THE PERFECT TEN (Boxed Set)

disappeared.
    At the truck, he threw the rope in the back. Angel dove in on the passenger side. He cranked the engine and spun the wheels over the loose, muddy ground, tearing onto the dark road with his headlights off. A shot pinged off the body of the truck. He shoved Angel’s head to her knees.
    “Stay down.”  He wove through turns and side streets until he felt sure nobody could have followed on foot, then headed for the I-95 and turned north to Ft. Lauderdale.
    Then where? This group knew his apartment. They probably had his Titan under surveillance.
    While keeping his eyes on the road and rearview mirror, he removed his hand from Angel’s back then used his arm to lift her up to a sitting position. 
    One look at Angel worried him.
    She hadn’t taken the poncho off and still shivered violently, even with the heater blowing. He reached over and ran the back of his hand across her cheek. She turned a deathly white face to him, her eyes glazed with shock.
    Zane had to find a secure location soon. No one appeared to be following them, but he couldn’t be sure. They might have planted a tracking unit on his truck at some point.
    He didn’t have the time it would take to go over the truck thoroughly to find it.
     
    Chapter 48
     
    Mason walked out of the warehouse as two more sport utilities rolled up. He stepped past the two incapacitated vehicles sporting flat tires.
    At the door to his ride, he stopped to give CK his parameters. “You have twelve hours to find her if you want your money.”
    Weapon still in hand, CK said, “I’ll find her. I always have a backup plan.”
    Mason did, too, and doubted CK would like his. But the bounty hunter had a reputation of never failing to produce. CK did not walk away from this much money. “I don’t care what it takes, just do it.”
    “Now you’re talking my language.”  CK grinned.
     
    Chapter 49
     
    Traffic thinned along Sunrise Boulevard after ten at night. Zane crossed over the bridge and peeled off north on Bayview Drive to a small upscale community east of downtown Ft. Lauderdale. The rain had slacked to a drizzle. He zipped into an expansive parking lot for a high-rise apartment complex.
    “There’s a hotel a block from here. We’re going to check in for the night. I know you’re tired, honey, but we’re close,” Zane said.
    Angel nodded mutely, giving him reason to believe she’d hit her physical and emotional limit.
    His overnight bag was still in the truck, forgotten when he’d returned from Jacksonville. After tossing his cell phone into the bag, he left his weapon on his hip and pulled his shirttail loose to cover it.
    Zane circled the truck to Angel’s side and helped her down. Her icy hand barely clung to his as she shuffled along beside him.
    They stepped into the lobby of La Shasta, Ft. Lauderdale’s newest five-star hotel, and dripped puddles on the marble floor fit for a palace.
    As he approached the front desk, Zane kept his arm around Angel, who still wore the black poncho.
    An impeccably dressed middle-aged man, wearing a charcoal gray suit and crisp white linen shirt, stared at them in momentary shock. After a moment, he closed his severe mouth, affecting the perfect hotel manager demeanor.
    “Can I help you?” the manager asked with a hint of doubt in his voice.
    As the son of a powerful man who’d amassed a fortune in the oil business, Zane knew exactly how to handle this guy. He read “Robert Sommers” on the man’s name badge.
    “I certainly hope someone can, Robert,” Zane said, biting out each word in an annoyed tone. “First the damn flight lands three hours late, then they manage to lose our Louis Vuitton luggage. Next the rental car leaves us stranded two blocks away. So much for a vacation.”
    Robert’s face shifted into his concerned manager expression from Hospitality 101. “I’m so sorry, sir. What can I do for you?”
    “Just don’t tell me our reservation has been lost. If that happens, I’m calling my sister, so she can warn the world against this disaster zone. She writes a syndicated travel column and does an occasional stint for the Travel Channel .”
    That got Robert’s full attention.
    La Shasta hadn’t been open long. Zane recalled that a simple problem with a recent high-profile guest had been blown out of proportion in the local news. Everyone had talked about the embarrassing event for days.
    Robert punched up his computer screen. “Can I have your last name, sir?”
    “Mr. and