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, people 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.”
“And the pilot who brought me here?” she prodded.
“Vetted top to bottom. He moved here from Atlanta, and he does all the private flights for Casa Blanca, and especially for Gabe.”
“Good to know.” She relaxed again a tiny moment. “Thank you so much, Seth. And please thank everyone else for me. You have no idea how much I appreciate this.”
“Actually, I do.” He drained the last of his coffee and rose. “I’d better get going on my rounds.”
After he’d left and she’d locked the front door, Robin carried the empty coffee mugs into the kitchen. She looked out the window while she was rinsing them at the sink, her eyes captured by the sight of a gray-and-white bird perched in a circle of sunlight on the lawn between two thick shrubs. It fluttered its wings as it split the air with its shrill cry. Plants with colorful flowers stood in the sunlight side by side with those having broad, shiny leaves. It was so different from the icy cold of the North, she felt warm just looking at them.
Seth was right.
There had to be a lot to see here, even just walking along the beach. As long as she kept to herself, trouble wouldn’t follow her around. She needed to get that through her head.
Tomorrow, she told herself.
Tomorrow, she’d step out into the world.
Starting with breakfast.
*****
Trey hadn’t known what to expect when they landed in Fort Myers. He’d traveled all over the world, but, somehow, the southeastern tip of the United States hadn’t made it into his itinerary. As cold as it had been in Newport, it was that warm in Fort Myers. The sun bathed everything in a warm golden light, and even the trees and shrubbery seemed greener.
The McAuliffes, the couple he’d flown with, had chatted with him about the town of Mimosa Key and its attractions.
“We’re staying in Naples, this time,” Trish McAuliffe told him, “but we’ve been to the Casa Blanca several times and love it. If you like tacos, there’s a great little place, frequented mostly by local residents, called South of the Border.”
Davis chuckled. “Or SOB, as the locals say. But their tacos are the best around. There’s no sign or anything, so you may have to ask someone where it is.”
Shortly after they landed, the McAuliffes were picked up by friends, and they wished him a happy vacation. He wished one for himself, too.
“Why don’t you hit the Hertz desk and see about a car rental,” Zack told hm. “Come back and pick up your luggage when you’ve got wheels. The rental place will give you a map of both Collier County and Mimosa Key, so you should be all set.”
At the rental counter, the agent happened to mention they had a couple of convertibles if he was interested.
“They usually get snapped up right away,” the woman told him. “But these came back yesterday, and we just finished servicing them. They won’t last long.”
Trey thought, What the hell. When he drove back to the hangar, it was behind the wheel of a sleek black convertible, top down.
Zack looked at him and chuckled.
“Getting in the mood all the way, are you?”
“Doing my best.” And he was. He was determined to find a way not to be miserable here.
His flight companions were apparently regular visitors to Barefoot Bay and couldn’t say enough good things about it. But as they’d chattered on about the single women and the couples who had found happiness there, Trey began to wonder if he’d made a mistake. The last thing he wanted was to meet a woman. He wasn’t sure he’d ever get over the bitterness of what happened with the one he’d been married to for twenty years.
His plan was to anesthetize himself with tropical drinks away from prying eyes and lie out in the sun. Maybe even take in one of the games the baseball team played. He still couldn’t get over a place like this having a team.
But women? Uh-uh. Not until he learned how to make better choices.
The drive over the causeway gave him a sweeping view of the Gulf of Mexico. The town of Mimosa Key, which Zack told him was the heart of the area, looked as if it had been created for a movie about, well, a typical small Florida tourist town. And then they were at Casa Blanca Resort and Spa, a feast of Moroccan architecture set among the lush foliage of southern Florida. Foliage, he noticed, that someone took damn good care of.
Checking in was an experience for the senses, with the marble floor in the lobby and the exquisite Moroccan tapestry hung on one wall. Trey had been to that part of the world and knew just how delicately made they were and how expensive.
The young lady behind the desk checked him in with efficiency and courtesy and a big smile.
“I am sorry we still don’t have a villa available at the moment, Mr. DeMarcus. We’d had one cancellation a few days ago, but it was filled right away. However, I put you in one of the deluxe suites. I want Mr. Elliott to know we took good care of you. ”
“That’ll be fine,” Trey assured her. “I don’t need a whole villa. All I plan to do is sleep there, anyway.”
