Barefoot Bay: Flying High (Kindle Worlds Novella) (The Omega Team Book 6)

by Desiree Holt

  “I can’t compete with a ghost, Bailey. I’m not sure anyone can. He must be one hell of a guy. I just don’t understand why the two of you aren’t together.”

  She had no answer for that, because sometimes she asked herself the same question. If pictures didn’t lie, even if she changed her mind now, she was too late to the dance. And it was definitely all her stupid, immature fault.

  “Bailey? Did I lose you somewhere?”

  The sound of Warren Blake’s voice jolted her back to the present.

  “Sorry.” She gave herself a mental shake. “Just running a few things over in my mind.”

  “We don’t start officially until this evening,” he reminded her. “My wife told me this place has a spa. I mean, it’s the Casa Blanca Resort and Spa, right?”

  “Were you planning on a treatment, Warren?” she teased.

  “No, but my wife and my daughter-in-law will be here tomorrow. They plan to make good use of that spa before they join us for dinner. By the way, good idea to have the spouses and significant others or whatever at the closing dinner. Makes the evening more relaxing after focusing on strategy and client development for two days.”

  “Thank you. I figured all work and no play, you know.”

  “My point, though, is you should use the rest of the day to take advantage of the spa and whatever else this place has to offer. Charge it to the firm.”

  Bailey lifted her eyebrows. “Tell me you’re kidding. I can’t do that.”

  “You can if I tell you to. After all, I’m a senior partner.” He winked. “And my name is first on the logo. So go do it. You’ve worked your ass off to make this come together, and for three days, you’ll be playing teacher and mommy to all of us. I order you to take the day for yourself.”

  She laughed again. “Okay, okay. I’ll at least check it out.”

  “Excellent. See you at your villa for cocktails. Six o’clock?”

  She nodded. “Yes. Everyone will be here by then. And thanks, Warren.”

  She watched him walk away toward the lobby. He’d be spending the day out on the water with Nate Ivory, one of the hotshot millionaires who lived on the island and owned, among other things, the local minor league baseball team. Warren’s roster of friends and clients could have come straight from Forbes, but Bailey knew he’d worked very hard to accumulate it. On top of that, he was a really good guy.

  Which made her wonder what his comment about her number of years at the firm was all about. Warren’s steel-trap mind never forgot any facts, no matter how small. Oh, well. She gave a mental shrug and pulled up a document on her tablet. She walked the room slowly, checking off each item, making sure the staff at Casa Blanca had placed things where she asked.

  Warren had wanted her to shake things up, make this a different kind of retreat, and that’s what she had done. She just hoped everyone didn’t think she was nuts. Satisfied at last, she headed off to find Jocelyn Bloom Palmer who ran the spa. She decided she’d take Warren up on his offer and get herself signed up for the full treatment.

  Chapter Two

  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 cock 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.”

  She laughed. “You have no idea how many people say that.”

  Thirty minutes later, his car was parked in the lot and he was in a luxurious suite with Moroccan décor and the biggest bed he’d ever seen. And then there was the view. When he looked out the window, he saw a long stretch of beach bordering the Gulf, smooth waves rippling the surface of the teal water. There were people on the beach, some sitting, some walking. A young boy ran down the beach with a dog following. And, right below him, he could see others on a patio enjoying drinks and conversation.

  He stashed his gear, wondering what to do next. He wasn’t used to having time to do nothing. When he had any free time, he spent it deep sea fishing or getting his exercise doing sexual calisthenics with the female of the moment.

  Female of the moment. Doesn’t that just make me sound like the biggest jackass in the world.

  The problem was, in twenty-three, no almost twenty-four years, he hadn’t found a woman he cared to spend more than two days with. After all these years, he still had a hard time accepting the fact he’d never been able to get in contact with Bailey George, the only woman who’d captured his heart. And, it seemed, despite the distance of miles and years, had never let it go.

  I never should have let her talk me into leaving for Alaska without her. That was a damn fucking mistake.

  Except, at the time, what she’d said had made sense.

  “Go to Alaska, Zack. Get settled in the job and in the apartment and then we’ll make plans from there.”

  She somehow forgot to tell him she’d gotten a new cell phone number he couldn’t seem to get from anyone. Not even her family. Or that none of their mutual friends seemed to have it. Or that, when he took to letter writing as a last resort, she’d never answer them. Too bad that was before the days of Facebook and all those online places.

  Of course, he’d probably be blocked and accused of being a stalker. He’d just missed her so damn much. The apartment Nate had for him was neat and clean, and someone had actually decorated it to give it a homey feel. Every night when he’d gone to bed, he could visualize Bailey in there with him. Of course, visualizing Bailey in bed with him led to other problems that unfortunately he had to take care of himself. Taking himself in hand wasn’t nearly as pleasurable.

