Last Chance To Run (3 page)

Chapter 3

Two Range Rovers bore down the runway, seconds from colliding with Zane’s Titan. 

He clenched the yoke, shoving harder, demanding all his twin turbocharged engines could give him. His aircraft plowed into the force of the wind, fighting to lift off the runway. He counted seconds.

Five ... four ... three...

Headlights peeled off in opposite directions at the last second.

He shot the space between them and felt the lumbering craft catch air.

“
Yes!
”  Zane laughed out loud and exhaled a deep breath at the same time. He hadn’t felt an adrenaline kick this strong since running his last missions.

On the radar, a gap in the weather had opened up to the west. Not a trouble-free route, but a safer one for the moment. He radioed for permission to alter his flight plan.

When he got approval, he maneuvered his plane up to the new altitude where the skies were friendlier and free of traffic. Hack would tell him that’s because no other fool would be flying in this. After placing the Titan on autopilot, Zane whipped off his headset and unbuckled.

With a small window of time before things got dicey, he wanted answers from his stowaway.

He hit the dome light switch and twisted around to look over his shoulder, calling back,
“
Welcome to Black Jack Airlines, now known as Fleeing Felons Express. Sure you’re on the right flight?”

Between the Titan’s motor rumble, rain slapping the metal skin, and mice digging to China, he didn’t think his stowaway had heard him. A small voice in his brain needled him.
Did you stop to consider if she was a mental escapee – with a gun or a knife?

No. Gut instinct had saved him too many times to question it now. Besides, that would still have been all over law enforcement radio. This woman needed help.

“Want some coffee?” he asked a little louder and swung his legs around to the side of his seat. He didn’t want to go get her, but neither did he intend to fly with her unrestrained if she didn’t convince him she was no danger.

No answer.

“Coffee’s all that’s offered on this flight.”  He watched as large curious eyes appeared. Then her lips moved, but he couldn’t hear her. He cupped
his ear to let her know and to hopefully draw her closer.

“Coffee’s good,” she called out in a cautious voice barely
discernable
over the noisy cargo.

“I’ve got it on autopilot.
Can’t leave the cockpit.
Come on up here.”

A dirty yellow running shoe appeared first, followed by an endless leg from behind the crates. When the second shoe and sleek limb slid out, he took in every inch of her smoking legs flawed only by cuts and bruises.

His temper flared at whatever had caused her to end up in this shape. His fist curled with the need to pound someone, but
who
?
Lock down your temper and keep things calm.

She slowly unfolded a body that had to be stiff from cramming into a tight spot. The painful grimace that followed confirmed her discomfort.

Man, she had to be at least five-eight. Thin, athletic women had never appealed to him. His taste ran along the lines of lush curves with an accommodating disposition.

How long since he’d had either?
Too long.

Passenger seats had been removed for maximum capacity in the Titan. Stooped over, his stowaway traversed the narrow passage along the twelve feet of cargo space, reaching out to the crates and the cabin’s low ceiling for support along the way.

Her muted yellow T-shirt, still soaked from the rain, clung suggestively to her chest.

Okay, she had curves after all, and in the right places, but he wasn’t at home in a Ft. Lauderdale bar about to exchange addresses, and this woman had a bad-ass bunch of men chasing her. Now that he’d plunged into the fray and swept their prize out of reach, they’d probably come after him.

That bothered him even less than the weather.

But who was she?
Some rich guy’s toy of the month?

Women couldn’t stay out of trouble. He knew first hand.

She raised her head until the bill of her ball cap no longer hid her face. Two of the prettiest doe-shaped amber eyes adorned with thick cinnamon lashes gazed at him tentatively. She chewed on her lip.
Hesitant.
Fingers trembling.

Seeing that hit him in the gut.

No matter what her story was, no woman deserved to be run to ground like an animal by a bunch of hired goons.

He’d give her a moment to settle her nerves before strapping her into the co-pilot’s seat where he could keep an eye on her. Reaching over, he
swatted several rags off a metal box that was tied down behind the right seat.

Splitting his attention between the controls and her, he turned to tell her she was welcome to sit down. That’s when he got a close look at the cuts and bruises on her legs. Some spots were yellowed from being a day or two old.

The temper he’d buckled down broke loose. “What the hell happened to you?”

She backed up a step.

Damn.
Way to go, dickhead.
As if she wasn’t a step from diving out of the plane as it was.
He had solid control of his flash temper, except for a few things, and nothing snapped his control faster than a man harming a woman. Now he regretted leaving Hack’s airport before having a heart to
heart,
or fist to nose, with those goons.

Scrubbing a hand over his face did little to wipe away his anger. Zane took a long breath and tried again.
This time in a human voice.
“Sorry, didn’t mean to yell. Please, have a seat.” 

Either she believed him or was too spent to stand bent over any longer and moved toward the metal box. She cupped her arm protectively around her waist as she leaned over and his first thought was she had internal injuries.

But the movement pulled her T-shirt tight enough to outline a bulge around her middle that didn’t belong to that slender build.

What could she be wearing like a belt?

A money belt?
Had she stolen something after all?

Before he could say another word, a call over the radio beckoned him.

