by Desiree Holt
Well, so much for using that military discipline to keep everything hidden.
“I’m not sad,” he insisted. “Just…” Just what?
“It’s really none of my business, but everyone is aware of the divorce and how it happened. The other partners would have had to know everything before making you the offer.”
Trey sighed. “I realize that. It’s not a big secret.”
She shook her head. “But it’s your personal business.” She paused, as if searching for the right words to continue.
He smiled, just a tiny lifting of one corner of his mouth. “Whatever it is, let’s have it. We’re on a roll now.”
“Okay. I think what your ex-wife did is despicable, and I hate it that you’re letting it destroy your life.”
Destroy his life? Hmmm. He hadn’t seen it that way, but of course he’d been walking around with blinders on.
“You should go out and have fun,” Phyllis went on. Then she chuckled. “Go to one of those upscale bars and find a nice upscale woman. Or any kind of woman.”
He lifted an eyebrow. “Why, Phyllis! Are you trying to tell me I should go out and get—”
“Happy,” she interrupted, cutting off his sentence. “Just…get happy.”
He was pretty damn sure she’d been about to tell him to get laid, but then that was probably beyond what she’d say. So, get happy. Okay, then. To really tie one on, he’d have to do it at home, where there was no chance his partners or any of their clients could see a man his age crying in his beer. But a drink or two surrounded by other people might take the edge off his year-long pity party.
“I might do just that,” he told her. “Thanks for the advice. See you in the morning.”
Her words echoed in his head all the way down in the elevator to the parking garage and while he was heading out into traffic. Maybe she was right. The pain from the bitter breakup didn’t lessen because he was forty-eight and not twenty-eight. Maybe it hurt even more, because he’d been so sure he was about to step into the next great phase of his life.
Instead of heading home to his high-rise condo, he decided to try a new bar he’d heard people raving about. It had a fireplace, which, today, would be a big plus for him. He could enjoy its warmth, have a drink, and lick his wounds, once and for all. Because, truth be told, it ate at him that Laura seemed to have her life under control and had moved on without so much as a ripple, while he beat himself up every day over what he could have done differently.
“Nothing,” Art Finnergan had told him. “Don’t get upset with me, but from what I hear, everyone’s surprised that it lasted as long as it did.”
Trey had stared at him. “But people are just getting to know me. I haven’t lived in Newport for almost twenty years.”
“True. But your ex-wife has been back a lot since you first lived here, and she took up residence nearly a year ago. She’s a partner in a business here that puts her in contact with half of Newport. People have had a chance to assess her and get to know her.”
Trey wasn’t sure if that was good or bad, and, truthfully, he didn’t want to know. He was just irritated with himself that he’d invested so much of himself emotionally in their marriage because, to him, it was a permanent commitment, but, apparently, to Laura, it wasn’t. Well, lesson learned. He sure wasn’t ready to test the dating waters, not at his age, regardless of what his partners kept telling him. One of them had just remarried at the age of fifty. Good luck to him.
He plugged the address for Hearthside into his GPS, followed the map and the directions. Twenty minutes later, he was seated at the end of a dark mahogany bar, the fireplace on his right casting its warmth, the muted conversation from the clusters of tables like soft background noise. He took a sip of one of his favorite drinks, a gold rush, made up of bourbon, lemon juice, and honey. It smoothed out the rough edges for him better than any other drink.
He was just beginning to let the drink do its work, let it sooth his raw nerves, when he heard the sound of a woman’s laugh and those same nerves caught on fire. He looked to his right and, sure enough, making their way from one of the tables farthest away from him, was his ex-wife, clinging to the arm of a man who had to be at least ten years younger than she was. Maybe more.
What the fuck? Had all of this been just a scam so she could trade him in for a younger model? Before he could turn back to the bar and pretend to ignore them, she’d spotted him, and her step faltered. They were about to pass within inches of where he sat. Then, without missing another beat, she pasted her professional smile on her face.
