THE PERFECT TEN (Boxed Set)

coins and left.
    Thunder boomed loud enough to shake the windows this time.
    Trish had walked over to the refrigerator and paused in opening the door. “Hear that wind? Sounds like the patio door is open.”
    “Can’t be. I closed it and locked it.”  Angel hadn’t put the metal bar in the slot that stopped the door from sliding open, but the security alarm was on and it was daytime. She’d secure everything in the apartment before she left.
    The lights went out in the kitchen.
    Trish closed the refrigerator. “Crap. I hate the dark.”
    “Not a problem,” Angel said, getting up. “I saw some candles and matches in the living room. Sit tight and I’ll be right back.”
    Angel jumped from her stool and ran into the living room just as sheets of rain started blowing sideways outside.
    She’d made two steps into the darkened room, barely lit by the dim daylight from the patio, when a black-clothed figure stepped through the open glass door.
    Panic iced her insides. She couldn’t breathe, paralyzed by disbelief.
    The intruder lifted cold, steel-gray eyes to hers. A face more evil than Mason’s stared at her from less than twenty feet away for only a second.
    He moved forward faster than she’d imagined possible for anyone that huge.
    That triggered her fight or flight reaction. Angel streaked for the hallway, thinking she wouldn’t reach the front door and unlock it fast enough. He flew around the sofa, hard on her heels. A concrete hand shoved into Angel’s back, knocking her to the floor. She felt the blow in her ribs and rolled in pain, determined to keep moving.
    “Sugar, that’s some storm brew – ” 
    Trish’s words ended on a scream.
    The attacker had snatched Angel up by the hair. White hot pain daggered her skull when he wrenched around, cursing. Tears spilled from Angel’s eyes. She pushed up to her knees and yelled, “ Run, Trish! ” 
    He let go of her hair.
    Trish screamed again.
    Angel shot up as the giant turned on Trish.
    Face deathly white, and mouth and eyes stretched wide open in horror, Trish backed away on shaky steps.
    When her attacker took a step toward Trish, Angel leaped up and landed on his back. She clutched at his face, gouging his eyes with her fingers. “ Run, Trish, go, go, gooooo!”  
    The beast she rode snarled a vicious noise.
    As he bent forward, huge fingers locked on Angel’s forearms with a gorilla grip and snatched her over his head. She landed hard. Her back smashed against the floor between him and Trish. The blow knocked the air from her lungs. She wheezed, struggling for breath.
    The front door banged open in the distance.
    Vision watery, Angel watched her attacker’s polished bald head snap up at the sound.
    He raised a foot to step over her.
    She bent a leg and shoved her foot up into his groin with everything she had.
    He howled, “ Fuuucckkk!” and fell to one knee. He made a sound like a wounded beast.
    She rolled over, every move demanding air she couldn’t pull in. She struggled to her feet.
    The door stood open. Thank God.
    She lunged forward, and almost made it.
    He yanked her by the hair again. Her head snapped back, stars flashed in her vision. Could she hold him off long enough for Trish to get away?
    He swung her around like a doll on a string and plowed a steel fist into her jaw.
    Help!
    Trish?
    Zane?
    Pain faded away. She sank into a black void.
     
    Chapter 37
     
    Zane paced the waiting area inside the terminal at the regional airport he’d flown into. The stale smell of greasy fast food creeping out of the waste can in the corner irritated him, but not as much as this hold up. He should have received the High Vision shipment an hour ago.
    Something had gone wrong.
    A paper glitch? Probably the damn storm. Computers could be down with this weather.
    He’d made it out of Ft. Lauderdale ahead of the incoming squall ripping off the ocean, only to land in a wicked thunderstorm. A low pressure system he hoped would not turn into a hurricane.
    But his gut was telling him the weather and computers weren’t to blame. He’d left one message for dispatch that hadn’t been returned yet.
    Zane phoned his apartment again while he waited on Sammy to call and explain what was going on with the shipment. His home phone rang six, seven, eight times.
    He jammed the off button. It was barely after eight in the morning. Where the hell were Angel and Trish? He hoped Angel hadn’t left the apartment. She’d promised to be careful.
    What