The Perfect Ten Boxed Set

by Dianna Love

  “Depends on how you look at it. You’re the limo ride for a little white mutt headed to Miami for a weekend of R&R with his four-legged lady.”

  Zane flipped through his memory bank on the corporate management of High Vision. Their CFO and his wife raised champion Bichon Frise dogs, including a stud worth more than a lot of people earned in a year. He understood the lack of information when Sammy had called Zane about this load. The CFO was worried about the animal being stolen during transport.

  Now he put it all together. “Don’t tell me TAF’s waiting for me.”

  “Okay, I won’t. I hate being the bearer of bad news.”

  Damn, it was TAF, the moniker for Treat Animals Fairly. A bunch of PETA wannabes that caused more trouble than good. “Just my luck. See you in a few.”

  “Not me, flyboy. I just bought a new bass rig with a hot Mercury outboard. I’ll be on the water by sunset. Catch you next time.”

  No wonder the High Vision CFO had kept the identity of the cargo secret. In addition to assuring his wife’s prize show dog was safe, the CFO wanted to avoid any media when it came to TAF, which was always negative.

  Obviously, TAF had better intel than anyone realized.

  This bunch did not want to cross him, not with Zane so close to signing a contract with High Vision.

  He always went for a smooth landing, but he outdid himself on this one. Angel didn’t say a word, but her eyebrow lifted just enough to tell him she’d noticed. At the terminal side of the runway, Zane swung off and parked on the ramp then took in the waiting congregation.

  Two elderly women, linked arm-in-arm, were dressed in matching flowered, short-sleeve dresses that fell midway of their chunky calves. Black ankle-high boots complemented their military-style buzz cuts.

  A wiry little man held down his dirt-brown hat against the wind swiftly kicking up dust. Standing next to him was a middle-aged, flame-haired woman and a short man almost as wide as he was tall. Sunshine glinted off of the thin brown hair covering his basketball-shaped head.

  Zane unbuckled his seatbelt and slipped out of the cockpit. When he opened the cargo door to step down, loose sand blasted his face in a rush of burning air. A hand pushed against his back and he turned to find Angel climbing out.

  “What are you doing out here?” he asked.

  “I’m your translator, remember?” She didn’t even try to hide the smile that came along with the sarcasm. “If you handle this group anything like you did Mr. Suarez, you’ll be lucky to stay in business through next week.”

  Feisty thing. Keeping her within reach might not be a bad idea. “Stay close to me. This bunch can be a roaring pain.”

  Zane stepped past the nose of the plane and the odd group advanced several feet. The skinny guy fighting to keep a crinkled hat on his head cleared his throat and spoke.

  “I’m Earnest Earwood. We represent TAF, which stands for Treat Animals Fairly.” Each word tumbled from his mouth like a telegraph operator reading a message. “We’re here to protest your part in the mistreatment of animals.”

  One of the two gray-haired women standing with their arms linked spoke up. “I’m Berta Nielson and this is my sister, Valerie.”

  Valerie jumped in. “We don’t think these poor animals should be put through pain and suffering.”

  Berta pointed at Zane. “How would you like to be faced with the same future?”

  The dog was headed for a weekend of rousing sex with a ready and able partner.

  Zane would love it. He smiled. “I could tolerate it.”

  Valerie’s faced screwed into the shape of a dishrag after heavy use. “That’s appalling. What kind of man are you?”

  One that hasn’t been with a woman in way too damn long, Zane thought remorsefully. “You don’t think my cargo deserves to be used in an experiment?” He was trying hard not to chuckle.

  Angel arched an eyebrow at him.

  “No animal should be put through that kind of suffering.” The redhead had a high-pitched voice, painful to hear. “We’re the Thorntons and we’ve spent our lives protecting animals.”

  Most of the critical laboratory shipments for High Vision were handled in the middle of the night, just to avoid TAF groups showing up to protest. This disorganized association was composed of radical protesters who rarely had their facts straight – as evidence, they thought Zane was here for a High Vision business shipment – and generally caused headaches for the bona fide animal rights organizations.

