How long we staying, C.K.?” came from a second nasal voice.
“Until M.L. gets here. Says he’ll deal with her himself.”
So her attacker was called C.K. What could that stand for?
“What about the storm? How’s he going to get here if the airport shuts down?” the whiny one asked.
“He’ll get here. May take a little longer, but he’s coming. Don’t doubt it. The man wants her bad,” C.K. said.
Angel couldn’t come up with anyone she’d met whose initials were C.K., but M.L. had to be Mason Lorde.
Through the door, she heard high-pitched laughter fade with footsteps. C.K. must have stayed to guard her.
She knew exactly what Mason meant by “dealing with her himself.” He’d physically punish her until she gave him the location of the coins. After that, it was anybody’s guess how he’d finish her off.
Angel glanced down at the five-gallon bucket half filled with sand. A roll of paper towels sat beside it. Was this her litter box?
How could she tell Mason where the coins were if she didn’t know? The only person who knew was Zane, but she refused to inflict any more pain on him or Trish.
Angel steeled herself for what was to come.
Zane closed the door behind Heidi and Trish, once more thankful for Heidi’s friendship with his sister. Trish had been so distraught over Angel, he almost couldn’t get her to leave.
When Trish calmed down, she’d lowered her voice to where only Zane could hear her say, “I know you do more than fly airplanes, something special. Knowing you, it has to be for a good reason, so I’m guessing
you’re some kind of cop.”
He’d been shocked.
Before he could recover with a believable lie, Trish ventured, “I don’t want to know what you do, but can you find Angel? I’ll help.”
His sister had always appeared unconcerned about the world around her, but in that one instant Zane realized he’d severely underestimated her resilience. That Trish had returned to the apartment filled him with dread for her safety and admiration for her bravery.
Angel had tried to point out Trish’s strength to him.
At that point, he owed his sister more than his usual fabrications.
“I can find her,” he assured Trish. “When I do and things settle down, we’re going to talk, but not right now. You can help best by going with Heidi and staying home until you hear from me.”
She’d nodded, went up on her toes and kissed his cheek. “I love you, and Angel means a lot to me. Be careful,” she whispered.
Angel meant a lot to him, too. More than he cared to think about. But she was in a mess that got deeper by the minute. Now that he had the coins, he knew what someone wanted from her. If the coins didn’t belong to the guy chasing her, he could only assume they had to be stolen. Coins like those didn’t float around without security.
Who was the thief and who was the rightful owner?
While he processed the information, Zane unlocked his storage room and flung the pile of camouflage junk out of the way to reach his special tool chest. From a bottom drawer in the chest, he removed the Palm Pilot for tracking the transmitter hidden in Angel’s shoe.
Zane booted up the small computer and ran through the configurations to zero in on her location. He locked the storage room then noticed her jeans and white shirt folded on top of the dryer. She should be easy to spot in her yellow running clothes.
Zooming in three times, he had a solid location—an industrial area in an old section south of Miami. He could make the trip in thirty, depending on traffic.
One last check through the rest of the apartment revealed nothing amiss—except for one missing tall female body.
He’d drop the gold coins and notes at Ben’s office on his way south, but finding Angel just took precedence over learning her identity.
Mason carried a single bag to the flight he’d chartered. He planned to return home within a day, with or without Angel. If she told him where the coins were right away, she’d be in shape to make the trip back. If not, well, he might give her to C.K. when he’d taken what he wanted.
His cell phone rang. “Mason.”
“C.K. here. You going to be able to fly into Miami?”
“With enough money, there’s always someone willing to work. I’ve got a plane chartered to leave soon. I’ll be there tonight. Don’t let her out of your sight,” Mason warned.
“She can’t get out. You want her fed?”
“No. She’ll be more pliable if she’s hungry. I should be there by ten o’clock. Have someone waiting for me,” Mason ordered then gave C.K. the information on his charter.
“Got it. I’ll have a man in a Lorde Industries jacket waiting for you.” C.K. hung up and checked his watch. Just past seven.
He had time to pay his guest a visit.
Zane zigzagged his way south on I–95 from Ft. Lauderdale to the target point indicated by the Palm Pilot. He’d assumed Angel was in a fixed location until the transmitter began to move. Too fast to be Angel on foot, even with her running ability. She was being transported in a vehicle.
Constant glances at the Palm Pilot confirmed the vehicle was headed for the interstate.
When the blip on his Palm Pilot reached I–95, it turned north.
Cutting through traffic and flooring his accelerator every chance he got, Zane tried to close the ten-mile gap without pricking the attention of the highway patrol. He didn’t have the time to show his identification and answer questions.
When the vehicle he tracked turned off of I–95 to I–195 east, he had a good idea where it was headed.
Miami International Airport.
Angel sat at the farthest point from the office door. She’d been over every inch of the room. Unless she grew wings, there was no way out.
