by Dianna Love
Sheets of rain blasted through breaks in the trees. Thunder boomed overhead.
How far could Mason’s men track her?
Would the storm interfere with the bracelet’s signal? She hoped for that miracle since God had been accommodating so far.
A jagged branch snagged the edge of her thin shorts and ripped a searing gash across her thigh. An adrenaline spike masked the pain, but her lungs begged for oxygen.
She was an endurance runner, not a sprinter.
At an unexpected opening in the brush, she stumbled to a stop, sucking air. Snatching the gold paperweight from between her breasts, she flipped it to the compass embedded in the top. She got her bearings during the next brilliant lightning display.
The small airfield she’d seen on a map in Mason’s office should be dead ahead.
Tucking away the compass, she started to move then jerked around at a noise.
Distant barking and howls broke through the deluge. Mason’s dogs trained by expert trackers. Between the animals and the stupid bracelet, they were on her trail. She pushed on with one thought – surely someone at the airfield would help her.
What if they knew Mason? What if someone at the airport worked for Mason? At the very least, he flew in there and might be a client who paid for hangar space.
“What ifs” would get her killed if she slowed down.
She ran her fingers compulsively over the band of coins strapped around her waist. Those eight rare coins were as important as her next breath.
She’d sworn once that she would never go to jail again. Her one and only conviction had not been her fault. The police hadn’t believed her story then.
They’d laugh in her face this time – right before they handcuffed her.
Taking Mason’s Saint-Gauden’s Double Eagle coins had stamped her death warrant. But they didn’t belong to Mason either. He’d stolen the rare pieces from a museum to trade for what he called a once-in-a-lifetime find. Some panel made out of amber from back in the fifteenth century.
She smiled in spite of her pain.
Mason would be empty handed when it came time to deliver the coins on Sunday.
One more way to pay that bastard back. If she didn’t get caught by Mason or the FBI first.
The FBI should be thrilled to have the stolen coins returned, and her testimony on Mason’s international crime ring. But no one would listen to her until she could prove she had no part in the original theft.
Mason claimed he had evidence that would implicate her in the theft. And who would the authorities believe? A local dignitary or a nobody ex-con?
As if someone had thrown a switch, the downpour fizzled into a steady shower. She burst through a break in the trees and slowed while her eyes adjusted, but moved forward steadily.
The ground fell away. She stumbled down a short drop into a ditch, landing on her knees. No pain because adrenaline still rushed through her, but she’d have bruises on bruises after this. She climbed up and touched pavement.
The runway.
The good news? No fence around this airport. She scrambled to stand and drew a quaking breath. Freedom got closer by the minute.
The bays of pursuit dogs pierced the night. They were closing in.
A fence at this point might’ve had merits.
Searching past the runway, she spotted the bright glow of an open hangar a quarter of a mile away. With no time to waste, she sprinted toward the illuminated area.
Running felt good in spite of how her thigh throbbed. Blood trickled from the deep gash. Forcing her heart to pump harder only made her bleed more, but she’d survived worse.
She softened her steps as she neared the hangar then crept to the edge of the building. A tall, lanky man in mechanic’s coveralls loaded boxes into a sleek twin-prop cargo plane.
When the worker finished, he walked across the spotless floor toward a brightly lit office.
She could just make out two men on the other side of a glass door. The mechanic pushed the door open and announced the airplane was ready to go.
Angel hesitated. She’d always obeyed the law before. Now, the “slightly illegal things” she never would have done in the past just kept stacking up. Clenching her jaw against the unavoidable twinge of guilt, she made her decision.
That was the old Angel.
The new one wanted to survive and accepted that she’d never outrun those dogs on the ground.
One way or another, she was leaving on that plane.
Get Book 1 - Last Chance To Run now!
About The Author
New York Times bestseller Dianna Love once dangled over a hundred feet in the air to create unusual marketing projects for Fortune 500 companies. The first book she wrote won a RITA® Award and sold out in six weeks. She writes the bestselling Belador urban fantasy series and the high-octane, sexy Slye Temp romantic thriller series and readers keep demanding more. When not in the writing cave, Dianna is touring the country on her BMW motorcycle. She lives in the Atlanta, GA area with her husband, who is a motorcycle instructor, and a tank full of unruly saltwater critters.
To collect “signed” cover cards for free, visit www.KeeperKase.com
For more on Dianna and to order “signed and personalized books,” visit http://www.AuthorDiannaLove.com
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For Young Adult Fans – the explosive sci-fi/fantasy Red Moon trilogy by USA Today bestseller Micah Caida (aka Dianna Love and Mary Buckham).
Book 1: Time Trap
Book 2: Time Return
Book 3: Time Lock
To read excerpts, go to http://www.MicahCaida.com
The Slye Temp Series
Book 1: Last Chance To Run
Book 2: Nowhere Safe
Book 3: Honeymoon To Die For
Book 4: Kiss The Enemy
Book 5: Deceptive Treasures
Book 6: Stolen Vengeance
Book 7: Fatal Promise (2016)
More Slye Temp coming soon!
Belador urban fantasy Series
Book 1: Blood Trinity
Book 2: Alterant
Book 3: The Curse
Book 4: Rise Of The Gryphon
Book 5: Demon Storm
Book 6: Witchlock (June 2015)
“Thank you for reading and telling your friends about my books. Thank you in advance if you have a moment to post a review (online bookstore, Goodreads, wherever), I would very much appreciate it. I am so thankful for readers like you!”
New York Times bestselling author Dianna Love