“Hello, Trey.” Her voice still had that warm, sultry flavor to it, only now it didn’t get quite the same reaction from him.
He gave one short, sharp nod of his head. “Laura.”
“This is Damien Frost. Damien, meet Trey DeMarcus.”
Trey knew the name. He was one of the young dot-com geniuses who had amassed quite a fortune before he was thirty. So. Youth and money. A double whammy.
Damien looked from one to the other, recognition lighting his eyes, then curved his lips in a smile with just enough arrogance to piss him off. But he checked his temper.
“Nice to meet you, DeMarcus.”
“Same here.”
Neither man offered to shake hands.
“Well,” Laura said in a bright tone. “We must be going. Nice running into you, Trey. Hope things are going well.”
He wanted to say, Yeah, I’ll bet you do, you bitch. But that wasn’t who he was, so he just nodded once more and turned back to his drink. Maybe he’d have another.
Right. Because there’s nothing more attractive than a man approaching middle age drunk off his ass in a crowded bar.
“Trey? Is that you?”
Now, who the hell did he have to confront?
He turned on his stool, ready to give someone the polite brushoff, only to be greeted by a familiar face.
“Zack? Zack Elliott? What the hell are you doing up here?”
He reached out and shook the hand of the man standing beside his barstool. Several of the firm’s clients used Elliott Air Service to pick them up and ferry them to winter homes in the South or to the high-end resorts they frequented. He knew Zack had moved his base of operations from Atlanta to Page Field in Fort Myers, Florida, when he had reunited with his college sweetheart, twenty-five years after they broke up, and married her.
“Picking up Davis and Trish McAuliffe and ferrying them down to Barefoot Bay. They want to leave early in the morning, so I came up the day before to be ready. I just did one gig, same day turnaround. I figured I’d do this and take a couple of days off.”
“Barefoot Bay?” Trey frowned. “I don’t think I’ve ever heard of it.”
“You’d love it,” Zack told him. “Sun, sandy beaches, the Gulf. Got its own minor league baseball team. Lots of small-town events.”
“You know me,” Trey reminded him. “Do I look like the type to sit around doing nothing?”
Zack laughed. “Believe me, there’s plenty to do there to keep you occupied. Talk to your clients. Get their feedback.”
Trey snorted. “They’ll tell me it’s a great place for couples.”
“It’s a great place for everyone, couples or not.” He tapped Trey on the arm with his fist. “I don’t mean to pry, but your clients tell me you spend all your time working. Maybe a little R&R wouldn’t hurt.”
Trey frowned. “Is that the only thing my clients tell you?”
Zack laughed. “Hey, man. Guys our age need to make time for all the fun we can.”
Trey chuckled. “You don’t look like you’re slowing down any.”
“This is fun for me. I get to do what I love best and come home to the love of my life.”
Trey had to forcibly squelch a sharp stab of jealousy.
“Sounds good to me.”
“Listen.” He reached into the inside pocket of his lined flying jacket and pulled out a brochure. “I always carry a couple of these with me. You never know wh
o you might run into who could use one.”
Trey had to laugh. “You mean like me?”
Zack shrugged. “Just sayin’. Look it over. If you can get away quick, I’ve got room for another passenger tomorrow.”
Tomorrow? Trey didn’t consider himself that impulsive.
“I’ll give it some thought. Thanks.”
Zack took out a pen and wrote something on the brochure. “My cell. Call me if you decide to do it. I’ll call and get you a reservation. I might have more luck than you would. But we’re wheels-up at eight-thirty tomorrow morning, so I’d need to know by tonight.”
“I promise I’ll mull it over.”
He sat at the bar, nursing his drink, long after Zack had left. Thinking and unconsciously rubbing the stubble beard he’d cultivated. He’d waited for one of his partners to say something, but he got the idea they were all tiptoeing around him. Not quite sure what to say. Art was the first one to bring up the whole mess.
