THE PERFECT TEN (Boxed Set)

package before loading. Supposedly it’s approximately three-by-three and they don’t want the contents discussed for security reasons. Based on the insurance value noted, I’d handle it with kid gloves.”
    “I always do.”  Zane could see his goal within reach. The High Vision cargo contract for this region would guarantee his ability to fund a great nest egg for his sister’s antiquities business. He’d put her in a place on Las Olas Boulevard where she and her business would be respected.
    He could sub out additional charter contracts that weren’t specifically for the DEA. Build his business and get a more stable flight schedule for himself at the same time.
    More than all of that, he could get Trish the help she needed, starting with that uber-expensive rehab. Without Zane even asking, Ben had researched them all and handed Zane a file on the best place. Ben always came through.
    Zane would not lose his baby sister. But for that to work, she needed his support. He had to be around and couldn’t do that making every run himself at all hours of the day and night to maintain his reputation as a hotshot. That wasn’t a name he would’ve used for himself in the military, but if his competition thought of him that way, and it earned him business, so be it. They could call him Fred Flintstone for all he cared.
    He checked his watch and told Sammy, “I’ll confirm delivery by 1730.” 
    “Ten-four.”
    Zane snapped the phone shut and turned to Angel. “I’ve got to make a run up to Georgia, just south of Savannah, and back.”
    She cheered up at that. “Have a good flight.”
    In a hurry to get rid of him, was she? “You’re going with me.”
    “Why?”  Not smiling now.
    “You did agree to translate, didn’t you?”  Zane gave himself a mental pat on the back for quick thinking.
    Her mouth dropped open then she snapped it shut. “You need me to translate in Georgia ?”
    “There’s a possibility.”  A rare possibility, but one never knew what to expect, he reasoned.
    A thought hit him. Maybe she was uncomfortable being stuck in close quarters with him after the incident in the gas station. She’d clearly been embarrassed. Had what little gain he’d made toward earning her trust been negated by his lust and lack of control?
    “Angel, another thing. Sorry about what happened in that building earlier. Won’t happen again.”  He hoped. No promises if she walked out of the bathroom in a towel again.
    She said nothing, but her jaw set and she gave him a curt nod.
    Now he felt lower than a snake’s belly. What had he thought she’d say? That she’d loved kissing him and feeling his hands all over her, and wanted him to touch her again?
    Yes.
    So much for his moment of fantasy. At least there was one thing he could get right. He knew what she’d probably like about now. “Why don’t you grab a shower?” 
    From her exaggerated sigh he concluded she was obviously not happy with him or his plan for her day. Then her face brightened. “Tell you what. I’ll go with you if you’ll agree to spend some time cleaning up your storage room.”
    “Why? There’s nothing wrong with it.”
    “That place is a wreck. How do you even find stuff and know for sure if anyone has picked up their cargo?”
    “I have a system,” he muttered.
    “Not an efficient one by the looks of that place.” She shifted her pose and lifted her chin with a stubborn look he was starting to recognize. “If you want me to stay here and accept your generosity, then I want to help you get organized.”
    I am organized, dammit . But for once she was talking about accepting his help. Not wanting to discourage that, he conceded, “We’ll look at the room when we get back.”
    “Great.”  She carried her bag of clothes to his master bathroom and snapped the door shut.
    While she cleaned up, Zane jumped through his own shower in the hall bathroom and threw on a collared golf shirt and khaki pants. He slid his loaded Keltec .32 down the inside of his boot. The Sig, just like the ones the DEA issued, he stashed in the false center of a hardback novel, which he tucked into his flight bag. It was similar to the weapon he’d trained with in the Air Force and carried in his survival vest when he’d flown combat missions, so it hadn’t taken any adjustment.
    He walked into the kitchen to find Angel wearing her jeans and white shirt.
    At this rate, after a week of washing, that outfit would disintegrate. She leaned