  Zane had to get rid of them without stirring up the media. How deep a hole would they dig for themselves if he handed them a shovel? “Maybe the animal being transported would enjoy this particular experiment.”

  Eyes bulged and mouths popped open like hungry guppies.

  Zane smiled at their reactions.

  The main four spouted off at the same time.

  “You’re a monster.”

  “How can you say that?”

  “We shall call in reinforcements.”

  “How do you sleep at night?”

  Mr. Thornton still hadn’t commented.

  Angel gaped at Zane like he’d lost his mind. “You can’t even keep people calm in English,” she whispered tersely. “How do you stay in business?”

  He narrowed his eyes at her.

  Angel pushed past Zane to address the crowd. “Excuse me. Excuse me!”

  The shouting died down to a rumble. Angry eyes surveyed her.

  She turned to Zane. “Your charter company would never do anything to harm an animal. Right?”

  When he didn’t say anything, she bumped her heel into his shin. “Umph.”

  Angel must have taken his grunt as an affirmative. She smiled at the crowd and asked, “What specifically is your complaint?”

  Berta’s caterpillar eyebrows ran together in a straight line across her forehead. “TAF opposes unnecessary and cruel testing on animals. We have a report that Black Jack Charters is transporting a test animal today.”

  Angel twisted sideways to Zane. “Is that true?”

  He smiled and nodded “yes” then almost busted up laughing at Angel’s incredulous face.

  “Just as we thought.” Earnest choked out the words through a raspy throat. “He even admits to his dastardly ways.”

  When Earnest succumbed to coughing, Valerie took a shot at Zane. “You wouldn’t be so happy if you were put in the same position as that poor animal.”

  Zane grinned. “Au contraire. If I had a willing mate waiting for a romantic weekend with me, you’d probably have to remove my smile surgically.”

  The crowd stilled. Not a sound was heard over the whirring of the wind. Everyone stared at him in shocked silence until Angel squinted in concentration and pushed for an explanation.

  “Zane, what are you talking about?”

  So much for having fun.

  His sigh vanished in the breeze. “Our cargo is a pedigreed show dog being sent for a weekend of recreational sex. The evil testing he’ll be put through is to determine if he can make little champion puppies. If it does kill him, that doesn’t sound like a bad way to go, if you ask me.”

  Wild threads of hair that escaped from Angel’s hair clip blew across her face. The corners of her mouth curled up. “You have a wicked streak.”

  “Honey, you don’t know the half of it.” He winked at her for good measure. For the first time since leaving the apartment, he was in her good graces again. Warmth spread over him at her pixie smile.

  “Earnest, you said there was a monkey being shipped today. Where’s the monkey?” Berta wasted no time assaulting a new target. Poor Earnest was no match.

  “Hold on, Berta. This isn’t my fault. The Thorntons said Valerie told them the same thing.”

  “Blast it all, Earnest. You’re an idiot. Valerie heard you tell me. That’s why she told them.”

  Zane had enjoyed all he could stand. “If you’ll excuse us, we have a deadline.”

  No one so much as turned to acknowledge him as they formed a circle
of finger pointers.

  A pair of men wearing green High Vision security suits walked up with a dog crate.

  It took less than ten minutes to make the transfer, load the cargo, and call for clearance to take off, a polite formality at the uncontrolled field.

  Back in the air, Zane ignored the whining going on behind him.

  Angel twisted around. “I think he’s scared.”

  “He’ll settle down in a little while.”

  “What’s his name?”

  Zane had no idea. “It was like Sir something-something Chutney.”

  Another mournful whine sounded from the cage.

  “Poor Chut.”

  She twisted around again, like a wolf mama worried about her pup.

  “He’s a show dog, Angel. They’re high strung so don’t touch him.”

  Ignoring his warning, she yanked off the headset and unbuckled her harness then climbed out of her seat and dropped down on her hands and knees in the cargo area.

