A Land Rover came into focus.
Not a vacant alley after all.
Could Angel be there?
Anxious to locate a second access to the building other than the alley, he weaved his truck through the bleak commercial area. An offshoot railroad track from the main line ran through a clearing in the trees. It appeared to run alongside the building.
He backed the truck off of the shoulder next to the track.
Zane shoved his weapon under the waistband at his back, then slipped on a poncho and leather gloves. Lightning clattered overhead. He reached in the back seat for the roll of anchor rope and wound about fifty feet into a loop, hanging it over his shoulder.
Following the glow of his flashlight, he jogged down the track then flipped the beam off as he neared the sport utility. He switched his phone to vibrate.
On close inspection, the Land Rover carried an identical gold triangle logo as the one from the airport. Bingo. He picked his way around the tall metal structure, stumbling through a minefield of piled buckets, weeds and scattered boards. Pouring rain, popping against every hard object in its way, camouflaged any unintentional noise.
Most tall warehouses had a ladder for accessing the roof, but so far this one had proved him wrong. He felt his way back toward the front.
When his hand plowed through a web of thick vines and caught on a metal wrung, he breathed a sigh of relief. Vines wrapped the ladder and covered the wall for as high as he could reach. With no idea if the access was rusted to pieces or still strong, he tentatively placed his weight on each step. Once he stood on the roof, shafts of light shone upward through small holes in the ceiling.
The illuminated room was near the front quarter of the structure.
Lightning flashed and exposed holes in the roof funneling water into the building. He switched on his small flashlight to hunt the center beam at the pitch of the roof rather than risk crashing through a weak area. Once there, he navigated to the light source.
He knelt down and crawled close enough to peer into a bright opening.
One of the biggest men Zane had ever seen sat reclined in a chair with his tree-trunk legs propped on a crate. His meaty fingers tapped a rhythm to hard-rock music vibrating out of a boom box. What had Trish said?
Angel’s attacker could be a professional wrestler.
If Angel was here, he’d have to get her by not tangling with this guy, or be forced to use his weapon. And bullets might only slow him down. Seeing into the opening was like peering through a peephole. He had to squint and move around until he could detect the room’s layout.
There were two doorways in the small room. One exited the building and the other accessed another room.
Zane shone his light over the roof to what should be the next room. Water streamed into the pitch-black hole through two ragged openings in the tin roof.
He crawled to the edge of one hole as wide as his overstuffed chair and waited for the next lightning strike to finger across the sky. When that happened, it brightened the dark night to daylight for several seconds.
In those few seconds of momentary brilliance, a dash of yellow glowed one corner.
Angel was there.
C.K.’s phone vibrated against his hip. He turned down the music, but still had to click up the receiver volume to hear over the downpour pounding the metal roof.
“Speak.”
“Plane just landed,” Joe said. “Let you know when M.L. gets through the terminal and we’re on the way. Shouldn’t be more than thirty minutes.”
“I’ll be here.” C.K. flipped the phone shut. He cranked the music up and leaned back with a smile.
His leggy captive should be primed for Mason after today. Mason wanted her pliable. Last time he saw her, she was close to being putty.
Angel shivered hard. She tucked herself into a tighter ball on the damp floor. Rain clattered down on the building. The racket echoed through the room, sounding as though a thousand nails showered against the metallic surface. Something furry bumped her hand.
She went from exhausted to terrified in under three seconds. A rat? She wobbled to her feet, ready to flee if the animal jumped on her.
Lightning exploded outside. A flash of light charged through the wide hole in the ceiling…outlining a figure in the center of the room.
Was the giant sneaking up on her? Mason would be next.
She couldn’t take any more. Fear snapped her control.
Angel ran wide, but in the direction of the door, praying he’d left it unlocked when he came into the room.
Halfway across the room, she was snatched off her feet.
“Noo…” died in her throat when a hand clamped over her mouth. Strain and fear had taken a toll. She made one puny attempt to struggle against the rock-hard body, knew she couldn’t defeat his strength, but wrenched hard.
