Last Chance To Run

by Dianna Love

  She was. Just standing near him short-circuited the common sense area of her brain. Her body had none when it came to Zane.

  Crazy hormones were throwing a party just for him and didn’t give a fig about coins or Mason.

  Strain of the last two days settled in all at once, causing her to feel a bit lightheaded. She blinked her eyes to clear her vision and admitted she couldn’t be picky when she desperately needed at least one solid night’s sleep.

  Zane lifted a hand toward the exit. “Ready?”

  With a final nod of acceptance, Angel picked up the linen shoulder bag she’d dropped near the door and stepped out ahead of Zane, then he led the way to a massive Dodge pickup.

  That figured. The man wouldn’t fit in anything smaller.

  Flashy mag wheels gripped raised-letter tires. The four-wheel-drive machine had been painted Saturday-night-lipstick-red and accessorized with chrome jewelry.

  No wonder men referred to their vehicles as feminine counterparts.

  Zane opened the passenger door. The new leather scent engulfed her as she stepped up to the high captain seat. A wide console separated them, suiting her just fine. Calm dove-gray covered the interior, contradicting the screaming exterior.

  She checked all around the inside of the truck for a brown paper package with Gulf Winds Marina labeled as the destination.

  No such luck.

  Several ropes were piled across the narrow back seat of the extended cab. A large bundle of half-inch thick rope lay in the rear floorboard. What in the world did he use that for?

  She switched mental gears to more important concerns.

  How soon would Zane fly out again? She needed another shot at hunting for the package in his hangar. If it didn’t turn up there, she’d head back to the marina in case the boat curtains had been floating around in transit and finally arrived.

  Either way, once she had a solid night of sleep, she’d be on the run again.

  Chapter 12

  Watching Angel climb into his truck, Zane was amazed she could still stand upright.

  Had she even slept since he’d last seen her? He wouldn’t bet on it based on the exhaustion in her eyes. What had she gone through to reach Ft. Lauderdale? She must have had some funds for the secondhand clothes and transportation, but he had a feeling she didn’t have much or she wouldn’t have agreed to stay with him.

  His suspicions flared at everything she’d done from wiping her fingerprints to showing up in his hangar. He should turn her over to the police to let them determine if she needed protection or incarceration.

  But her fear was palpable.

  Every protective instinct had roared to the surface the minute he’d found her again. He’d be damned if he’d let her slip away this time.

  Life had taught him that not everyone who avoided the law was a criminal. Judging this situation without all the facts could get someone seriously injured, or killed.

  Bringing in the authorities might shove her into more danger. He couldn’t do that. Not until he had answers. He’d never forgive himself if something happened to her because of nothing more than suspicious activity.

  With enough money and connections, whoever chased her could get to her anywhere. He’d heard some of Ben’s stories. Protective custody sometimes amounted to caging the prey for a fenced hunt by the bad guys.

  Zane walked around and climbed in the driver’s side, cranking the engine. One look at Angel’s long legs now covered in jeans reminded him of the old bruises on her thighs.

  He’d like to pay a personal visit to the person who had inflicted those wounds.

  With the kind of men she had on her tail, how had Angel made it all the way here alive? And why did she fight him so hard when she knew he was trying to help her?

  Sure, he was a stranger, but if she had anyone else to turn to, she’d have gone to that person.

  Frustration welled inside him.

  His gut just did not want to believe that she was a criminal.

  What about wiping her fingerprints off every surface she touched? Okay, so his gut failed the Sherlock test.

  Pulling out on the highway, he mulled over yet another suspicious action – finding her in his storage room.

  Had she been looking for the gold compass?

  Possibly.

  In the few minutes he’d been driving, his misgivings climbed until he began questioning the logic of bringing her into his home. He never brought business home, and purposely kept his two lives separate for his sister’s benefit.

  This could be a stupendous mistake.

  But then he caught a small movement in his peripheral vision and glanced at her.

