THE PERFECT TEN (Boxed Set)

white mice, packed in the six cases being loaded on his plane, had to arrive alive and on time. He didn’t give a rat’s ass about the mice. No pun intended. But he also didn’t plan to blow the best chance he had at cinching the deal with High Vision.
    “H-o-o-wee!”  Hack raised one gray eyebrow at the weather radar on the huge, outdated CRT computer monitor to his left. The dial-up connection was deadly slow, and the animated radar loop crept across the screen. “Nobody oughta fly in a front like this. Don’t be fooled none by that little break out there. It’s a comin’ in hard.” 
    Zane grunted just to give the old guy a response.
    Hack shifted his bulk to lean forward, and the vinyl office chair squeaked in protest. “You hear ‘bout that fella down in Montgomery? Told his wife he had ta fly in that bad squall come off the Gulf. Said he’d lose his contract with Shoreline Delivery if he didn’t. They used a bag to pick up parts of that man. He was scattered plumb across Alabama.”
    Zane shrugged. Life was a gamble.
    Odds were no worse now than when he’d put everything on the line for his brothers in arms, which he’d do again in a minute.
    It would take more than lousy weather to make him pass up a chance to get one step closer to security for him and his sister.
    Everyone vied for High Vision’s business. If he didn’t meet the delivery deadline, somebody else would the next time.
    “Don’t you git it?” Hack continued. “That pilot didn’t keep the contract noways. He shoulda just stayed home. If he had, he’d be alive an’ flyin’ today.”
    Sure, bad weather upped the potential for a problem, but compared to Zane’s combat flight experience, making Jacksonville tonight would warrant only a little more attention than usual. Of course, his military record, training, and background appeared nowhere on the credentials for Black Jack Charters.  
    And neither did his real last name, Jackson.
    As Zane Black, he kept his personal life separate from work, and from the sometimes-rough characters he encountered. People who wanted him to fly cargo that was illegal at best, a danger to American citizens at worst. His alter-identity had been part of the deal he’d cut with the DEA when they’d become his partner in the charter business.
    They bought the plane and set him up. He busted ass to get contracts of his own – and contracts that interested them.
    Damned lucrative work that was filling up a bank account for his sister’s business scary fast.
    Beyond that, doing this for his country was work he believed in. Something that made hauling around smelly vermin a little easier.
    He’d flown more than his share of dangerous missions in his career as a pilot. On the last one, he’d barely walked away. In the Air Force, he’d been a respected fighter pilot instead of humping commercial cargo for a living.
    But that was three years ago and this was today.
    Hack’s police scanner crackled with a short conversation in law enforcement code.
    “Slow night for the boys in blue,” Hack declared.
    “What happened now?” Zane asked with feigned confusion over the cryptic announcements. He’d spoken 10-codes like a native language in his former life. Police agency codes were different than military, but since he’d been doing the side work for his friends in the DEA, he’d learned the police agency usage. He knew exactly what the codes squawking on that radio meant, and what had transpired.
    “Got a couple hotheads havin’ at it in a beer joint parkin’ lot down the road.”
    Hack’s man loading the Titan shoved the office door open and announced, “All fueled and loaded. Ready to go. You got to feed those critters if you’re late?”
    Zane lifted a shoulder. “Beats me. Vision doesn’t make allowances for late. Thanks, Tyler. I’ll close it up.” He preferred to shut the cargo hatch himself and know for sure everything was buttoned up tight.
    With a nod, Tyler pulled the door closed, strolled across the hangar, and disappeared into the maintenance shop.
    Rain drummed against the metal roof.
    “H-o-o-wee. Listen to it come down out there. You hang around and we’ll have us a couple hands o’ poker.”
    Zane ignored Hack. A blur of yellow in the hangar caught his attention.
    He couldn’t believe his eyes.
    Had a woman just slipped into his airplane?
    Was she nuts?
    And where in the hell had she come from?
    Zane snatched up the thermos. “Thanks for the coffee.”  He