THE PERFECT TEN (Boxed Set)

that would make a lick of sense if she dissected it.
    Digging out her clothes from the linen bag, she felt a little strange about handing the bundle to him. When was the last time anyone had washed her clothes? She’d done the laundry for everyone at home from the time she’d reached ten years old.
    When Zane took the handful and disappeared into the kitchen, Angel headed for the bathroom where she peeled off the clothes she wore and deposited them outside the door. Every conceivable luxury installed in the luscious bath had been decorated in black marble with copper flecks and adorned with copper hardware. Very masculine.
    Zane must do well in spite of his poor customer service attitude.
    When she had a steaming hot tub of water and bubbles – thank you, Trish – Angel sank into what was certainly one step from heaven. Her muscles moaned at the welcome feel of hot water. She bathed slowly, enjoying more luxuries such as a razor and girlie soap. Soaked to the point of wrinkling, Angel finally forced herself to step over to the beveled glass shower so she could rinse off and wash her hair.
    At the wall-to-wall mirror above the vanity, she tried to avoid her reflection until feminine vanity forced her to see how well she was healing. She’d lost some body weight from lack of eating and sleeping over the past week. Just a few yellowish fist-sized bruises remained across her back and thighs, but one ugly one still shined on her side. The last of her cuts were starting to heal.
    Look at the positive . All those battle scars still belonged to a living body.
    She brushed the tangles from her hair, and the parts that had dried began to curl half-heartedly. Couldn’t she have curly or straight hair? No, it fell in half-assed curls. After seeing Trish’s cute bobbed cut, Angel would love to cut hers, but couldn’t. Not yet.
    Shorten it now and she’d have few options if she had to change her appearance even more. For the time being she’d stuff the wimpy mass under her hat.
    No disguise would keep Mason at bay for long.
    Every hour that went by decreased her chances of remaining free.
    Had Mason had incriminating evidence against her delivered anonymously to the FBI?
    The coins had been stolen from Bolen Gallery in Boston. They were beyond rare. The news still carried sound bites. She needed to find someone who remembered a lone female runner on the trails outside Raleigh during the time of the theft – a person above reproach who would swear under oath that Angel had an ironclad alibi.
    But how? Run an ad for witnesses?
    She’d been a loner since getting out of prison and had lived in a two-room house out in the woods. The theft had happened over a weekend, or someone would have seen her working around Mason’s warehouse. He swore he had evidence that placed her at the scene of the crime. Truth or lie?
    Deal with one problem at a time.
    The plan was coins first, alibi next, then cut a deal with the FBI. Until then, she had to stay on her toes to avoid the FBI. And, if she pulled all this off, she’d have the evidence to hang Mason.
    He’d handled the clear sleeves that protected the coins.
    This time, the fingerprint that put someone in prison would be his.
    After wiping down everything she’d touched in the bathroom, Angel stuck her head out the door. Country music played in the living room. She called out softly, “Hello. I’m done. Are my clothes dry?”
    Silence.She wrapped a thick towel around her that only reached a few inches above her knees and barely covered her breasts, but she wanted her clothes. Now. Holding the front of the towel with both hands, she tiptoed out to search for the laundry room and saw the washer and dryer through an open door on the other side of the kitchen.
    Her clean clothes sat folded on top of the dryer.
    But that meant walking across the kitchen half naked.
    Where was Zane? Had he stepped out?
    The bath had refreshed her more than she realized and now she was rethinking the idea of staying here tonight. That meant the risk of bringing trouble to Zane’s door. All she had to do was check at the marina each day until the package arrived. She could find shelter until then, somewhere far from Zane and his sister.
    He’d done more than enough by helping her escape Raleigh.
    If she worked out a WITSEC deal with the FBI, she’d have them send a letter to Zane explaining everything.
    Her chest hurt at the idea of leaving. It would be so easy to stay, but Zane couldn’t solve