  Angel rode quietly, staring straight ahead. Her squared shoulders boasted of confidence, but the death grip she had on that linen bag belied her stiff carriage.

  He made yet another hundred-and-eighty-degree spin from guarded to protective.

  She chewed on her lower lip. One hand relaxed, slipped from the bag in her lap. The ring he’d noticed on the flight was now missing from her finger.

  Had she traded the ring for clothes or a few bucks?

  Her fingers trembled against the material. Fear? Exhaustion? Hunger? Or all three?

  Dammit. He had one thing straight in his mind. No one was getting their hands on her until he had his answers.

  No one.

  He had more than a few questions, but the best way to draw information from a reluctant individual was with slow, calculated conversation.

  Right now, this angel was too spent and jumpy.

  Guess he should be glad that Suarez had stopped by. Oh, his libido hadn’t been a bit happy about the interruption, but the dressed up, pain-in-the-butt, Latin pretty boy’s visit had been opportune. Given Zane a way to gain Angel’s cooperation.

  Having her close tonight would work in his favor. Now that he had her staying with him, it would be easy to get her print by the end of tonight. He had the perfect plan. Once he got her prints tonight, he’d drop them at Ben’s lab first thing in the morning.

  Then he’d know if he had to call in the authorities.

  His chest squeezed at the idea of making that call.

  He’d broken rules to save a life, but never to protect a criminal.

  Chapter 13

  Parking in front of the sandstone apartment building he’d lived in for a year, Zane mentally patted himself on the back for picking up the place earlier and restocking the refrigerator. He hadn’t cleaned with a guest in mind, just made it habitable after being gone for most of two weeks.

  Angel didn’t let him reach her side of the truck before she jumped out, looking dead on her feet. She’d be able to crash out for a hard night’s rest tonight if he had to stand guard over her the whole time.

  He unlocked his navy-blue front door, stepping aside to allow Angel to enter first. Chilly air smelling of lemon furniture polish greeted them.

  Hazy sunlight filtered through the patio doors into the expansive living room he didn’t spend enough time in. She ambled to the middle of the room and stopped in front of the sliding glass doors. The linen bag slipped from her fingers to land next to her sneakers.

  She stared with quiet assessment at the spectacular ocean vista beyond his patio. That had sold him on this location.

  Stone walkways separated tiered layers of immaculate flowering gardens along a boardwalk to the pristine sandy beach. Curling emerald waves from the Atlantic crashed against the shore.

  The sparkling serenity was lost on Zane.

  He couldn’t focus past the foreground. Loose strands of auburn hair dangled below her floppy hat. The white cotton shirt disappeared at the waistband of jeans that covered a sweet pair of cheeks.

  “What a beautiful view,” she sighed.

  Honey, you have no idea. “One of the best I’ve ever seen,” he muttered. He’d love to pull the hat off and finish the vision.

  She looked over her shoulder at him. “What?”

  Bright sunlight in the background hal
oed around her. Highlights danced across the curves of her body, tantalizing the image his mind was determined to create.

  Oh yeah, he’d take that hat off.

  In his fantasy, it would land on top of a pair of jeans and white cotton shirt already tossed on the bedroom floor.

  “What’d you say?” she asked, exhaustion running her words together.

  “Nothing,” he answered. “Make yourself at home.”

  She didn’t move a muscle. “Have you lived here long?”

  “You mean in this apartment or Ft. Lauderdale?” He walked into the kitchen. “How about something to drink?”

  “Water, please,” she called out. “How long have you lived in Ft. Lauderdale?”

  He handed her a chilled bottle on his way to open the glass doors to the patio.

  “Three years.” Heat blanketed him as he stepped onto the green and white ceramic tile. With the crook of his finger, Zane motioned Angel to follow then pulled out a black wrought-iron chair with a plush outdoor cushion on the seat.

  “Take a load off.”

  Just as Angel set her water on the mosaic table surface, the doorbell chimed.

  Damn. Don’t be Trish. “Sit tight. I’ll be right back.” Zane strolled away, intent on handling this quickly.