Nothing budged, no flex. The man was built of granite.
She crumbled emotionally. Tears gushed down the sides of her face. Her knees gave way.
Before she could fall to the ground, the hand covering her mouth slid away and two strong arms wrapped around her chest to support her.
“Shh. It’s me, Zane.”
That was the last straw. Her mind had snapped if she actually thought Zane would materialize out of thin air.
Unable to stop, she cried in broken sobs smothered by the deafening rain. She felt herself shifted around until she cried against a broad chest. Long fingers on one hand supported her around the waist as another began stroking up and down her back.
Her phantom kissed her forehead and whispered next to her ear. “Shh, baby, it’s okay. I’m going to get you out of here.”
This couldn’t be the animal.
Zane was so very warm, even if he were a hallucination. She wanted to climb inside his heat. A shudder racked her body and he tucked her closer.
“Honey, don’t cry. I swear I’ll get you out of here.”
A hand cupped her chin, lifting it. Warm lips she recognized kissed her gently. He was no hallucination.
Nothing had ever felt as real as Zane.
Finally, she quieted and ran a hand over Zane’s face. “It is you,” she said, her voice full of awe.
“Are you hurt, honey?”
The concern in his voice soothed her.
“I’m okay now that you’re here.” She remembered the giant nearby. “Trish! Is she okay?”
“She’s fine, home with Heidi. You were right. She’s tougher than I realized.”
“Oh, thank God. We have to get out. How did you get in here?”
His hot breath flowed over her ear when he said, “We’re going out through the roof. Are you ready?”
The roof?
If he said so, she would do it. She nodded then realized he couldn’t see her and said, “I’m ready.”
Zane’s arms fell away. Her body moaned over the loss. He whispered, “I’m pulling a poncho over your head, don’t panic.” When he had the poncho on her, he took her hand and led her to the wall with the windows.
“Do you know how to climb a rope and walk your feet up the wall?” he asked quietly.
She’d done that plenty of times in weekend training classes. “Yes.”
“You go first, I’ll be right behind you. When you get on the roof, don’t move until I’m up there.”
“Okay,” she whispered and grabbed the rope to start up. At the sharp pain in her side, she sucked in air and hesitated.
“What’s wrong?” he asked.
Angel gritted her teeth. She could do this. “Nothing. Let’s go.”
Hand over hand, she moved painfully slow, but made it to the roof while rain pelted her face. She struggled over the edge.
Zane popped up right behind her. Water ran over the top of her shoeless foot from the flood rushing across the corrugated roof. He handed her the flashlight then pulled the rope up in loops and slung it over his arm. With his hands on her shoulders, he bent down close to her ear.
“Hold my belt an
d walk in my tracks as close as you can.” Before letting go he brushed her lips with his. “Hang in there just a little longer and we’ll be out of here.”
Reaching zombie state, she nodded, but he must have caught her movement. He gave her a little squeeze then hooked her hand through his belt and took the flashlight. She slipped twice on the slick metal as they scooted across the roof and down the ladder.
Zane towed Angel through the thick weeds. When they neared the entrance to the building, headlights from the alley shot crossways in front of them. He hauled her up between him and the building. They would be able to see who arrived without being spotted.
Another sport utility swung around the first one to park.
He felt her stiffen when a statuesque male followed by a driver stepped from the vehicle. Under the dim streetlight, the tall man’s blond hair glowed.
Zane spoke very low. “Do you know him?”
She hesitated, then nodded under his chin.
The two men moved out of view then a door banged shut.
Zane dragged her quickly through the thicket. At the Land Rover, he made her squat next to one of the vehicles, telling her not to move. With a knife from his boot, he slashed the tires then shoved the knife back in place and grabbed her hand.
They rushed along the tracks in a jog. Zane hoped for a couple more minutes to get Angel to the truck. They’d made it a third of the way there when shouts erupted behind them.