  He couldn’t engage the autopilot yet. Keeping an eye on her in his rearview mirror, he raised his voice so she’d hear him. “Be careful. He might bite.”

  “He won’t hurt me. Please don’t yell. You’re frightening him even more.”

  She sat down on the floor of the plane, turned so that she had the dog cage on her left and Zane on her right. When she opened the wire door, Chut made a couple of tentative steps through the opening. In the next heartbeat, he straddled her lap.

  She beamed a triumphant smile up at the mirror and carried the dog back to her co-pilot seat. Once she was settled with her headphones back in place, she sat back, running her fingers across the mutt’s white-as-fresh-snow coat. “He smells nice. Powdery.”

  Zane said, “You’re going to be sorry if he gets excited and makes a mess.”

  “No, I’m not. Everyone needs to be held sometimes.” She smiled at the dog. “Isn’t that right, Sir Chut?” She turned to Zane. “I think Chut’s thirsty. Got any water?”

  Zane started to tell her he was sure the dog had been well hydrated before being handed off, but stopped himself in time. He’d never seen Angel this invested. Or this distracted. He’d be stupid to shut it down. “Sure, just hang on a minute until I get the autopilot set.”

  He made sure the instruments were doing their jobs, then found a plastic cup, used his pocketknife to cut the height down to half, filled the temporary dog bowl with water from a bottle he had in his bag, and held it out to her on the palm of his hand.

  “Thanks. Here, Chut, have a drink.”

  Chut lapped up water, dripping it all over his coat and Angel’s lap.

  When the dog finally lost interest in the water, Zane lifted the cup from her fingers and said, “I’ve got a cup holder on this side. I’ll put it over here in case he wants more later.”

  Angel let him take the cup and laughed when Chut licked her chin.

  Zane smiled, too. Finally, he had Angel’s fingerprint.

  Chapter 21

  Mason ceased his useless pacing across his New York office, and stared out at the fifteenth-floor view of Manhattan.

  He wouldn’t be here, but he had to appear as though he were doing business as usual. CK wasn’t producing results fast enough. Granted, Mason had given the bounty hunter stringent guidelines on capturing Angelina, because of that prick Czarion, but he’d thought CK would have cornered her by now, even with the need to be discreet.

  Had she found a hole to tuck into and hide?

  Perhaps Mason should give her reason to get mobile again.

  He studied the traffic below, tossing around idea after idea until it dawned on him that he had the perfect solution sitting on ice. Literally.

  Snatching his phone, he made a call to his favorite reporter, the one who owed him a favor.

  Chapter 22

  “When are we going to organize your storage room?” Angel drummed her fingers on her crossed arms and watched the sun sink closer to the ocean. The traffic ahead of Zane’s truck moved at a slug’s pace along A1A.

  “It’ll wait until tomorrow.”

  Tomorrow was another whole day. She couldn’t wait that long, but her only other option was to ask about the package of boat curtains. How was she going to do that without raising his suspicions?

  He added, “It’s too late to start on that at this time of day.”

  She stewed quietly. Once he’d landed at Sunshine Airfield and handled the transfer to the man in a green suit waiting to pick up Chut, Zane rushed her to the truck, claiming he had to run an errand before dark.

  He turned off the beach highway and she unfolded her arms.

  She recognized the area.

  The Gulf Winds Marina sign came into view.

  She couldn’t have been more surprised if he’d driven up to the Taj Mahal. Keeping her excitement hidden took real effort.

  Had Zane loaded the package into the truck without her noticing? She calmly stretched and looked behind her, pretending to take in the scenery.

  The truck bed was empty.

  Her palms dampened at the possibility of finding the package of boat curtains.

  Nibbling on her lip, she asked with as much indifference as she could muster, “What are we doing here?”

  “Quick stop,” Zane answered, explaining nothing. “Won’t take more than ten minutes.” He parked his big truck in front of the dock for slip 18 and opened his door, saying, “Just keep your head down and I’ll be right back.”

  “No.” She hadn’t meant to snap at him.

