Sunstroke

Chapter 4: PART ONE

Zack Wallace handed his lone passenger over to Gabe Rossi and watched the black SUV drive away from Page Field. He'd been more than happy to do a favor for his friend Grey Holden, head of The Omega Team, a security agency that did a little bit of everything and most of it dark. Like this.

"I need you to do a little favor for me," Grey told him when he called.

"I know you and your little favors," Zack laughed. "But okay, lay it on me."

"I have a passenger I need you to give a ride to, and it all has to stay under the radar."

"Oh? Should I expect to be arrested at some point?"

Grey laughed. "Nothing like that." Then his voice had turned serious. "She's a witness in a murder trial, and the killer would do anything to wipe her off the face of the earth."

"Does that mean I need to be armed?" Zack wanted to know. With Grey, anything was possible.

"Only if you want to. She's in Atlanta. I need someone to fly her to Fort Myers, Florida. Gabe Rossi runs an operation there for situations just like this."

Zack had heard of Gabe through Grey and knew the man had moved from Boston to some little town in Florida.

He frowned. "Didn't you tell me he runs it out of a resort or something?"

"Sure does. The Casa Blanca Resort and Spa. Last place anyone would think to look for the people he hides." He cleared his throat. "So, are you in?"

"Sure. Maybe I'll stay around there for a few days. I could use a break right now."

"Been busy?" Grey asked.

"Don't you know it. Sometimes I wonder if moving was the right thing to do."

Ten years ago, his uncle, who had brought him to Alaska thirteen years earlier to work for his growing charter service, had decided to retire and sold his share of the business to Zack. Three years ago, after all these years in the frozen north and the desolate remote area, the mystery and romance had worn off and he'd wanted someplace warm. He had a lot of clients in Atlanta, men who had come to Alaska to fish and hunt, and they promised him he'd have more business than he could handle.

That had been no lie. Of the three pilots who worked for him, two had chosen to stay in Alaska and buy the business from him. As good as that business was, they'd have him paid off in no time. Zack took two of the planes with him, but knowing his type of service was about to change, had expanded his inventory. Flush with cash and credit, he'd bought a Gulfstream G150 and a Beechcraft Bonanza, both used but in excellent condition. Almost from the day, he set up shop at McCollum Airport in Kennesaw, Georgia, his datebook had been full. His customers were as good as their word.

And that word spread. Soon, he'd hired two more pilots, and still they ended up turning some business away. He really didn't want to add a fifth pilot. The business had grown as large as he was comfortable with. He was a pilot, not an entrepreneur. He'd even had thoughts about relocating again, but he just hadn't had time to think about where.

Maybe he'd look around Southwest Florida while he was there. If he was going to live in hot weather, he'd like to be around water and beaches.

"You there, Zack?"

"Yeah, I'm here. So when is this supposed to take place? You want to fax me the details or what?"

"No. Let me give them to you now. I don't want to leave a trail here."

Zack nodded, even though no one could see him. A mutual friend had introduced them a few years ago when Grey had need of an immediate pilot who could keep his mouth shut. They'd been long distance friends since then, and Zack had flown Omega Team clients and agents more than once.

"Okay. Shoot."

In fact, it had been simple enough. An Omega contact in Atlanta would bring "Rosie Jones" to McCollum Airport and hand her off to Zack. He would then fly her to Page Field in Fort Myers where Gabe Rossi would be picking her up himself. Done and done. Gabe was waiting for them when he landed at Page Field.

"Thanks for this," Gabe told him, shaking his hand.

"No biggie. I had taken myself off the schedule unless we had an emergency, and I'm always happy to do a favor for Grey."

"You ought to come out to the resort," Gabe told him. "The least I can do is get you comped."

Zack smiled but shook his head. "I was well paid for this flight, my man. And I always feel better paying my own way. But I might just come out and take a look around."

"The resort's pretty busy," Gabe told him. "So, if you have trouble getting registered, have them give me a ring."

"Thanks for that. I'll remember."

Gabe drove off with "Rosie Jones" and Zack went to make arrangements for a tie-down for a few days. Half an hour later, business had been taken care of and he was driving a rental away from the field. At first, he'd thought about just asking the woman at the desk for a nice waterfront motel with good food, a good bar, and the name of a charter fishing boat. A beach bar where he could relax.

And maybe some interesting women, although he'd begun to think his hormones had died and gone to hormone heaven recently. For whatever reason, no female had made his mouth water or his c**k get hard in longer than he could remember. Maybe he needed to get a checkup when he got back. It had to be some kind of disease, right?

But when he asked about the Casa Blanca, she nearly swooned.

"If you've never been," she told him, "you have to go. Whatever you want, it's available there. Or can make arrangements for it."

Okay, he thought. What the hell. He'd pamper himself for a couple of days. Walk on the beach. Whatever. When he said, jokingly, it might not be his kind of place, she laughed.

"Are you kidding? It's everyone's kind of place. And if you want to relax," she went on, "that's the best place in the world.

So off he went, windows down so he could enjoy the breeze and radio turned to some pleasant background music. When he crossed the causeway connecting Mimosa Key to the mainland, he inhaled the scent of the salt water in the breeze and smiled at the sight of pleasure boats zipping through the water below.

And then he was at Casa Blanca-or Casa Blanca Resort and Spa on Barefoot Bay, as the woman had told him-a Moroccan paradise on the shores of the Gulf of Mexico, with incredible architecture and gorgeous, lush landscaping. For a moment, he had the feeling a movie set had been plopped down right here in Mimosa Key. Whoever had designed and built this had enormous vision and incredible talent.

He left the rental at the entrance while he checked inside to see if they had any rooms or cottages or whatever they called the outbuildings available. When he'd passed the parking lot, it was jammed, and the lobby was very busy, two facts that made him wonder what the vacancy situation was. Too bad if there wasn't because something about the ambience here made him relax even just standing there. The guy at the airport obviously was right. This was everyone's kind of place.

"You're in luck," the woman at registration told him. "Our villas are all taken, but we just had a cancellation for one of the suites in the main building."

"I'll take it." He dug his wallet out of his pocket.

"Don't you want to know the price?" The woman wrinkled her forehead. "Or anything about it?"

"Nope. This place feels right. Check me in."