He was about to order another drink when he changed his mind and looked at the brochure Zack left with him. The Casa Blanca Resort and Spa looked like a rich man’s paradise, with its lush foliage, Moroccan architecture, and endless amenities. A picturesque town that had tourist stamped all over it and a baseball team, for crying out loud. Well, hell, he was a rich man now, wasn’t he? At least extremely well-off.
What the hell, DeMarcus. Do something besides feel sorry for yourself or eat yourself alive with anger.
The image of Laura with her man toy popped into his brain, making him gnash his teeth.
All right, damn it. Enough.
He pulled out his cell phone and dialed Zack Elliott’s number.
“That was fast.” Zack’s voice was tinged with amusement. “I haven’t even made it back to the hotel yet.”
“How hard is it to get reservations at this place? My clients tell me it’s usually booked.”
“Let me call,” Zack said. “We’ll see how much pull I actually have at the place.”
Trey fidgeted while he waited for Zack’s callback. When the phone rang, he snatched it up. “Well? Is it as go?”
I tried for a villa,” Zack told him, “but they said the last one was just taken. However, I can tell you the suites in the main building are not to be sneezed at.”
“I don’t need a whole villa. Whatever they’ve got will be fine. Just tell me where and what time you need me tomorrow, and I’ll be there.”
Next, he called Phyllis.
“I’m taking your advice,” he told her.
“You are? Well, good for you. Tomorrow, we can talk about some options, and I’ll check out reservations for you. I’m so glad you’re doing this.”
“I hope you’ll be just as happy when I tell you I’m saving you a lot of work. I have a destination, and I’m leaving tomorrow morning. Take me off the books for two weeks and shuffle my appointments around.”
There was complete silence on the other end of the call.
“Phyllis? You still there?”
“Uh, yes, I am. I didn’t think anything could shock me, but you win the prize.”
He frowned, wondering if he was presuming too much.
“Will this work okay? It won’t put too much of a burden on you or leave anyone in the lurch?”
“We’ll be fine. I’ll make it fine. You deserve this so just leave it all to me. I have your cell number if there’s an emergency, but there’d better not be one.”
He chuckled. “I like how you think. See you in a couple of weeks.”
Warm sunshine and no responsibilities for two weeks. That ought to put anyone in a good frame of mind. For the first time in months, he found himself smiling and actually looking forward to something.
Chapter Three
Robin had just finished breakfast when there was a knock on the door of the villa where she was staying. She checked through the peephole as she’d been instructed and relaxed when she saw Seth Guillory from McBain Security standing there. Her first thought was he had something to tell her she didn’t want to hear.
“Good morning.” She wet her lips. “Not bad news, I hope.”
She lived in fear of the killers slipping out of sight and somehow tracking her down.
But Seth shook his head and smiled. “Not at all. Jonas called with some information for you, and both Gabe Rossi and my boss, Luke McBain, texted me to make sure I checked up on you. Again, they apologize for being away, but it couldn’t be helped. I told them I had things under control.”
“I don’t want to cause a problem for anyone or be an inconvenience.” She was usually the one in control, so adjusting to this threw her off her game.
“You aren’t.”
She waved a hand at the interior. “I’m pretty sure this place wasn’t just sitting here empty. At a resort like Casa Blanca, villas like this are usually booked weeks, even months, in advance. So, who did I displace, and how upset are they?”
“Actually, the timing was great. The couple who booked this had to cancel because the husband is having surgery. So, it was ready and waiting for you.” He winked. “Almost a sign.”
It occurred to her she was standing in the doorway as if to block him. Why? Jonas would not send her to someplace with a contact that wasn’t safe. And he did say he had information for her.
Nice going, Robin.
She just wasn’t used to being in this kind of situation.
“Oh, lord. Please excuse my manners, or lack of them.” She stepped back into the living room. “Come in. Please. Can I offer you some coffee?”
“I’ll never say no to that.”