  He stood there, hand clenched on his open door. “That’s becoming my least favorite word. No, what?”

  “I want to come with you, please.” She smiled to sweeten her request.

  Zane’s eyes took in the marina lot. Two empty late model pickups and a rusty Jeep sat in the desolate parking area.

  She could see his line of thought, but there were no massive black sport utilities hovering nearby. Not much more activity in the marina than the last time she’d been here. “I’ll be fine. Don’t you think someone would have shown their face by now if they knew I was with you?”

  “Yeah, but...” He scratched his chin, and appeared to reconsider. “Now that I think about it, I’d rather not leave you alone here anyhow.”

  Sold! She hopped out and hurried around the front of the truck. “Don’t worry. I’ll stay close.”

  It took all her discipline not to run down the dock.

  The young man from the day before had obviously finished washing “Wet Dream” because slip seventeen was empty.

  Next to it, in slip eighteen floated a wooden cabin cruiser Noah had probably passed over before he built his own ark. The ancient teak deck was sun bleached gray. What little varnish that still covered the mahogany trim along the sides of the cabin had sprung loose in peeled tufts.

  Now she’d find out what had happened to the boat curtains.

  Zane stepped down onto the deck of the archaic vessel appropriately named “Hard Luck.”

  “Should you be walking around on that boat?” Angel asked.

  Zane grinned up at her. “Sure. I own it.”

  Chapter 23

  Angel couldn’t believe her ears.

  Zane owned that floating wreck in Slip 18?

  The custom curtains were for his boat?

  “Don’t look so shocked.” Zane stood with hands on hips, grinning at her. “Pilots like the water, too. I plan to restore it. Bought it in Miami and hired a captain to bring it up here for me.”

  Still, she was speechless.

  Casting an admiring glance at his ark, he said, “I won’t be able to work on it for another couple of months, but she’ll be ship shape by next spring.”

  Angel caught half of what he’d said. Where was that package of new canvas enclosures? This boat wasn’t anywhere near ready for side curtains.

  Zane stared up at her expectantly.

  She realized he was waiting for her to say something about the boat. “It’s, uh, nice. Lot of potential, roomy.�
��

  Right answer. He grinned even wider. Like a man who’d won the lottery.

  He’d need a big jackpot to make this thing into a usable watercraft.

  Zane opened the cabin and stepped down into what appeared to be a living area. “Stuffy in this cabin.” He opened small windows, pushed them out from the inside and lifted the hatch. She’d squatted down on the dock to watch him, hoping to see a brown paper package miraculously lying around in the open.

  No such luck.

  She stepped around on the walkway extension from the main dock that had been built between the slips. Putting her fisted hand against the sidewall of the hard top that covered the cockpit, she used it for support and jumped down onto the deck. At the cabin door, she found Zane digging through a small cabinet above a compact kitchen area. He pulled out two key rings, each with an orange plastic float attached.

  She moved out of the way when he climbed out to the deck.

  He stuck the keys into the dual ignitions then dropped down on one knee in the rear center of the deck to raise a hinged section. With a flip of his wrist, he switched a silver toggle.

  After standing up he explained. “Have to switch the battery on.”

  Sounded reasonable. She had no clue what he was talking about, having never been on a pleasure boat, but he said it with such authority she assumed he was correct.

  Zane stepped over to the wheel, gripped the control handles mounted against the wall on his right and shoved them forward a couple times then returned them to the middle position. After several attempts, the right motor cranked with a throaty rumble. The left one started up on the first try, eliciting a triumphant grin from Zane.

  Men and their toys.

  He tinkered with the controls for a few minutes, then tapped one of the gauges and frowned.

  She leaned in to see what concerned him. “Something not working?”

  He shook his head, more to himself than to her. “No, the problem is that it does work.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  Zane studied the dash. “These are the gas gauges. Both tanks are too low on fuel. I had a message from the captain that he ran into weather and arrived later than he’d planned, so he couldn’t fill it before docking. I can’t blame him, but I have to get it fueled soon.”