by Dianna Love
Pain drove nails through Angel’s head. That jerked her from a dark fog. Her first tick of consciousness brought with it a chill that shook the length of her body.
Where was she?
She blinked to clear the cobwebs from her brain. A dank, oily odor overpowered her. 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 to push her head and shoulders up, the room spun. A sharp pain stabbed her side. She swallowed hard to settle her roiling stomach. Barefoot pygmies had tromped through her mouth leaving a nasty taste and 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. Wires 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 silver padlock the size of her palm that had been 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 and cooed. 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, Angel forced herself to turn further to check out the last barrier of her prison.
An oil-stained floor spanned the distance between her and a standard office door. The building appeared to have been a commercial 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, fickle animal that it was, 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 sick as 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 horizontal position, she tried to use mind over matter to will her body to stop hurting, but a full night’s sleep and an ice pack would do more good.
She massaged her forehead and worked to recall what had happened. Blurry images of running through the apartment and being knocked to her knees were the first things 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.
Yet.
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 Zane’s sister 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 he 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 sucked in a breath, rolled over, and eased into a sitting position, then slapped a hand over her mouth in a feeble attempt to stop the coffee she’d drunk that morning from showing up again.
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. How long had she been there?
Prepared for 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, but her gaze traveled down to the five-gallon bucket half-filled with sand. A roll of paper towels sat beside it.
Her litter box?
Muffled voices came through.
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, CK?” came from a second nasally voice.
“Until ML gets here. Says he’ll deal with her himself.”
So her attacker was called CK. What could that stand for?
“What about the storm? How’s ML going to get here if the airport shuts down?” the whiny one asked.
“He’ll get here. It may take a little longer, but he’s coming. Don’t doubt it. The man wants her bad,” CK said.
Angel couldn’t come up with anyone she’d met whose initials were CK, but ML had to be Mason Lorde.
Through the door, she heard high-pitched laughter fade with footsteps. CK 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.
Then he’d finish her off.
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. She would not sacrifice Zane for her own safety.
Angel steeled herself for what was to come.
Chapter 41
Zane closed the door behind Heidi and Trish, feeling bad over rushing them out, but he had to go after Angel. Once more, he was thankful for Heidi’s friendship with his sister. Trish had been so distraught over Angel she almost wouldn’t leave.
His sister had always appeared unconcerned about the world around her, at least to him, but she’d been ready to ride shotgun with him to get Angel back. In that instant, Zane realized he’d severely underestimated Trish’s resilience.
Angel had tried to point out Trish’s strength to him.
He’d assured Trish that Angel meant a lot to him, too, and he wasn’t coming back without her.
Now that he had the coins, he knew what someone wanted from her. The coins had to be stolen. Coins like that didn’t float around without security.
Who was the thief and who was the rightful owner?
Worry about that once you get Angel back. He’d noticed her jeans and white shirt folded on top of the dryer. She should be easy to spot in her yellow running clothes.
Zane carried Ben’s electronic tablet out to the truck. He’d booted it up inside and by the time he’d backed out of the parking space, the device had located a signal for the GPS tracking chip hidden in Angel’s shoe.
Ben claimed there were still a few bugs in the software that translated the chip’s signal. Zane just hoped the little prototype in Angel’s shoe didn’t die on him.
He zoomed the screen on the tablet, bringing up the map of an industrial area in an old section south of Miami. A thirty-minute drive, depending on traffic. He’d never wanted to be a helicopter pilot, until now.
How had Angel gotten so deep inside his world in such a short time?
Didn’t know. Didn’t care. Just wanted her back.
Chapter 42
Mason carried a single bag across the tarmac to the flight he’d chartered. Blue skies wouldn’t last past north Florida based upon the weather report his pilot had shared, but Mason had gotten another call from Czarion. The prick asked if Mason intended to let a little storm prevent him from saving his operation from obliteration and reminded him not to try to move his private inventory until he delivered the coins.
Right behind CK’s report that he had Angelina but no coins, Czarion had called. Mason had used his backup cell phone to communicate with CK.
Czarion
had called on that phone.
A number nobody should have who hadn’t received it personally from Mason. The prick just kept on needling him.
Sweeping every room in the compound had not turned up a bug. As soon as Mason got this handled, he would find out who Czarion was and who within his operation was snitching to the guy. If Angelina told Mason where the coins were right away, she’d be in shape to make the trip home to Raleigh in a day or so. If not, well, he might give her to CK once he’d taken what he wanted.
His cell phone rang just as he reached the Lear jet. “Lorde.”
“CK here. You still flying in to Miami today with this weather?”
“With enough money, there’s always someone who will fly. 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 arrive by ten o’clock. Have someone waiting for me,” Mason ordered, then gave CK his flight time and where he wanted a man to meet him in the main terminal.
“Got it. She’s awake. Think she’d like a little activity to keep from getting bored?”
Mason started to bark an order at CK to keep his hands off of Angelina, but changed his mind. Her fault he had to go through all this trouble to get the coins back only to give them up. He warned CK, “You know what I expect to find when I arrive.”
