Last Chance To Run (11 page)

Chapter 17

Angel struggled, her feet wouldn’t move.
Couldn’t run.

She came awake with a start and pushed up on her elbows.

No men with guns. No dogs. No Mason.

Her feet were tangled in a sheet. She fell back against the gigantic bed, smelling Zane as if he slept next to her.

She missed him. No reason to miss someone she shouldn’t even be hanging around, but she did and had awakened an hour ago searching the room for him before crashing back to sleep.

Shouldn’t have fallen back asleep and opened the door to nightmares. 

Mason’s ice-blue eyes had seemed so real her skin still crawled at the thought of him touching her. She shook it off and climbed out of the gigantic bed, stretching her stiff muscles. The room felt big and protective, like Zane. A framed photo on a teak chest across the room caught her eye. Using the tail of her T-shirt as a barrier against touching the frame, she carried the photo to the window.

She angled the picture under the light. A much younger Zane hugged a teenage Trish who was dressed in a graduation gown. Pride burst through his wide grin. The
man was seriously hot without the smile, but add
that and his desirability stock went up triple.

Trish had been blessed with the devotion of an older brother.

What would it have been like to grow up with a strong, protective male watching over her?

All Angel could credit her father with was feeding and clothing her and her mother. He’d been more a stranger than a parent. She’d never questioned his late night security work. Not until a detective had snapped handcuffs on her wrists, then charged her with delivering drugs for her father.

She’d received a crash course in the world behind bars.

Honesty had always been her policy – a trait learned at her mother’s knee long before alcohol had changed that – but the detective had taught Angel the fallacy in being forthright. She’d spilled everything, answering every inquiry he put to her in the interrogation room. She’d been sure she’d walk out a free woman.

Then he’d turned the tape recording over to the District Attorney who’d used her as another notch in his political belt.

Her first hard lesson in life had been simple.

Don’t trust a man, particularly if he had anything to do with law enforcement.

Angel replaced the photo and slipped through the door connecting Zane’s bedroom to his master bathroom. A haggard face stared back at her from the mirror. She twisted her hair into a knot on top of her head while she waited for the air-conditioning to kick on again. The pleasant hum of the cooling system would cover any noise she’d make attending to her personal needs and dressing.

Trish’s large vanity drawer was filled with a stash of hair clips, makeup, lotions, and other feminine needs. When Angel found a bottle of plum colored nail polish she had the sudden urge to primp.

The last time she’d dolled up had been in high school. As a lanky teen, taller than the majority of the girls and many boys, she’d been more at home on the track than on a date. Her one serious relationship had lasted two weeks. Just long enough to lose her virginity to a boy who’d sworn his love then revoked that decree by sleeping with Angel’s only girlfriend.

Her nails needed help, but plum polish wouldn’t save them. She hadn’t worn makeup since getting out of jail, preferring to project a clear “not interested” message to men in general.

Most men heeded her unspoken missive, allowing her a wide berth – until Zane.

Tall, sexy, imposing Zane.

If she hung around any longer she’d be tempted to give in to the desire she’d seen burn through his gaze more than once. Talk about a heady feeling for someone like her. He kept his emotions hidden beneath a “just want to help” façade most of the time, but some reactions were too strong for anyone to shield.

Other women might be put off by a man his size walking his eyes up and down their bodies, but for the first time in many years Angel had welcomed the flattery. Her dormant feminine side had come alive, curious to find out what those suggestive gazes offered. She
so
wanted to meet him halfway.

To know that kind of happiness just once in her life.

Timing had never been in her favor.

Reality trampled her fantasies. She rolled her eyes. In what universe would she have a relationship with someone like Zane? Her attraction to the sexy pilot could not cause her to lose sight of goals one and two – survival and vindication.

A man had gotten her into this mess. Getting involved with another one wouldn’t solve her problems.

Enough daydreaming.

If she’d had any other option last night, she’d have avoided coming back here, but she had no excuse to stay now when Mason would retaliate against Zane with deadly force. Her debt to Zane just kept growing.

Putting him and Trish at risk was no way to pay it back.

She peeked out the door to the living room.

Zane still slept, snoring softly. She smiled at knowing that little detail.

Padding to the laundry room, she changed to her too-bright running shorts, jog top, and T-shirt. No choice when she needed the freedom to run if need be. After he’d helped her, the last thing she’d do was take anything from him, even though he’d probably hand over every t-shirt he owned if he thought she needed them. That was just the kind of man he was. She jammed her other clothes into the shoulder bag before pulling on the limp baseball cap.

Her Annie Hall look, as Zane had tagged it, had failed to fool a middle-aged man in a gray suit at the restaurant. She’d barely caught his expression of surprise when they’d entered. His face had shuttered back to
bored
so quickly she’d have missed the tiny change had she not been intentionally searching the room for a note of recognition.