  Angel popped up, ready to leave if she recognized his guest. She had a clear view of Zane, but not the other person.

  At the door, he stepped back to allow a tall young woman to enter. Thick black hair covered her head, falling in dainty curls around her face. She was striking with her dark hair and creamy complexion.

  She wrapped two delicate arms around Zane’s neck and planted a kiss on his cheek. They spoke quietly for a moment, Zane sounding serious about something he was saying.

  Seeing those two together pricked her temper. She couldn’t be jealous. She hardly knew this man.

  Or the woman Zane was so cozy with. Black curls bounced every time she moved. Reminded Angel of a pixie, all delicate and pretty.

  Angel had never been considered delicate.

  She’d had to be in shape as an athlete and tough in prison. Delicate equaled dead in there. Eyeing Zane’s visitor, Angel doubted that graceful, curvaceous body hugging all over him had ever spent forty-eight hours living through a torturous survival weekend or running a marathon.

  Or living on catnaps for a year for fear of getting her throat slit.

  She had every reason to be proud of what she’d accomplished. So why was she suffering a moment of feeling inadequate just because she stood so close to feminine perfection?

  Zane’s smile flattened out into a straight-line frown.

  Now that improved Angel’s mood.

  A bit uncharitable on my part isn’t it? Too bad. She could live with the guilt.

  She moved a little closer to catch what was being said.

  The twenty-something woman prancing around Zane in an ankle-length bright peach dress and straw sandals laced up her calf could be a professional model. She had a southern accent when she spoke. “Sugar, I’m fine, really. I told you. Heidi came to get me as soon as I called. You missed me, didn’t you?”

  “I always miss you,” Zane answered, with a smile that bordered on tolerant.

  Beginning to seriously dislike the beautiful visitor, Angel stepped all the way around the table and leaned forward to hear better.

  The dark-eyed woman wrapped an arm around Zane’s waist, hugging herself to him. “I came by three times this week looking for you. You’re harder to catch than a shadow. Thanks for my surprise. I found the birdhouses when I came in this morning.” Her sultry voice carried just enough sincerity to validate Angel’s suspicions.

  This woman was more to Zane than just a friend.

  Did he intend to entertain another female while Angel slept on the couch? Not going to happen.

  He gathered the dark-haired beauty close in an affectionate embrace.

  Angel suffered a moment of longing. She wanted those strong arms wrapped around her body.

  Hold it. What was wrong with her? This guy had a life and at least one girlfriend. What he did should not matter to her.

  Besides, she’d be long gone once the coins surfaced. Hopefully tomorrow.

  So watching those two shouldn’t grate on her nerves.

  “Who’s that?”

  Angel snapped to attention at the woman’s question.

  Zane strolled back to the patio with an arm around his guest’s waist and said, “Trish, meet Angel, a friend of mine. Angel, this is my sister, Trish.”

  His sister? Ohhh. Immediate mood improvement. “Nice to meet you.” Angel stuck her hand out.

  Trish gave her an up and down once over then leaned forward, a little unsteady, to take her hand. “Angel, huh? Interesting name. Nice to meet you, too.”

  The tart smell of alcohol brushed over Angel. She forced herself not to wrinkle her nose in reaction and held her smile in place.

  Trish turned to Zane. “I didn’t realize you had company, but I’m glad you’ve given up celibacy. At least that rules out your being a priest.” She chuckled at some personal joke.

  “Trish.” His single word came out full of warning.

  “Okay, okay. No games today.” She turned back to Angel, “Be nice to him. He’s all I have.” Trish pecked her brother’s cheek. “Gotta go. Heidi’s waiting. See you later, Sugar.” With that she pranced out the door, reminiscent of a child on her way to play.

  Angel started to call her back to correct Trish’s misconception of the situation, but that familiar smell of alcohol had hijacked her thoughts. An odor that brought back sad memories of Angel watching as her mother died of the disease. She couldn’t help thinking that Trish might be past the point of comprehending anything Angel tried to explain.