He waited for her in the living room while she filled a mug, nodded his thanks, and took a sip. She hadn’t paid a lot of attention to him when he’d picked her up in Fort Myers a couple of days earlier. At that moment, she only wanted to get someplace where she could be sure she was hidden away, and try to pull herself together. He was older than she’d thought at first, probably mid-forties. Lean, tanned by the Florida sun, short-cropped sandy hair with a scattering of gray. Without the sunglasses, she could see his eyes were a deep shade of brown.
And sad. A bone-deep sadness. She wondered what in his life had happened to put that there.
She picked up her own half-filled mug, sat in one of the comfortable armchairs, and motioned for him to do the same.
“I meant to get by yesterday,” he told her, “but with both Gabe and Luke away, I’m kind of doing double duty.”
She lifted an eyebrow. “Is it just you when they’re gone?”
He chuckled. “No, we have a great staff at McBain Security. But it’s my turn to be chief cook and bottle washer. Fortunately, we don’t have a lot on our plate right now.”
“You mentioned Jonas gave you information for me?” If it was bad, she wanted to hear it and get it over with.
“Yes. He said the sketches you worked with the artist had a hit in the facial recognition program.”
Robin’s whole body tensed. “Who are they?”
“The names aren’t important, just the fact that they’re high profile members of the Russian mafia.”
Her eyes widened. “You’re kidding.”
But she knew he wasn’t. From the moment she’d uncovered what was going on at Forrester, she’d suspected something like this.
“Not even a little,” he told her. “He wanted me to let you know the FBI has eyes on them every minute while they finish putting together the case against them. Word is out that they’re offering a high price for anyone who can give them information on where you are, so we’re positive they don’t have a clue.”
“But they don’t have to come themselves,” she pointed out. “They could send someone.”
“There’s no way they could find out. Jonas said they got you out of town without a trace.”
That they had. They had changed cars three times on the way to the private airport where the pilot waited for her. Even then, they’d bundled her in three thick layers of clothes, so when she walked, peopl
e probably thought she was closer to eighty-four than thirty-four.
In contrast, the clothes Sarah had selected for her were fun and flirty, nothing like her usual wardrobe. She was conscious of the fact the ten pounds she’d put on might affect their fit, even though the woman had her sizes. But Sarah seemed to have an eye for just what she needed. And, yesterday, she’d spent at the spa getting a makeover. When she emerged, her medium-brown hair was a rich honey-blonde and cut in a much shorter style. The makeup Sarah had provided suited her new hair color and gave her a completely new look. Even she didn’t recognize herself, so the chances of someone else spotting her were slim to none. Besides, she had no plans to leave the resort until the killers were in custody.
Still, a tiny shiver slid over her.
“And I promise you,” Seth went on, “you’re completely safe here. Our security is very tight.”
“So, I guess this is the best place for me to be. Hiding out, I mean.”
Seth nodded. “Which is why Jonas arranged with Gabe to send you here.”
“He said Gabe does this a lot.”
“Sort of. You have my cell number, right?”
Robin swallowed a smile at the way he’d switched the conversation so smoothly away from Gabe Rossi. Okay. She could take a hint. He’d made the arrangements for her, and she didn’t need to know more than that.
“Yes.” She nodded. “And everything is great.”
“You know,” he told her, “you don’t have to stay in the villa all the time. There’s a lot to take advantage of here.”
“And you’re sure it’s okay?”
“Absolutely. We may have a lot of guests and a full event calendar, but someone not here for a vacation or an event would stick out like a sore thumb. That’s if they even made it onto resort property. Which they won’t. Just be sure and text me whenever you leave the villa, so we can keep an eye on you.”
Her pulse gave a little hitch. “You don’t think those people could find me here?”
Seth shook his head. “Nothing’s impossible. But this place is safer than the U.S. Mint. Your name isn’t even in the computer, and your trip here was handled in the most secure manner.”