There was always the possibility that she’d imagined the brief facial alteration, but she didn’t think so. He might be one of Mason’s men or someone he’d hired from down here.

Mason’s subordinates showed no mercy to anyone who got in their way. She’d prayed that the man in the restaurant would follow her instead of Zane, but he’d have to have been fleet of foot to keep up with her.

Even tired, she ran world-class times.

Add in adrenaline and no one would catch her.

Maybe she’d been wrong to run to Zane, but she’d been out of options and ...
damn
him, he’d made her want him.

Want to run to him.

Opening her eyes to find Zane looking at her when he’d found her curled up on his patio had been better than the day she’d walked out of prison and her body trembled at the deep breath of freedom she’d inhaled. Zane was unlike any other man she’d ever met. He went from roaring annoyance to gentle and kind at warp speed.

A complete gentleman.

Yeah, until he stripped you with his eyes in the kitchen.

That didn’t actually make him any less of a gentleman in her eyes, just a man enjoying what he saw.

She’d forgotten what it was like to crave a man’s touch. But she craved Zane’s.

Angel pinched the bridge of her nose.

Get out of here.
She had to,
before she did something stupid like give Mason a reason to kill the most decent man she’d ever known.

She tiptoed to the front door, running shoes in hand.

Zane slept with a white undershirt covering his broad chest, a mat of black hair curled at the scoop neck. One rope-muscled thigh poked out from under the thin sheet covering his lower half.

The man was pure sex wrapped up in a steel casing.

She smiled sadly then mouthed the words, “You’re sweet. Bye,” and blew a kiss.

~*~

Zane flicked one eyelid open just wide enough to catch Angel’s air kiss as the door closed. Hot damn, he’d been right to deactivate his alarm system last night on the gamble that she’d run this morning. Now he had a shot at gathering some
intel
.
Anything that would give him a clue to who she was and who or what she was running from.
 

He grabbed the shoes he’d stashed under the end table. The shirt and shorts he’d worn to bed for her benefit saved the time he’d spend having to dress. That would keep her from gaining much of a head start. He laced his running shoes and ran out the door.

Intentionally letting her go was a calculated risk that would blow up in his face if he lost track of her.

He saw her turn south down the main highway just as he hit the sidewalk, but she was still close enough that he could keep her in sight. Brilliant rays of sun pierced the ruby horizon above the ocean on his left, highlighting her perfectly in the distance.

Angel’s stride lengthened to a loping jog.

Where could she be headed?

In spite of the early morning cool air, sweat trickled down his back from the rising humidity. He maintained a steady pace over the first mile. As he kept a safe space between them, his mind worked through the possibilities.

Could she be meeting someone?

He kept track of her with his peripheral vision. A person could feel someone watching them. Based on what he’d seen, Angel should be
looking for thugs in huge SUVs and shouldn’t notice just another runner among several others taking advantage of the early morning low temps.

Her repeated, quick head checks answered his main question.

She wasn’t meeting anyone, but avoiding someone.

She cut across the street then took a sharp corner. Twice she made a complete loop to end up somewhere she’d already passed. He didn’t understand at first, but finally grasped that she was backtracking to circle behind anyone who might be following.

It was a good tactic, and she was smart. But he’d been following her for half an hour and she hadn’t realized he was on her tail. He’d had training. He’d bet his truck that she’d had none and was running on pure street-hardened instinct. He admired her evasive maneuvers. 

As he neared a heavy business district, the street traffic picked up on the divided four-lane highway alongside where they ran.

How long could she hold this pace?

The screech of tires against asphalt disrupted the morning peace.

One look at the black sport utility and Angel took off as if she’d been shot
from a
cannon.

Chapter 18

At the skidding sound of a vehicle braking hard, Angel stumbled and spun around.

A black Land Rover.
No identifying logo on the side, but she didn’t need a gold triangle to confirm she was in trouble.

She spun away. Pedestrians impeded her progress as she cut in and out of small groups ambling along the sidewalks. She dashed through the middle of an intersection, running against the traffic then shifted easterly, towards the beach.

Rounding a corner, she slid to a stop, stymied.

Either the buildings were too tight, with one fence connected to the next, or the land so sparse it offered nowhere to hide. She stood out bright as a caution flag in a car race.

Keep moving or die.

She spotted an opening to the beach between two towering condominiums further down and plowed through the soft dunes toward the surf. The hot breath of fear clogged her lungs. Would he kill her and walk away from the coins?

No. Not Mason.

Wading through the deep sand conjured the image of sinking into a quicksand pit. She whipped her head around, expecting a black sport utility to fly airborne over the dunes, ala Hollywood.

On the other side of the dunes, the sand firmed under her feet.

Miles of shimmering beach stretched in both directions bordered by the rolling ocean on one side and an endless row of skyscraping structures on the other.

She turned south into a salty breeze.