High-powered searchlights beamed frantically, scouring the ground outside the building.
Zane jerked Angel to a stop. “Take the flashlight. Go to where the tracks meet the street. My truck is there. Stay out of sight when you get there. I’ll be right behind you.”
“No. I—”
“Do as I say,” Zane ordered, whipping out the Glock.
A beam of light shone down the tracks, picking them up.
“Now!” Zane shoved the light in her hands. She stumbled away.
A zing sounded on the tracks just short of where he stood. He fired two shots high then sprinted down the tracks behind Angel and the bobbing flashlight.
Shots rang out in the distance, landing all around him. He tripped once, caught his balance and fired back, this time lower.
One high beam disappeared.
At the truck, he threw the rope in the back. Angel dived in on the passenger side. He jumped behind the wheel, cranked the engine and spun a stream of loose gravel behind the truck, tearing onto the dark road with the headlights off. A shot pinged off the metal body.
He shoved Angel’s head to her knees.
“Stay down.” He wove through turns and side streets until he felt sure he’d lost them then headed for the I–95, turned north to Ft. Lauderdale.
Then where? This group knew about his apartment. They probably had the airplane under surveillance.
While keeping his eyes on the road and rearview mirror, he removed his hand from Angel’s back then used his arm to lift her to a sitting position. Maybe he should drive for a while and leave the area.
One look at Angel changed his mind. She hadn’t taken the poncho off and still shivered violently, even with the heater blowing. He reached over and ran the back of his hand across her cheek. She turned a deathly white face to him, her eyes glazed with shock.
Zane had to find a secure location soon. No one appeared to be following them, but he couldn’t be sure. They might have planted a transmitter on his truck at some point.
Mason walked out of the warehouse as two more Land Rovers rolled up. He stepped past the two incapacitated vehicles sporting flat tires.
At the door to his ride, he stopped to give C.K. his parameters. “You have twenty-four hours to find her.”
Weapon still in hand, C.K. said, “I’ll find her. I always have a backup plan.”
Mason smiled. “Good, so do I. Let’s hope yours works, because I don’t think you’ll enjoy mine.”
Chapter 17
Traffic thinned along Sunrise Boulevard. The digital clock on the dash glowed bright in the dark, read ten-fifteen.
Zane crossed the bridge and peeled off north on Bayview Drive to a small upscale community east of downtown Ft. Lauderdale. The rain had slacked to a drizzle. He zipped into an expansive parking lot for a high-rise apartment complex.
“There’s a hotel a block from here. We’re going to check in for the night. I know you’re tired, but we’re close,” Zane said.
Angel nodded mutely, giving him reason to believe she’d hit her physical and emotional limit.
His overnight bag was still in the truck, forgotten upon returning home from Jacksonville. He tossed his weapon and cell phone inside before grabbing it.
Zane circled the truck to Angel’s side and helped her down. Her icy hand barely clung to his as she shuffled along beside him.
They stepped into the lobby of the Shasta, Ft. Lauderdale’s newest five-star hotel, dripping teaspoon puddles on the cream marble streaked with rays of pink and gold.
As he approached the front desk, Zane kept his arm around Angel, who still wore the black poncho.
An impeccably dressed middle-aged man, wearing a charcoal gray suit and crisp white linen shirt, stared at them in momentary shock. After a moment, he closed his severe mouth, affecting the perfect hotel manager demeanor of polite indifference.
“Can I help you?” the manager asked with a hint of doubt in his voice.
As the son of a powerful man who’d amassed a fortune in the oil business, Zane knew exactly how to handle this guy. He read Robert Sommers on the man’s name badge.
“I certainly hope someone can, Robert,” Zane said, biting out each word in an annoyed tone. “First the damn flight lands three hours late, then they manage to lose our Louis Vuitton luggage. Next the rental car breaks down, leaves us stranded. So much for a vacation.”
