THE PERFECT TEN (Boxed Set)

yellow running shoes would be if they’d sat in the middle of the floor.
    Shit.
    Grabbing his keys on the way out, he punched in Ben’s number and jogged to the truck. The fingerprint specialist might give him grief, but he’d always come through when Zane had to have a name.
    And he had to have a name. Now.
    He had to find her or report her as missing.
     
    Chapter 24
     
    Angel watched from a fast food restaurant as Zane pulled away from his apartment complex. She’d been lucky to arrive ahead of him, but it had taken accepting a ride from a kid with a motorcycle who’d dropped her a few blocks away.
    No one had followed Zane in or out of his apartment parking lot. At least he was still safe. She waited another half hour until clouds covered the sliver of moon to give her plenty of darkness before she started hunting a way into the complex without attracting undue attention.
    It took her even longer to zigzag a convoluted half-mile route that sometimes meant crawling between bushes and buildings, but she finally managed to sneak around to the rear of the apartment. Hunched over most of the time, she worked through the thick foliage, hesitating when tenants strolled by on the paths.
    When she found the patio belonging to Zane’s apartment, she rolled over the wrought-iron railing onto the tiled floor. The cool surface offered a better hiding place than sitting in his comfortable deck chairs. With no idea where Zane had gone, she probably had a long wait until she could get inside the apartment.
    If he let her back in.
    He had to be pissed and she couldn’t even justify her panic. When she’d gotten through the traffic and found a place to stop, she’d looked back to see all the vehicles turning left. Even the dark blue Yukon.
    Had she imagined the threat?
    Her gut said no, that she was right to run, but her gut didn’t have to face Zane’s anger.
    She’d just eased down in the corner of the patio into a semi-comfortable position when she heard the muffled two-tone chime from Zane’s front door. A tap-tap-tap against the door sounded, but no voice called out to see if anyone was home.
    Could that be one of Mason’s men at the front door?
    Why would he knock? To pretend he was a visitor or making a delivery?
    If that was Mason’s men, would they be watching the rear to intercept her if she ran?
    Damn. Sit here like an easy target? Or run and make herself visible?
    She crawled around behind the chairs to hide, as far out of sight as possible. Trapped.
    A shiver raced down her spine when she saw the front door handle turn and the deep blue barrier inch open.
    The piercing security alarm screeched with the broken connection.
    Angel scrunched down so low in the corner of the patio that her knees and chin met. She needed an escape route if the intruder proved to be a threat, but where would she go at this point?
    A narrow hand slipped inside the front door and punched several numbers on the flashing panel, quieting the hideous noise. Zane’s sister peeked around the edge of the door into his apartment.
    Trish leaned in further and called, “Sugar, are you home? If you are, get your drawers on ‘cause I’m coming in.”  She calmly entered, then closed the door, turned, and walked to look down the hallway toward Zane’s bedroom.
    “ Za-ane .”  She shrugged and strolled into the kitchen.
    Angel expelled the breath she’d been holding and her heartbeat slowed to halfway reasonable.
    How long would his sister stay or, worse, what if she wanted to sit outside? She mentally ticked through a selection of possible scenarios, all of which ended with being found hiding on the patio.
    Another rule from her survival training popped into her mind.
    The best defense is a good offense.
    And truth be known, Trish had no idea what type of relationship she and Zane shared so finding Angel here without him might not look unusual.
    Even better, maybe Trish knew where he’d stored the canvas boat curtains.
    Angel stood up, straightened her clothes, and twisted all of her hair back up into the clasp she’d borrowed earlier from Trish’s drawer. She tapped on the glass door, waited a minute and then rapped harder the second time.
    When Trish stuck her head out of the kitchen she immediately cocked it to one side in that confused-dog look before her eyebrows shot up in recognition. A cheery smile popped into place as she hurried across the room to unlock the glass doors, chattering the whole time.
    “Oh, Sugar, I’m