“Yes, I do.” The chuckle that followed had a feral edge. Then the line disconnected.
Chapter 43
Zane zigzagged his way south on I-95 from Ft. Lauderdale to the target point indicated by the tracking program. 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 tablet confirmed the vehicle was headed for the interstate.
When the directional blip reached I-95, it turned north.
Cutting through traffic and flooring his accelerator every chance he got, Zane tried to close the twelve-mile gap without pricking the attention of the highway patrol. A screaming red truck made an easy target for ticket writers, and 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 she was headed and wished he was wrong.
Miami International Airport.
Chapter 44
Angel sat at the farthest point from the office door. She’d been over every inch of the room. Unless she grew wings, she had no way out.
If it didn’t stop raining soon, her skin would wrinkle worse than a prune. The storm bellowed outside. Water poured through the gaping holes in the ceiling. The floor thankfully sloped to a center drain or she’d have been without the one dry corner she’d found in her cave-like room.
Mason was coming.
To deal with her.
Her hands trembled. She prayed for strength not to give up Zane’s name – no matter what Mason did. She had to convince them that she’d tricked Zane into letting her stay at his apartment. That he knew nothing.
Light glowed from under the office door.
No one had been in this leaking 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 that didn’t involve her guards.
As if someone had heard her wandering thoughts, the office door opened.
CK loomed in the opening.
“You’re up.” He started forward. “’Bout time. Thought you were gonna sleep all day. Where’s the fun in that?” His sinister voice reverberated through the vacant room.
“Cat got your tongue?” he taunted, ambling towards her, a black silhouette against the bright room behind him.
She hunched down in the corner, considered trying to run past him, but experience had taught her better. He’d been amazingly fast for his massive bulk. She’d just hurt herself worse. Better to save all her strength to endure Mason.
CK squatted down in front of her and said softly, “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 letting his rough palm trail over her damp hair.
Her sharp breaths echoed the fear riding up her throat. His touch moved down her chest to the jog bra.
She trembled in terror. He wrapped thick fingers around her right breast and squeezed. She jerked in disgust and pain, tears burning her eyes, but refused to make a sound.
He released her breast. “I know ML 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. The glow from the office rimmed him in backlight and illuminated half of his face.
Like a glowing Satan.
Angel let out a pent up breath as a fate worse than Mason walked out of the room.
Chapter 45
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 pulled into the first open space, ready to track the transmitter on foot now that it appeared to be stationary.
Carrying the tablet with the tracking receiver 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 each step. With a building sense of dread, he sidled around the far side of the SUV and glanced inside.
No bodies were visible.
That was a plus. A soft drink can was lodged in the drink holder between the front seats, but other than that the interior appeared spotless. 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. What was Lorde Industries?
Zane returned to his truck where he punched the screen on the tablet to take the tracking program back to the last fixed position before the blip had started moving toward the airport.
When he reached that location, Angel had better be there.
If not, what then?
After the fiasco with High Vision, could he still call Ben for help? His best friend would be there for him for sure, but maybe not the agency.
Ben was a last resort option.
Zane wouldn’t take any chance of putting Ben’s job at risk or pull him away from his wife right now.
He threw the truck into gear and jockeyed his way out of the thick airport traffic. Playing “what if” wasted energy and time. He had to find her. Period.
And he would.
The minute Ben called, Zane would have his friend search Lorde Industries.
Dodging in and out of showers through conges
ted roadways transformed the drive back to I-95 from arduous to excruciating. At the exit for an industrial district, he turned south to Kendall, an older area just below Miami. Four miles west of the interstate, he entered a commercial zone and 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 tracking signal had come from here, but when he enlarged the map to pinpoint the exact spot, the signal blinked and jumped. Maybe one of the bugs Ben had talked about. Zane squinted to see through sheets of rain, on the verge of deciding to cover the area on foot if he had to, when a cat ran across the street in front of him. He slammed on his brakes.
His gaze followed the feline’s path as the tabby scampered off to his right.
At the end of a vacant alley, a bright glow flickered from a tall street lamp and reflected off of something shiny. He flipped open his console and dug out a set of infrared night-vision binoculars.
A vehicle came into focus. Not a vacant alley after all.
He pulled forward a foot or two for a better angle. It was a Land Rover. Just like the one in the airport garage.
Coincidence? His gut said no.
He just hoped Angel was there, and alive.
First he had to hide his flashy truck, and was suddenly not as thrilled about the color as the day he’d picked it out. No time to get another vehicle now. And he needed to locate a second access to the building other than the alley. He wove his way through the bleak commercial area. An offshoot railroad track from the main line ran through a clearing in the trees. The track appeared to run alongside the building.
He backed the truck off of the shoulder, positioning it behind a clump of grown-up scrub alongside the track. Not great, but not in easy view of the road unless you were looking. If Angel was in that building, the chances of going through a door were slim. He’d seen some high windows. He’d take what he needed to recon the area and gain access if he could find a way in.
