Deborah Brown - Madison Westin 07 - Kidnapped in Paradise (2 page)

Didier’
s pale blue eyes stared icily as his foot shot out and kicked Jax
’s chair.

“Don’t leave out the part where you tried to break in like a common, vulgar criminal.” Didier’s
black
hair
was disheveled and standing on end, though it only made him sexier, if that were possible.

“Babe….” Jax winked and slowly perused my body, stopping to ogle my breasts before returning to my eyes. “I
’
m still tied up.”

Creole snarled at him.

“Please,” I mouthed to Creole. I really didn’t want any ass-kicking going on in my living room.

“Oh, brother,” Jax rolled his eyes. “What the heck has happened to you? I thought the last boyfriend was a jerk, but this Neanderthal…. Your taste in men has gone downhill since our split.”

I couldn’t help myself. I laughed at his audacity. Jax must have forgotten that his husband skills completely blew, the cheating not the least of it.

“You might want to keep in mind you
’
re not untied yet,” I said, crossing my arms.

Fab jumped up and jerked open a drawer in a side table, removing a switchblade knife.

“
Let me,
” she said with an unnerving grin. She closed the space between her and Jax, holding the knife out and running her finger along the blade for him to inspect.

“You
’
re crazy!” he yelled. He tried to lean away and tottered in the chair, barely saving himself from falling to the floor and taking the chair with him. “Why aren’t you on medication?”

“No blood on my hardwood floor,” I admonished Fab.

Fab handed me the knife, and I sliced through the rope with no mess.

“Now that I
’
m back,” Jax said, shaking his arms to get the blood circulating again, “we should talk reconciliation. We’ve missed you.”

“We?” Creole raised his brow and looked around.

Fab snickered.

“He named his…uh…,” she pointed downward. “Mr. Sir.”

Both Creole and Didier laughed.

Knowing Jax was about to give Fab provocation to kick his ass, I jumped in front of him.

“How
’
s your family?” Without waiting for an answer, I said, “Let
’
s go outside and sit by the pool.”

“Sit down,” Creole bellowed and pointed at Jax. “I want to know why you were lurking around and what you want. Even better, I want to know when you’re leaving.”

Jax sneered at both men and made himself at home on the daybed/couch, stretching out. At six feet, he was the shortest of the three men. His brown hair was
sun bleached
and lighter than I remembered.

Jax scooped up my hundred-year-old, long-haired black cat, Jazz, who
’
d just sauntered in from his food bowl. The cat stretched out on his chest and went to sleep. Animals and children loved Jax. He’d wanted custody of Jazz in the divorce, and I laughed in his face.

Jax would have gotten bored the first time the cat showed him his tail, showing off how insufferably spoiled he
’
d become from having the four of us to do his bidding. Jazz had certain expectations that had to be met or howling would ensue. The loud racket turned out to be quite an effective motivator.

Creole lowered his voice, explaining to Fab and me that Jax had woken Didier while he’d been lying on the couch. Jax had jerked the handles of the French doors and tried to force open the windows.

“Too stupid to notice they had locks,”
Didier
said with a smirk. The model had his best friend and workout partner on speed dial; he’d called Creole to ask whether he should wait until the prowler got in the house to shoot him. Creole told Didier to hold off unless the prowler actually got inside and promised that he
’
d be there in under five minutes.

At first Didier had been resistant to learning how to shoot. Then Fab bribed Didier to go to the gun range for target practice, and he quickly became her star pupil.

Jax blew me a kiss and patted the space next to him. I ignored him and sat in the chair he’d vacated.

“Are you in trouble?” I asked, knowing the answer had to be yes. Although we had remained amicable, helped along by rarely speaking to one another, I suspected his reason for being here was because my most appealing trait to him was that I could be helpful in a tight spot.

“I
’
m back in the Keys on a business deal. Thought I
’d stop by,
” he said, his eyes gauging the reaction of everyone in the room.

I could feel Fab
’
s eyes rolling, but I refrained from looking at her. Creole and Didier didn’t know him but I
’
d bet his slow response, as though he had to think up an answer, wouldn’t pass
Creole’s detective sniff test.

“Let me translate: a drug deal or some other illegal deal went bad. You
’
re being hunted, and you need a place to hide out. Does that sum it up?” I smiled sweetly at him, knowing he wasn’t
selling hymnals door to door.

“You know I turned my life around. No drinking, no drugs. Been sober for a while and I like it that way.” He reached out to touch me and I twisted away. He managed to grasp a lock of my hair that I wrestled away. My long red hair looked good today, and I had low humidity to thank.

“I do need a place to stay for a few days,” he continued.

Creole had paid attention to every word out of Jax
’
s mouth, but at the last he shot to his feet in protest.