With solid ground underfoot, she sped down the packed surface trying to outdistance Mason’s men, even if she hadn’t outwitted them. They might be incapable of hanging with her on foot, but their radios could always outrun her.

She passed a group of shirtless old men surf fishing. A loose shoelace slapped one ankle. Way down the beach, tiny people speckled the wide shoreline. None were running towards her with guns drawn so she stopped and squatted down to retie the shoelace.

Her fingers deftly performed the task while her eyes swept over the beach. She started to rise when a
ping
sounded.

Sand blasted up next to her foot.

She charged away from the surf with the speed of a missile seeking a target and sped toward the protection of the buildings and highway. She hadn’t moved this fast since the last time she’d been in a dead heat finish at a road race. Her heart beat painfully against her breastbone.

Maybe Mason
would
kill her.

Otherwise, why would his men take a shot at her – unless they assumed she carried the coins on her body?

At the ocean side of a high-rise condominium, she slowed enough to work her way around the fence circling the pool area. A driveway bordered the side. She scampered down the paved path to a connecting parking lot.

Finding the only obvious hiding spot between a tour van and a late model Cadillac, Angel ducked down to get her bearings.

She forced herself to take deep, slow breaths to quiet her panting.

A car passed slowly.

She raised her head above the sedan hood to see a two-lane road with vacant structures and local retail businesses scattered among souvenir shops.

None were open for business, yet. Damn.

She had to keep moving until she found a place to hide. An abandoned building was her best bet for cover until nightfall.

Three well-done senior citizens picked their way down the sidewalk, a block south from where she hid. From the north, a cocoa-skinned teenage girl in tights pumped weights, speed walking towards Angel on the same side of the street.

As the girl passed her, Angel jumped out to the sidewalk and dashed across the thoroughfare at the nearest intersection.

She turned down an alley next to a long, derelict brick building and grabbed the first door.

It was locked tight.
Damn!
She ran further down and tried two more. No good. The last one opened. With a quick look behind her, she stepped inside the dark space.

She squeezed her eyes shut and opened them slowly. With her eyes adjusted, she stumbled through debris on the floor, breathing the mildew-tinged air. Shafts of light pierced through cracks in the disintegrating roof.

This had potential.

Noises echoed through the hollow structure. She stopped. Scurrying sounds wafted to her from different directions. The place was probably a
breeding ground for every imaginable critter. Domestic animals weren’t a concern, but after her time in jail she had a deep-seated fear of rats.

Flashes of light beaconed from a door swinging half off the hinges on the far side of the narrow building. She picked her way to the opening then waited for several minutes, making sure the coast was clear, before forcing herself to move again.

At the rear of the building, a narrow street ran along like a back door access road. A large produce truck was being unloaded at a grocery a block away to her right. She eased to her left, moving away from the activity until encountering a wooden barricade that connected the next two buildings, blocking any exit.

The longer she remained exposed, the higher her pulse jacked. It would take a helicopter to keep up with her twisting route, but right now she had a deep appreciation for a duck flying around on opening day of hunting season.

The nearby crunch of footsteps on gravel froze her.

She started to go,
then
stopped.

Which way? Her heartbeats spiked the longer she stood paralyzed in indecision. 

What had she learned in survival training?

Indecision got you killed.
Instincts took over.

She ran in short bursts, casting hasty looks over her shoulder, and paused behind a stack of tires at the rear of an abandoned gas station. Her heart raced, every breath coming in painful bursts.

She fought to keep the panic at bay, but couldn’t ignore the truth.

Mason would eventually kill her.

She didn’t want it to be today.

Her options were disintegrating into thin air. She had no clue where she was or how to find transportation out of this city. Her hands shook as she swiped perspiration away from her eyes. The hat had flown off, somewhere. She could feel her hair hanging loose on one side.

It didn’t matter.

The gunman had recognized her, hat or no hat.

Hands shaking, she picked her way around the garbage-strewn rear of the gas station and peered down a wall shrouded in thick green ivy vines. Next door, clumps of thorny sandspur plants covered the vacant lot, offering no protection.

The derelict station offered the only possible hideout she could find. There were several doorway openings not completely overtaken by vines
on the whitewashed concrete block structure. With trembling fingers, she felt her way along the wall as she eased toward the street, sticking tight as a shadow to the building.

Yellow shoes and a bright yellow shirt – some shadow.

As she passed the first two openings, dilapidated exterior bathrooms, she gave each an obligatory glance then held her breath against the stench and moved on.

She considered ducking into the next open doorway to what at one time must have been the waiting area of the service station. Tall half broken glass windows stretched from the other side of the doorway to wrap around the front.

Damn. She couldn’t hide there.
Had to keep moving.

She headed toward the street. Just as she cleared the doorway of the station, a massive hand covered her mouth and a powerful arm encircled her chest, jerking her inside.

He had her.