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Chapter One

"The weather in Ibiza is currently a very pleasant twenty-five degrees and it's forecast to be a beautiful day On behalf of your captain and all of the cree'd like to thank you for flying with us today and wish you a safe onward journey"

The overhead seatbelt lights winked off as the air hostess ers jostled to retrieve over-stuffed bags, over-excited children and general detritus in the tight space of the cramped cabin

He waited in silence as a stag party in various states of inebriation and hastily scrawled-on t-shirts filed haphazardly along the central aisle, not prepared to enter the testosterone scruet to their next beer

Last off the plane, he briefly met the heavily aze from the flare of interest he saw spark there Time was, he'd have appreciated that, but tis to a man Jaded him

He er to leave the jet, but he was the first to leave the airport He walked right past the luggage carousel with his holdall slung over his shoulder, all of his worldly possessions in that one old kit bag

Ducking into the nearest cab, he flung the holdall onto the rear seat next to him and leaned forward to the driver

"Anywhere"

The dark-eyed taxi driver's brows pulled together and he studied his passenger’s face for a few seconds, sizing hie

Horong first impressions can be

"San Antonio?" he suggested, his English heavily accented "Party?"

His passenger shook his head The last things he needed right noere the brash lights and pulsating party heart of the island’s famed dance capital

"Somewhere quiet"

He noticed the driver’s brows flicker down again as he regarded hi ine, his mind made up He threw the car into the erratic traffic around the airport without further enquiry

Glad of the silence, the passenger leaned his head back against the sun-warmed seat and watched the Ibizan landscape unfold as they reen pine trees against vivid blue skies Late spring New beginnings

As they rounded a bend and started to descend to the coast, the curve of an i turquoise water fringed by sugar-white sands - it was a picture postcard, the kind of ie used to lure tourists to part with their money for an annual week of sun-soaked bliss

They dropped down to sea level, and the driver tracked along the sandy road that backed the beach

"Vadella," the driver said, catching his passenger's eye in the rear view mirror "Quiet"

His passenger nodded, grateful A handful of restaurants and a couple of bars dotted the beach, set back fro of sun-worshippers and football-playing kids occupied the sands Out in the bay, a few boats lazed in the Mediterranean sun, the sea barely showing a ripple It was as good a place as any

"Beer?"

The waitress behind the bar had that casual European sophistication; lithe limbed and olive skinned, her knotted, wide necked T-shirt revealing a tattoo on her exposed shoulder She looked up and greeted hi hie, frosted glass down in front of him when he nodded, and he sat on the wicker bar stool and drank deeply, closing his eyes with satisfaction as the cold, fortifying liquid slipped down his throat She was still watching hiain, her head on one side, the s around her mouth

"On holiday?"