  He was glad the charter service was busy enough he didn’t have much time to brood. He flew every assignment Nate threw at him, careful to make sure he got the required hours of sleep in between trips. But hell, he missed Bailey so damn fucking much. Missed her warm body next to his and her smile in the morning and at the end of the day. Her great sense of humor. Her smarts. And god, he missed her in his bed, sharing off-the-charts sex with him.

  After a while, the pain in his heart subsided to a dull ache, one that he grew so accustomed to it became part of his body. Time passed and, after a while, he just gave up. He’d thought about searching for her online, wondering if she’d finished law school and gotten a job she liked. Or gotten married. Or both. But, deciding he was better off not knowing, he’d made a supreme effort to put her out of his mind.

  Yeah, that hadn’t worked so well. Twenty-four years after he’d left for Alaska to realize his dream, he still saw her everyplace he looked—in another woman’s walk, another woman’s smile, another woman’s gestures. Sometimes it really drove him nuts that, at his age, he still hadn’t gotten over her, a woman who’d written him off without so much as a word of explanation.

  Okay, idiot. You can sit up here all day beating your head against the wall, or you can go out and mingle and whatever and try to relax. He’d go downstairs, check out the bar, and see what kind of stuff went on here at the Casa Blanca Resort and Spa.

  The patio overlooking the Gulf was also pretty jammed, but Zack managed to grab a small table in one corner. He’d barely settled in his seat before a waitress appeared.

  “Welcome to Casa Blanca,” she said and handed him a gaily decorated drink menu folder. “We have some drink specials today you might want to check out before you order. On the other side is a list of local craft beers that we stock.”

  “Yeah?” He flipped the card over.

  “And if you wait ten minutes, you’ll be in happy hour, and you can have twice as much fun.”

  Zack laughed. “That’s quite a sales pitch.”

  “Thanks.” She grinned at him. “I do my best.”

  “I think I’ll just have a Coors.” He handed the card back to her. “Not very adventurous, I know.”

  “The Coors people might not agree.” She made a note on her pad. “Coors it is.”

  She was back in short order, carrying two frosty bottles and a tall beer glass, also frosted.

  “I see you stretched the happy hour wire for me,” he joked. “Thanks. And I don’t need the glass. Too much of a barbarian, I guess.”

  “It’s okay. We like barbarians here, too. Can I interest you in some bar snacks? Our chef makes some shrimp and chicken bites to die for.”

  “I think I’ll pass for the moment. Save my appetite for dinner.”

  “You won’t be sorry. Our chef is worth his weight in gold. Well, just wave at me when you need another drink.”

  “Thanks.”

  Zack lifted one of the bottles of beer and took a long swallow. The icy liquid felt good sliding down his throat. He handle realized how thirsty he was. And since he wasn’t flying again for a couple of days, he could afford to indulge. He leaned back in his chair and looked around.

  As he’d figured, most of the people were coupled up. However, three tables held groups of women, laughing over their dri
nks. Zack didn’t remember the last time he’d just sat and done nothing. Not since he’d flown off to join his uncle. In Alaska, there was always something to do. That didn’t get any better when he moved the company to Atlanta and most of the responsibility fell on his shoulders.

  Or maybe it was just that he chose to fill every minute of his time so he wouldn’t have a lot left over for thinking. Alaska had been wild and exciting and adventurous, but there was still a hole he couldn’t seem to fill. Atlanta was different, but the emptiness was still there. And sometimes he wondered if he’d made a mistake. After all the years with the wide-open spaces in Alaska, the big city was giving him claustrophobia.

  He tilted his head back to take another swallow of beer, and a memory flashed across his brain. He and Bailey had been sitting on the floor of the tiny living room in their tiny apartment. The day had been hotter than hell, and the air conditioning wasn’t always reliable. He’d picked up cold chicken and beer for dinner, and they were having their own little picnic.

  Bailey had picked up her drink, tilted her head back and taken a long, slow swallow. He could see the sexy line of her neck and the flex of her throat muscles as she swallowed. Unable to help himself, he’d leaned over and licked the length of her neck, a slow swipe of his tongue. Bailey shivered at his touch, so he did it again. Before he knew it, he’d put the beer aside and had her flat on her back, her T-shirt off, and he was tasting every bit of her body.

  God. She’d tasted like the finest ambrosia, a taste that—

  Stop it!

  He couldn’t keep torturing himself this way. Damn it. After twenty-four years, he should have gotten past this. To distract himself, he shifted his gaze to the interior of the hotel. The doors to the patio were wide open, giving him a clear view of everyone moving around inside. It was almost like a movie set, he thought, with the magnificent architecture, the gorgeous Moroccan wood and wall hangings in the lobby, the people in their resort clothes. If he did nothing else, for three days he could enjoy himself people watching.