How could it not be okay? This place was a paradise. He had a feeling that even the least expensive accommodations would put most other places to shame.
“Well, enjoy yourself and have fun.”
Fun. For the past year, he’d wondered if he’d ever have fun again. Then he gave himself a mental shake. It was time to stop thinking about what happened and move on with his life. He just didn’t know if that was possible, but he was going to try to make a start in this place that looked like paradise.
The first thing he did was change into Bermuda shorts and a soft-collar shirt, and a pair of deck shoes that he realized had seen better days. It was good to be out of the northern cold, and also to be by himself where he didn’t have to put on a front for anyone. Or work hard to make conversation.
On the flight down, he’d done some thinking. Last night, he’d accepted the fact he needed to make changes in his life and move on. While he was here, he planned to think about those changes, like stepping away from the firm and making some decisions about his future. The problem was, it wasn’t much fun making plans for one when you’d expected them to be for two, and he was damn sure he wasn’t ready to even think about another woman. Or if he’d ever trust one again.
He spent most of the day making a concerted effort to somehow dilute the bitterness that had consumed him for so many months. He had lunch out by the pool, on the eating deck facing the Gulf of Mexico. There was something about watching the swell of waves that was so pleasant and soothing.
During his years in JAG, whenever he was caught up in an intricate case, one that needed its snarls unraveled or a fresh approach, he’d go to the water, wherever he was stationed, and just spend some time looking out at it. It always helped him clear his head, and he could approach the problem with a different look. He was hoping the same thing would happen here, and he’d know what decisions to make when he got back to Newport.
He watched other couples, those lounging by the pool as well as those eating on the patio, trying to analyze their actions, expressions, and body language. Some were obviously into each other, evidenced by the unconsciously affectionate gestures and the air of intimacy surrounding them. Others were obviously comfortable with each other, an attitude he was sure developed over long years of a very satisfactory relationship. And then there were those who appeared to be sitting by themselves even though they were together. They barely exchanged conversation, and, in some cases, he wasn’t sure they even liked each other.
He wondered how he and Laura had appeared to others. In the beginning, he knew, they’d been so close, sometimes almost as if they were one person. But now, looking at it from a distance, he could see they had eventually become detached. Had it been when Laura began talking about retiring to Rhode Island rather than Montana? Apparently, he’d been oblivious to the fact she didn’t want to leave her hometown roots. Or missed the point where she’d begun to resent all the travel when JAG would reassign him.
Now he wondered when they had actually stopped having meaningful conversations. He wasn’t sure if he’d just been an unobservant asshole or if Laura had become disenchanted with their situation and he’d never realized it. The dwindling frequency of sex and the routine flavor of it had apparently escaped him, too, and what did that say about him as a lover?
Of course, he could blame himself for so much of it, even for not forcing her to sit down and talk to him. But then, he’d believed right up until that miserable day, that they were still in love with each other. So, did that mean he didn’t even recognize what love was?
God!
He could go back and forth in his mind for days if he let himself, but there was one thing he couldn’t change. He had trusted a woman with more than twenty years of his life, and she had blindsided him. Betrayed him. He didn’t believe he could ever give any other woman that kind of trust again. Or want another woman with the same intensity he’d felt in the earlier years of his marriage.
The thought of moving back to Montana and settling there almost blunted the pain of doing it alone. Almost, but not quite.
Late in the afternoon, he took a dip in the pool, floating on the sun-warmed surface, trying to clear his mind of the distressing thoughts that wouldn’t quite let go of him. Then he showered, changed, and headed into Junonia, the elegant restaurant run by Ian Browning, a chef whose reputation had even reached Trey’s ears. He ate at a table for one, which, while not much fun, was still better than dining with someone you had a disconnect with.
Despite the laidback atmosphere the resort encouraged, Trey was happy for the day to finally be at an end so he could go to bed. He hoped his dreams were more pleasant than the ones he’d been having. Zack Elliott had assured him bad dreams were forbidden at the Casa Blanca. He’d believe it when it happened.