~*~

Angel caught the pilot’s pointed look at her arm that shielded the coins hidden beneath her shirt. He’d noticed, been curious, but, thank God, he hadn’t said anything. That would open a line of dialogue she’d just as soon avoid. When he twisted around to face the cockpit, he slid his headset back over his ears and spoke into his mike.

She eased down onto the makeshift seat.

Her hand shook when she brushed a loose hair behind her ear.

Get a grip.
She’d accomplished the impossible and gotten away from Mason
Lorde
.
For now
.

Not exactly a textbook escape, but she had no complaints – now that they were airborne. Of course, she’d had her doubts about that back on the runway.

Who was this guy?

Why hadn’t he handed her over to Mason’s men?

She glanced toward heaven for a moment.
Not complaining, mind you. Just
sayin
’ it’s strange.

He’d
known
she was hiding on his plane when he taxied out of the hangar, but still lifted off with men chasing them. That departure had been anything but standard. And he’d actually
laughed
after barely missing those two sport utilities.

Her stomach muscles hadn’t unclenched yet.

Had she stowed away with
Indiana Jones
or a lunatic?

And now that he’d helped her, what would he want from her? Nobody did anything for free.
Especially not men
.
Every man she’d ever known had used her to get something he wanted.

“What’s your name?”  The pilot’s deep voice interrupted her thoughts.

She gazed up into the cocoa eyes of her savior. Big guy, at least three or four inches over six feet. His leather flight jacket hugged impressive shoulders and he had the thick chest of a jock, maybe a linebacker. 

Those warm eyes patiently waiting for an answer didn’t
look
crazy.

Short black hair had been cut and styled with careless abandon that pulled off sexy without trying. His face was carved of sharp lines from the narrow nose to his square jaw. Not a soft place anywhere except those thick black eyelashes that would be too pretty on a less rugged male. 

Words flew around her mind when she looked at him.

Daring.
Powerful.
Rogue.

Maybe
Indy Jones
did exist.

Constantly monitoring all those gauges and lights in the cockpit, he reached past his seat and snatched up a second pair of headphones that he handed her.

As she slipped them on, she heard him say, “Now we can talk without yelling and I can monitor the radio. What’s your name?”

“Angel.”  That’s all anyone needed to know. Angelina
Farentino
had been many things – a star athlete, a courier, a convict. But Angel was the woman inside who wanted a new life with new dreams and no prison record.   

“Zane Black, at your service.”
  His firm lips widened in a devilish grin.

That smile could melt an iceberg.

She finally remembered her manners. “Thank you for ... what you did.” For that she got a dismissive nod as if he rescued women every day. Maybe he did.

He seemed to be waiting for her to volunteer information.

Not going to happen
. She searched for something to keep the topic about him.
“Impressive take off.”

Waving a hand in dismissal, he said, “That was nothing.
Piece o’ cake.”

This one almost certainly turned female heads regularly with those beautiful eyes and that devil-may-care smile, but she’d always found one thing more attractive in a man than all that – confidence – and Zane Black had it in spades.

But what did she know?

She’d found Mason attractive at first, too.

Zane’s eyes twinkled with amusement.
“Impressive escape on your part.
How far did you have to run?”

“Not far.”

The silence stretched between them, urging her to say more, but she knew better. She’d volunteered information once that had convicted her of a crime she never committed. She’d volunteered information a second time and was running for her life because of it.

Time to stop being so blasted helpful.

Zane’s curious gaze traveled down her damp T-shirt to her waist.

She wrapped her arms across her middle. Poor attempt to hide the obvious bulge the coins created. She held her breath, expecting the inevitable questions.

Why were those men chasing you?

What did they want?

And, of course,
what did you do wrong?

But, surprisingly, none of those came out of his mouth.

Instead, he pulled a towel from a duffel bag behind his seat. “Here, why don’t you dry off? If you’re cold, I have a blanket in the back.”

On the heels of being imprisoned and abused at the hands of Mason, this stranger’s consideration left her speechless until she remembered her brain needed to shake loose a response.

“Thanks. I’m not cold, just a little tired.”  Her adrenaline rush had bled out, leaving aches, pains, and exhaustion in its wake. Only frayed nerves kept her from keeling over. “I’d love that coffee now.” 

He poured some in a thick paper cup and handed it to her. His fingers brushed hers when she took the offering, catching her off guard at the sensation that wicked under her skin. She shifted on the metal box, angling her legs to get more comfortable, which might have been easier if every move didn’t send pain shafting through her body. 

The sexy pilot lost his smile when he took in her legs once more and studied them with grim assessment. “We need to clean you up.”

“I’m fine, really,” she protested mildly, not wanting to be touched.
“Just a few scratches.”
  Minor injuries from her run compared to Mason’s abuse.

“You
are
a badass if that’s just a few scratches.”  He grinned, underscoring that he found her harrowing getaway impressive.

She couldn’t recall the last time she’d impressed anyone with anything except her running speed, and warmed at his teasing compliment.

Ignoring her claim that she was okay, he made a quick check on things in his cockpit then unhooked a first-aid kit mounted on the wall near his seat. Removing assorted medical supplies, he reached for her leg then hesitated, his hand in mid-air obviously waiting for her permission.