THE PERFECT TEN (Boxed Set)

when he heard the truth. Muscles in his neck tightened with the rage pulsing through him. “You can have the coins.”
    “That was never in question.”
    Ignoring him, Mason considered one way to solve all his problems right now. He tested Czarion one more time. “Since you know so much, I’m surprised you don’t know who has the coins.”
    “Oh, but I do. Angelina Farentino took them when she escaped your compound. Can’t say that I blame the girl, considering your perverted sex habits.”
    You’ll die in slow agony, because I’ll keep you alive and awake for a very long time once I find you. “Why are you calling me if you know who has the coins?” 
    “You interfered with my plans when your men captured the thief who’d originally targeted the coins. You tortured him to find out the name of the German buyer and how the thief had planned to get past security. Had you not done so, I would be talking to him. You took the coins. You lost them. You get them back. And do it in a way that does not draw the attention of law enforcement.”
    The line went dead.
    Mason fought the urge to scramble a team to find this Czarion. He didn’t give two shits for the people around his properties who would die. He had insurance to cover the loss of his investments. But not his exceptional art inventory.
    Because no one had known he had it. Not until now.
    A knock rapped at the door. When Mason called his man in, Kenner entered. “I’ve got the list.”
    Standing, Mason shook his head. “Not necessary. I realize who I have to send, but I want you to review everyone in charge of our warehouses, and start with the ones that hold my private art.”  He called the stolen pieces private art to all of his staff, to prevent a verbal slip up by someone who didn’t possess his level of discipline.
    “Sure. Anything in particular?”
    “I want to know if you suspect anyone of giving out information on our operation.”
    “Yes, sir.” Kenner left.
    Mason raised his phone into view and hit a speed dial number to the one person absolutely capable of finding and capturing Angelina. A top-level operator. Mason seldom used him because he was expensive, unpredictable, and hard to control, but this situation called for bringing in a true predator.
    When the call connected, Mason said, “I have a job for you, CK.”
     
    Chapter 9
     
    If the coins have been discovered in the package of boat curtains, the FBI will be waiting for me.
    Angel gripped her knee to keep it from bouncing up and down, glad not to have someone in the seat next to her. How could it be Thursday? Over a full day had passed since she’d abandoned the coins and Zane. Her gaze strayed to Ft. Lauderdale’s palm trees, concrete-block houses and the occasional plastic pink flamingo flying past her window on the Broward County Transit bus.
    Maybe Zane hadn’t delivered the boat curtains yet or maybe the boat owner was waiting to install them over the holiday weekend.
    She clutched the edge of her seat. Maybe, maybe, maybe.
    There was the word again.
    With her rotten luck, the boat owner was installing the curtains right now, to have his boat ready for the holiday weekend.
    Worry had rolled around in her stomach until it felt like a lead ball with spikes. Sleep had been sporadic at best on the bus ride down the length of Florida.
    She pressed her face to the window where one souvenir shop after another, each decorated with giant seashells and water floats, dotted the beach scene.
    Nothing like New York where she’d been a courier.
    A job she wouldn’t take again even if cleaning toilets was her only other option.
    That wasn’t exactly true. She’d enjoyed courier service, especially given the added bonus of constantly training.
    But one delivery had ended everything.
    To be fair, it hadn’t been the delivery so much as blind trust in a man. Her father.
    When the bus turned away from the beach and the street signs Angel had been watching for came into view, she straightened in her seat. Rolling up the cuffs of her long-sleeved white blouse, she leaned forward and tucked her shirttail into the faded jeans she’d found in a salvage store near the pawnshop. Her running shorts and T-shirt were stuffed inside a linen shoulder bag along with the ball cap.
    She’d twisted her hair up and stuffed it under a floppy hat. Sunglasses finished her disguise, covering half of her face. She could pass for an incognito celebrity on a tight budget.
    The bus rolled to a stop