She was sick of water. Her skin felt like a prune. The storm sent rain pouring through gaping holes in the ceiling. If the floor hadn’t been sloped to a center drain, she’d have been without the one dry corner in a room dark as a cave.
Where was Mason? Had the storm held him up or kept his men from delivering her to him? No, the bull on the other side of the door had said Mason was coming here, to deal with her.
Her hands trembled. She prayed for strength not to give up Zane’s name—no matter what Mason did.
Light glowed from under the office door. No one had been in the room since she’d awakened to see if she was still there. They might have a peephole, but it wouldn’t make any difference. They knew, as well as she did, there was no way out.
As if her wandering thoughts had been heard, the door to the other room opened.
C.K. loomed in the opening.
“You’re up.” He started forward. “Good. Thought you planned to sleep all day.” His sinister voice reverberated through the vacant room.
“Cat got your tongue?” he taunted, ambling toward her, a black silhouette against the bright room behind him.
She sunk down in the corner, considered trying to run past him, but experience had taught her better. He’d been amazingly fast for his massive build. She’d just hurt herself worse. Better to save all her strength to endure Mason.
He squatted in front of her. “I’ve been trying to think of how to repay you for the kick in the nuts.”
She flinched at the memory. No man took that move well. What would he do in retaliation?
With a flick of his hand, he ripped her pale yellow shirt down the front, leaving her dressed in the jog bra and shorts. She braced for his next move, but instead of tearing more clothes he wrapped his hand around the back of her neck, wrenched her forward.
Bile rose in her throat when she realized he wanted to kiss her. She forced her hands not to claw at him, yet. Not until he wanted more. It would take every ounce of strength she had to fight him off if he tried to rape her, and she didn’t honestly believe she’d win.
He closed his mouth over hers. Her stomach revolted at the combined odor of hamburger and sour breath. When he ended the kiss, he rocked back on his heels, let his rough palm trail over her damp hair.
Her sharp breaths echoed her fear. His touch moved down her chest to the jog bra, she trembled in terror. He wrapped short thick fingers around her right breast and squeezed. She jerked in reaction, disgusted.
He released her breast. “I know M.L. better than most. When he’s finished, you’ll get a chance to make it up to me. If you give him whatever you took, I’ll make sure he doesn’t kill you.”
Agile as a gymnast, he rose to his feet and turned. Back-lighting from the office cast a glow over half of his face, offering her a vision of Satan.
When he closed the door behind him, Angel let out a pent-up breath.
Who would have thought there was a fate worse than facing Mason?
Chapter 16
Early evening settled over the city under a blanket of ominous clouds. Zane wheeled his truck into the covered parking garage at Miami International Airport minutes behind the vehicle he’d been tracking. He parked in the first open space, planning to track the transmitter on foot now that it appeared to be stationary.
Carrying the Palm Pilot concealed in a magazine, he followed the signal until it indicated he’d reached the target. In the far outer region of the crowded garage sat a black Land Rover still dripping from the rain.
Zane waited until he was reasonably sure no one remained in the vehicle then strolled forward casually, scouting the area with each step. With a building sense of dread, he sidled around the far side of the SUV and glanced inside.
No bodies lay in the open.
That was a plus. A soft-d
rink can was lodged in the drink holder between the front seats. When he moved toward the rear to check the cargo area, a flash of yellow in the back seat caused him to do a double take.
Angel’s running shoe sat on the floor.
He’d been tracking her shoe, not her. His heart sank.
So where was she? After a quick perusal of the empty rear cargo, he made a mental note of the tag number and the gold triangle logo on the side.
Zane returned to his truck where he punched the Palm Pilot back to the original fixed position. When he reached the destination marked on the computer, Angel had better be there.
If not…what?
Zane threw the truck into gear and jockeyed his way out of the thick airport traffic. He couldn’t waste energy playing what-ifs.
He would find her. The alternative was too hard to comprehend.
Dodging in and out of showers, through congested roadways, transformed the drive between the airport and I–95 from arduous to excruciating. At the exit for an industrial district, he turned south to Kendall, an older area just below Miami. When he entered a commercial zone four miles west of the interstate, Zane slowed to cruise through industrial parks inundated with mammoth buildings.
Tractor-trailer rigs were backed up to loading docks on several properties, but little activity stirred at eight-thirty on a holiday-weekend night. He circled and crossed over railroad tracks, then hung an immediate left down an access road. Dilapidated buildings with real-estate signs offering the properties for sale or lease were scattered from one street to the next.
His truck crawled along the dark corridor. The original signal had come from somewhere close to this area. He squinted to see between sheets of rain and poor lighting, ready to dismiss the area, until a cat ran across the street in front of him.
Zane slammed on the brakes, visually following the feline’s path as it scampered to his right.
A bright glow flickered from a tall street lamp and reflected off something shiny at the end of the vacant alley. He flipped open his console and dug out a set of infrared night-vision binoculars.
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