  She moved backward until she could prop against the railing and watch as Zane closed the front door and returned to the patio. His impressive shoulders seemed to droop as though he carried an invisible yoke made of cast iron. He obviously cared about his sister.

  Angel shrugged it off, turning her attention to the afternoon wind fanning nearby palm trees. Stiff-leaved branches rattled with each brief gust, giving background music to the serenity.

  Zane stepped outside and took up a relaxed position, leaning against the outer wall across from her. He shoved his hands into the front pockets of his jeans in what was becoming a standard look for him. “Sorry. Wasn’t expecting her.”

  Guess they were going to talk about his sister after all. “I enjoyed meeting her. She looks like you around the eyes and mouth. How close are you in age?”

  “Trish is twenty-three. I’m nine years older.”

  “Why the big gap?”

  “She was a mistake.”

  Hell of a way to describe his sister. What could she say to that? “I see.”

  “Whoa.” Zane threw a hand up as a stop sign. “You don’t understand. I love my baby sister like my next breath. I don’t think she’s a mistake, but my parents never planned on a second child.”

  Had Trish felt unwanted and turned to alcohol to numb the pain? Angel had lived around alcoholism. Drinking during the middle of the afternoon and middle of the week weren’t good signs. “Does she work?”

  “Trish has a small gift shop not far from here.”

  “How long has she had the shop?”

  “About three months. I want to get her moved to Las Olas Boulevard, an older area of Ft. Lauderdale that’s been revitalized.”

  “Why move if she’s only been open three months?”

  “Because she...” He paused as if he’d almost said too much and mentally edited as he spoke. “The gift shop’s okay, but her heart’s in working with antiquities. She could make a go of it on Las Olas, but that takes a lot of capital. We’ll get there.”

  We? Was Zane in partnership with his sister? Sounded like he had a financial investment as well as a personal one. Why was Trish drinking during the day and stopping by here when she had a business to run?

  As
though talking to himself, he murmured, “I won’t lose her.”

  Angel jerked her eyes to his face. She understood that look, the desperate drive to keep someone alive. Had Trish’s new business happened as a result of her drinking? Something Zane encouraged to keep his sister busy and away from a bottle?

  Angel understood wanting to fix someone, thinking that if you tried hard enough and came up with all the right ideas, it would stop the person you loved from destroying her life.

  But alcoholism had to be cured from the inside out and that took the person with the problem wanting to make the change.

  Zane wouldn’t want to hear that, especially from a stranger so Angel offered, “Trish has the personality for a people business.”

  He paused and answered slowly, a bit cranky. “She’s definitely a social butterfly.”

  Where was that edge in his voice coming from? “Lucky for her that you travel and can find things for her store like the birdhouse.”

  “Yeah, but that’s not anything of value. Everyone carries that kind of crap in home decorating shops. Trish should be an estate appraiser. That’s what she studied to do. Loves all that old stuff.” He seemed to have wandered off in thought, brooding about something.

  “It must be nice to for her to be self-employed and close enough to pop in.” Angel smiled, trying for something positive to lift his spirits.

  A longer pause, then Zane said, “But what you’re really saying is that you’re surprised to see her here in the middle of the day when she has a business to run.”

  Well, that was stupid. Now she’d ticked him off. She remembered the days of being on edge whenever someone mentioned her mother. Always expecting to be criticized because her mother was a drunk. Zane could be just as hypersensitive about his sister. “I didn’t mean it to sound that way. I like Trish. She seems very sweet.”

  One thing she’d say about Zane was that his anger flared and dissipated with the same speed.

  He lifted a hand and rubbed his chin. “You didn’t do anything wrong. I get a little uptight when it comes to Trish. Her life hasn’t been easy.” He stared off into the distance. “My parents gave me every opportunity, but by the time Trish accidentally came along, they were tired of child rearing – what little they’d been interested in to begin with. I took off and she got the leftovers.”