Robert’s face shifted into his concerned-manager expression from Hotel 101. “I’m so sorry, sir. What can I do for you?”
“Just don’t tell me our reservation has been lost. If that happens, I’m calling my sister who freelances travel articles for newspapers like the New York Times, so she can warn the world against this disaster zone.”
That got Robert’s full attention.
The Shasta hadn’t been open long. A simple problem with a recent high-profile guest had been blown out of proportion in the local news. Everyone had heard about the embarrassing event.
Robert punched up his computer screen. “Can I have your last name, sir?”
“Mr. and Mrs. Zane Black.”
At his words, Angel cocked her head toward him.
He winked at her, assumed she was surprised by the Mr. and Mrs. before his name.
Robert clicked keys furiously, frowned, squinted, clicked more keys, narrowed his eyes at the computer and glanced up. “Is that spelled b-l-a-c-k?”
“Yes.”
More clicking and deep sighs followed. Robert relented and offered a professional, but completely artificial, smile when he said, “I have your room, Mr. Black.”
Several elderly couples strolled through the grand lobby, casting appalled looks toward the desk as Zane handed over his credit card. Robert made quick work of processing the card before handing over two room key cards.
Zane took them and said, “Please call when the luggage arrives. In the meantime, we’ll need some toiletries. I happen to have mine in a carry-on, but my wife’s things were in the big suitcase.”
Stepping into an office behind the desk, Robert returned with a bag full of items. “Please take these, compliments of the Shasta. We’d like to do whatever we can to make this a pleasurable stay for you.”
Zane nodded his appreciation, thanked him then guided Angel to the elevator. If Robert had any concerns about her single bare foot, he didn’t voice them.
She trembled while they rode silently on the elevator, worrying Zane as much as her catatonic state. He had an endless list of questions, but those could wait until she’d gotten a hot shower and some sleep.
He opened the door to a luxurious room with a single king-size bed. The dainty sofa in the corner didn’t appear to hold a foldout bed or be long enough for his frame. Returning to the lobby to request a room change was out of the question. He’d sleep on the floor.
Zane slipped the poncho over Angel’s head. He tossed it in the corner of the enormous bathroom filled with shell-white marble streaked with mauve veins. He took one look at her and clenched his fists. A dark bruise shaded her jaw. Red welts colored her ribs. Tomorrow she’d tell him who had done this and why. Then he’d deal with them. Tonight he had to take care of Angel.
Tap, tap, tap.
Squinting into the door peephole, he saw Robert, their accommodating manager, standing on the other side.
Zane eased Angel into the bathroom then answered the door.
“Mr. Black, I’m sorry to bother you,” Robert began. “I noticed your wife had the misfortune of losing a shoe and thought we could be of assistance. If she doesn’t care for these, or if they don’t fit, tell her to feel free to exchange them for another pair in our gift shop on the mezzanine level, our compliments.”
Robert held a beautiful basket with fruit, chocolates and a pair of dazzling jeweled sneakers fitting for a New Year’s Eve party. The whole bizarre situation would have been hilarious if it weren’t so serious.
“Thank you, Robert. I appreciate your concern.” Zane took the basket, offered him a tip, which Robert graciously refused.
Zane bolted the door.
Angel emerged from the bathroom and stared at the basket. Strange probably didn’t begin to describe her thoughts.
Tipping her chin up with two fingers, Zane asked softly, “How does a hot shower sound? There’re two robes in the bathroom.” He brushed his hand across her forehead, pushing a long wet strand of hair away from her vacant eyes.
Without a word, Angel took the bag of toiletries Zane had carried up and shuffled into the bathroom, shutting the door. He placed the basket on the dresser, then called room service to order pizza and bottled water, offering a heavy tip to deliver it quick. A taste for pizza was the only thing he knew for sure about the woman he’d rescued. Next he called Ben, got his voice mail and left the tag number to the Land Rover. Ben had a buddy in motor vehicles who would trace it for him.
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