“Not happening! Sleep in your car, under your bicycle, or on the beach, I don’t care. Don’t step one foot on this property again without an invitation.”

Jax rolled his eyes down Creole
’
s torn jeans, coming to rest on his dirty feet.

“He
’
s disgusting,” Jax said.

When one consorted with drug dealers for a living, dress was casual and precluded him from wearing a suit to sit in a dark, seedy bar working out the details for an illegal transaction. Often times he got arrested, and one of the detectives on his team would give him a free ride back to his office in a warehouse at an undisclosed location.

“You made a friend or two the last time you were here. Go stay with one of them.” I walked over and sat next to Creole and put my hand on his thigh, a gentle reminder that bodily harm to Jax wasn’t
worth
it.

Jax set Jazz aside, letting him have the pillow, as he
stood.

“I really would like to talk to you…,” he paused, looking around, “alone. Can we go outside?”

I looked at Creole. His expression said that he didn’t like the idea, but nodded anyway.

“Text me where you are staying and I’ll come by in the morning,” I whispered, looping my arm in Jax
’
s and walked him to the front door. We stood on the front step. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah.” He smiled, his dimple deepening. “I just need a friend. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

He started down the driveway, then came back and hugged me. “It
’
s really good to see you.”

He disappeared down the driveway. I stood for a moment and heard a car start a house or two away. The hairs on the back of my neck tingled…always a bad sign that I tried not to ignore.

I walked back in the house, shutting the door. I found Fab standing there, apparently spying through the peephole. She pulled me into the living room. The look on her face told me she hadn’t heard a word.

Creole raised his eyebrows. I hated that everyone stared at me.

“He didn’t say anything.” I practically sprinted into Creole
’
s open arms.
      

Fab broke the silence. “I know what will make you feel better. Tomorrow, I have a surprise for you,” she said, eluding Didier as he reached for her, a frown on his face.

Creole groaned and I wrinkled my nose.

“No, thanks. You know I hate surprises.”

Didier managed to drag Fab back onto his lap and whisper something in her ear, which she ignored.

“This one you
’
re going to love.”

“If that were the truth, you
’
d tell me now.”
 

Chapter 2

Fab and I sat at the power table on the sidewalk at The Bakery Café; the last table at the far end of the walkway, where we could watch everything that happened. I informed Fab that I would need a large caffeinated drink to fortify myself for her surprise. Both of us kicked back in our work attire, enjoying the last of a cinnamon roll. For me, “work attire” included a short skirt, just long enough to cover the Glock holstered at my thigh. For Fab, mid-thigh shorts, showing off her ridiculously long legs. Plenty of room for the Walther shoved into the back of her waistband.

“Where did Creole go so early?” Fab asked, checking out every single person walking by as though they were wanted with a big reward posted.

“Work-related. He got a text and left. It
’
s pretty annoying, since I had plans to start the morning in a different way.”

Fab laughed at me without an ounce of compassion. She reached in her pocket and pushed a business card across the table.

“FM Associates,” she told me, even as I read the words.

She had finally decided to make it official; she was starting her own business. She’d had a private investigator license for longer than I
’
d known her. I worked under Brick
’s license, not
yet having accumulated enough hours for my own. When we worked for Brick, all the good jobs, which meant guns and danger, went to Fab. Brick funneled the missing dog jobs, and the occasional misplaced remains of a loved one, my way. My main function was to serve as back-up and try to put the brakes on anything ridiculously dangerous. So far I had so-so success with reining in my daredevil friend.

“Is this your surprise?” I asked, admiring the black card with gold lettering.

The two of us had business cards, but we could never come up with a name. All it had was a phone number, which meant the cards garnered quite a few unprofessional
comments
.

“There
’
s more. Come on.” She pulled me out of my chair and back to the SUV parked at the curb.

Fab drove like a maniac, but as usual she managed to get us everywhere in one piece. It surprised me when she turned into the parking lot of Jake
’
s, a bar that I owned, along with the rest of the block, on the south side of the road through town. I bought out the bar’s namesake as he was fleeing the Keys, a handful of debt collectors that wanted him dead on his heels. It didn’t matter that Jake couldn’t pay; the collector would use his death as a teaching tool. An occasional grisly death served as a deterrent to other non-payers.

Jake
’
s was a tiki-themed dive bar that served the best Mexican food in the Cove. The rest of the block consisted of the recently remodeled Trailer Court, an old deserted gas station, and Twinkie Princesses––a roach coach that served fried food, or so the sign said. I
’
d never seen it open for business, but they paid their rent on time.

My eyes shot to the far side of the property, and my mouth dropped open at the sight of an old lighthouse sitting where a car wash used to be.

“What in the hell?” I shrieked. “Where did that come from?”