Last Track, The Read Online Free PDF Page A

planning an article about the experience. She’d love an insider’s perspective on the daily operations.”
    “Fantastic! Free publicity,” Erich said. “My business partner will appreciate that. I’ll definitely find Jessica.” He paused. “Excuse me, but I have to go. Stop by the front desk any time after breakfast for your key. And let me know about the plane ride. The seats fill up fast.”
    “Absolutely,” Mike said. From the decanters on the tray, a most welcome scent wafted through the air. “That smells like the good stuff.” For emphasis, Mike gestured toward the tray.
    “Fresh-ground Jamaica Blue Mountain,” Erich said with pride. “The water is triple-filtered and stored at room temperature. The whole beans are packed in airtight containers, then refrigerated. We grind seconds before brewing.”
    Mike nodded his approval. He would fill his cup as soon as the drip finished. While there were many preparation techniques for coffee, to Mike this was the best he had ever heard. Especially the bit about refrigerating the beans. Coffee lovers often froze whole beans to make them last longer—an unfortunate decision. Subzero temperatures degraded the natural oils, tainting the flavor.
    Alone, Mike enjoyed the serenity of the early morning. The quiet offered a chance to appreciate the landscape, and take a moment for himself. In the background, a set of twin mountain caps, peaks frosted with snow, thrust high above the horizon. Last night, lost in the check-in process, he had overlooked them. Now he appreciated their magnificence.
    Barely a sip into Mike’s third cup, a man stormed through the living area in the lodge. A woman chased behind, pleading for him to wait. Muttering, the man ignored her, ramming the door back into the frame.
    The woman stopped on the porch, watching her husband thunder across the parking lot. He stormed the main gate.
    She hesitated on the porch as if unsure whether to pursue, wait, or break down. She looked like a substitute teacher—very nice, very accommodating, yet forever in transition.
    Mike witnessed the exchange from a bench on the front porch. An unsettling contrast against such a peaceful backdrop. With a well-practiced pivot, the woman faced the bench. Hours of sobbing had puffed up the skin under her eyes. That was Mike’s guess.
    “Oh, just great,” she said. “I didn’t think anyone was up to see us like this.”
    Mike Brody wasn’t sure if she was talking to him. “I didn’t see anything,” Mike said.
    “You’re a terrible liar.” A spot-on assessment Mike concurred with silently. She added, “I apologize for my husband. We have a family emergency.”
    “I’m sorry to hear that.”
    “You remind me of someone.” She brushed off a tear.
    “I’m sure it’s just a coincidence,” Mike said.
    “Let’s go!” yelled the burly man.
    She tore off as if any further conversation was forbidden.
    08:12:22 AM
    Orientation began inside a building next to the main lodge. A narrow red carpet separated rows of padded seats, the same number of chairs on each side. A state-of-the-art sound system pumped loud rock music with a driving beat. Behind an empty stage, a digital video projector mounted to the ceiling ran a montage of action-based shots. Pictures of families riding horseback, pictures of guests eating meals, pictures of people gathered around campfires at the Pine Woods Ranch. Images advanced, changing in time with the songs.
    Forty guests watched from their chairs, enthralled.
    The screen went black. Massive red and white letters scrolled in from the sides, one line at a time.
     
    Pine Woods Ranch
    Here for YOU
    Because that’s what we do!
     
    The music reached a crescendo, and then faded. Digits replaced the text on the screen. A countdown, complete with the sound effects of a rocket launch. 10 . . . 9 . . . 8 . . . 7 . . . metal rumbled . . . 6 . . . 5 . . . 4 . . . a tone beeped . . . 3 . . . 2 . . . images flashed . . . 1. At liftoff the