THE PERFECT TEN (Boxed Set)

just past the cross street she’d been anticipating.
    Angel descended the metal steps quickly and jogged away at a subtle pace, feeling better than she had a day ago even if she wasn’t fully rested. Using directions given to her at the downtown bus terminal, she located the marina with no trouble. Her shirt had stuck to her back, soaked with moisture from the thick humidity, by the time she passed through the Gulf Winds Marina entrance.
    No one paid her any attention.
    Floridians definitely had an easygoing attitude.
    Small white signs above each dock listed the slip numbers. The second one read “11-20.” 
    To avoid being caught by Mason’s men watching the bus stations, she’d thumbed rides with truckers who’d been kind enough to call from one to the next after the first one gave her a ride outside of Jacksonville. She’d arrived before dawn in Ft. Lauderdale where she’d found a place to grab a catnap, then scouted out the local city bus system and schedules only to get lost switching buses.
    After all that, she deserved a moment of pride at standing in front of the dock for slip eighteen.
         Now tell me the package with my coins has not been opened yet.
    For the benefit of anyone watching, she strolled casually down the weathered planks when she wanted to run. Most of the slips held twenty-to-thirty-foot-long boats backed up under the covered docks.
    A copper-tanned young man dressed only in a pair of cutoffs scrubbed a boat named Wet Dream moored in slip seventeen.
    A snow-white, center-console fishing boat, outfitted with impressive tackle, floated silently in slip nineteen.
    Two seagulls paddled through the middle of slip eighteen.
    No boat. Really?
    Now what? Turning to the guy still laboring on Wet Dream she called over, “Excuse me.”
    He dropped the scrub brush and ambled to the rear of the boat. “Yes, ma’am?”
    “Do you know who owns the boat that stays in slip eighteen?”
    “No, ma’am.”
    She waited for him to offer more than a charming smile, but he didn’t seem inclined to elaborate. This was a little too laid back.
    “Do you know the name of the boat that belongs here?” she asked.
    “Can’t say. That slip’s been empty for three months. Heard someone just rented it, but the boat hasn’t shown up yet.”
    The package had been addressed to the Security Office for the marina, which now made sense. The boat hadn’t arrived.
    “I noticed the Security Office was closed when I passed it on the way in. Have any idea when it will be open?”
    “Yes, ma’am. Soon as I finish cleaning this boat, I’ll be back up there.”
    Going through the tiny office shouldn’t take long.
    She smiled.
    He grinned with apparent satisfaction over having given her the right answer.
    Angel saw the advantage in being female for a change. “Well, you’ll save me some time. My company sent a package of boat curtains marked for Slip 18 in error. I’m supposed to make sure it arrives at the correct boat. Would you mind if I checked to see if you have that package?”  She held her breath, waiting on him to ask the obvious questions starting with identification, what boat it was intended for, and on and on. She had no idea what she’d say next, but somehow she’d gain access to that office.
    The guy didn’t ask her the first question, just shook his head and said, “I’ll save you a lot of time. We haven’t had a delivery like that all week.”
    Damn. Where was that package?
    A possibility popped into her mind.
    “Do you know where Sunshine Airfield is?” she asked.
    He smiled. “Yes, ma’am.”
     
    Chapter 10
     
    By late afternoon Thursday, Zane had to accept the obvious no matter how much he tried to avoid it.
    Angel had to be tangled up in something criminal.
    He’d spent another night on the Internet, looking for anything on a missing woman from Raleigh who matched Angel’s description. That meant the men tracking her didn’t need, or want, law enforcement involved.
    And she’d sure as hell avoided the law. Why?
    He wheeled his truck into Sunshine Airfield ready to unleash his frustration on someone. On top of what should have been two hours of errands turning into four, Ben had called just after daylight with the first bad news to kick off Zane’s day. The partial prints Ben had been able to pull from the gold compass had not been enough for a database search, and Zane owed him a bottle of Jack Daniels for the wasted night of work.
    As Zane drew near the