THE PERFECT TEN (Boxed Set)

plan and find someone to corroborate her alibi for the day they were stolen.
    None of this would’ve happened if she hadn’t recognized a stolen painting hidden in Mason’s warehouse. The priceless work of art had been plastered all over the news for the better part a week. Shocked by the discovery, her first thought had been that she had a chance to prove she was an employee worthy of trust. She’d innocently brought the painting to the attention of her sainted employer and put her life in jeopardy.
    Now all she wanted from the FBI was freedom and a slot in the WITSEC program where Mason couldn’t get to her.
    Why not? She had no family and no life at this point.
    A soft package three-foot square, a foot thick and covered in brown paper lay in the very back of the cabin. The company label on the upper left corner stated, “Best custom boat enclosures east of the Mississippi.”  She made a mental note that it was addressed to the Security Office for the Gulf Winds Marina in Ft. Lauderdale, Florida, Attention: Slip 18.
    Not as close geographically as she’d like, but a safe distance from Mason’s home turf – and a long way from here. She just hoped she could reach Gulf Winds Marina by the time the coins arrived and that the boat owner was in no rush to install the boat curtains.
    First she had to live long enough to reach the marina.
    Removing the gloves, she carefully pried the wrapping tape away from the paper covering the package and ran her hand deep into the heavy canvas material, feeling seams and pockets. Groping blindly along the edge of the material, she snagged a hemmed pocket wide enough to slip three fingers inside.
    With a quick jerk of the plastic sleeve of coins under her T-shirt, the clear tape holding the ends together broke.
    Feeding the narrow sleeve of coins into the canvas pocket was tedious as pushing a rope. Once she’d pressed the tape on the large package back in place, Angel scurried forward and wiped down everything she’d touched without the gloves, including the tin snips she put back into the tool box.
    She’d been convicted of a crime she didn’t commit based on a single fingerprint. Never again.
    Her cellmate had laughed at her over the fastidious habit that bordered on OCD, but Angel ignored the jibes. After a year in jail, wiping anything she touched was now as ingrained as taking her next breath.
    Rushing to the window, she made one more quick check of Zane’s position.
    He was headed back to the airplane.
    She searched the area beyond him. The man in khakis he’d spoken to was nowhere in sight.
    Neither was the black sport utility with the triangle logo.
    Good sign or bad sign?
    She had to make a run for it. Now.
    Angel tiptoed down the steps, cringing when one creaked. Her legs were pumping before her feet touched pavement. She scurried through the shadows, down to the front of several private airplanes secured with ropes to the tarmac.
    The rain had ceased and every sound seemed amplified.
    Her heart raced at the tiny noise her sneakers made even though she moved softly between the planes. She stooped next to a yellow aircraft with a double black stripe along its fuselage that glowed like a midnight sun.
    Through the stillness, she caught the sound of Zane’s shoes scrunching against the steps to his airplane, no more than seventy-five feet away.
    Something scraped the pavement near Angel.
    Her hair stood on end. She froze and listened for another sound to tell which way someone was moving. Two seconds passed and fear overran all caution.
    She made a half pivot away, foot lifted to take off.
    A thick arm clamped around her chest and jerked her back against a hard-as-concrete wall of body.
    “No!”  She choked the word out before his hairy-knuckled hand cut off her next breath. Kicking frantically, she fought to break loose. The stench of nicotine on his fingers gave Vic away. He ran Mason’s Jacksonville division.
    He dragged her backwards.
    Angel dug in her heels to slow him down. Muscles contracted in her chest. She couldn’t breathe. He got her to the nose of the yellow airplane, but no farther.
    Vic made a gurgling sound, then his hands jerked away.
    She spun out of his grasp.
    He struggled in a headlock of Zane’s powerful arms.
    “You know this guy?” Zane barked, clearly in control of the situation.
    “He jumped me.” 
    A strangled noise wheezed out of Vic. Zane wrenched a little tighter. “Go call the police.”
    “No!” 
    “ No?