Deborah Brown - Madison Westin 07 - Kidnapped in Paradise (26 page)

“We
’
ve proven we can take care of ourselves and be useful to law enforcement all at the same time!” Fab blasted him.

“
I
don’t think Mother
’
s house is a good idea,” Brad spoke up. “What about black cat hair on her white furniture?”

She’d flip!
I thought.

“Jazz does not get foisted off on someone just because it
’
s convenient to you.” I struggled to remain calm. “I approve wherever he goes, and that list is extremely short.”

Jazz must have heard his name and sauntered into the kitchen. With all these people standing so close to the refrigerator, he probably thought he might get lucky. I picked him up and nuzzled his neck. Fab reached into the refrigerator, pulling out a butcher paper-wrapped treat. He meowed at the top of his lungs.

Didier hugged Fab. “You two need to listen. It is not acceptable if either of you ends up hurt or dead. This way, you
’
ll both remain safe.”

“We could call Mother and see how she votes,” Brad said. “I can tell you, she hasn’t wanted you to stay here since the head incident.”

Fab walked into the living room, and threw herself on the couch.

“Don’t you think you could have consulted us and not just ordered us around?” I asked.

“Sorry I forgot my party manners, but your life is on the line!” Creole yelled.

Didier said something in French, and Creole calmed somewhat.

I set Jazz on the floor and flopped on the daybed.

“They do this all the time,” I told Brad. “They
’
re rude and never translate.”

Brad kicked my foot and sat down next to me, leaving Creole to sit in a chair.

Didier said something to Fab in French. She erupted, and they started yelling at one another. Creole smirked, so I knew Didier was winning that argument.

Creole and Didier spoke three languages, Fab two, and I knew a handful of bad words in various languages.

“How many languages do you speak?” I asked Brad.

He smacked my leg.

“Five or six,” he chuckled. “All dirty words, courtesy of the professor.

Fab took her phone over to the patio door. “Mac will take care of Jazz. I gave her instructions and told her if anything happened to him, I really will kill her. She
’
s to spoil him and never ignore his meows.”

My eyes teared up. Jazz would love lying in Mac
’
s big lap while she devoured one of her romance novels. “She
’
s okay with cats?”

“Mac said not to worry, animals like her. She was honored to be asked. I told her she was our first choice.”

“
I
don’t want to go anywhere,” I whined. “You go to Miami. I’ll stay here and barricade myself in and shoot trespassers.”

“There is a second option,” Brad said. “I
’
m getting ready to pull out on a fishing trip.”

The thought of being out on the open ocean, water churning around... or worse, getting caught in a storm, the sides of the boat battered from every direction, made me queasy. 

I felt ganged up on. Fab
’
s complacency and silence on the subject annoyed me. It was hard for me to believe she wanted to be locked up somewhere, being told what she could and couldn’t
do.

“Let
’s pack.
” I swept past her, picked up Jazz and kissed him until he meowed with annoyance.

“No electronics,” Creole yelled after me.

I pulled out a black leather overnight backpack, a gift from Fab. The special part was that it had a false bottom. My aunt had installed a wall safe that I discovered when I removed a painting one day to hang one of my own. Luckily, she had used the same code on everything. The safe originally held a couple pieces of jewelry, which I gave to Mother, and some cash which I'd split with my brother. I refilled the safe with a stack of cash in different denominations, two guns, gifts from Brad, and several throwaway phones with minute cards.

I lifted the cover in the bottom of the bag, then took everything out of the safe and stashed it in the bag, along with a box of ammunition. No one knew I liked to hoard cash, but I had made a game of it since high school. Before replacing the lid, I put my notepad on top. I didn’t worry about Fab because I knew she kept her bag pre-packed with pretty much the same things.

I threw in a couple of jean skirts with plenty of pockets, several t-shirts, underwear and a pair of tennis shoes in addition to another pair of flip-flops. It overwhelmed me looking in the bag, knowing I only had a change of clothing for a few days. And then what? How long would we be hidden away? I hated unanswered questions.

Looking down at my flirty skirt, I decided a change of wardrobe was in order. I peeled off the skirt and tossed it on the bed in exchange for my favorite comfort outfit, my crop sweats. I wasn’t sure what to wear while hiding out, but these seemed like an easy choice, and I slipped into them with glee.

Creole opened the bedroom door as I was about to toss my bathing suit into my bag.

“
You won’t
need that,” he said. “You two won’t be staying at the beach.”

“Of course not,” I mumbled.
Why should it be anywhere fun?

I threw my toiletries in a separate bag, holding my breath as I glanced over my shoulder and saw Creole look in the bag. He didn’t dig around inside, but he did check the side pockets.

I zipped the bag. “Where are we going?”

He didn’t
answer me.

I followed him downstairs and wondered if our relationship would survive. I checked the furniture. “Where
’s Jazz?
”

“Didier is taking him to Mac.”

Brad had also snuck out the door. No hug, no kiss, only a pat on the head when he sat next to me.

Men!

I hated all of the decision-making on my behalf. It would have been nice to know Jazz was leaving, since he
’
d been with me longer than anyone in the house. Creole glared at me in cop mode, and I had zero appreciation for his high-handed techniques.

I knew this was for my safety and Fab
’
s. I just wanted to be consulted. Zapping away my decisions stung, and he looked too damn comfortable in this new role. This was my first taste of protective custody, where the agent in charge told you what to do and you just did it. I struggled to control my temper and drop the surliness.

Fab
’
s continued lack of opinion astounded me. It must be that Didier or Fab had another plan. As long as I
’
d known Fab, she didn’t take direction at all.

“Before you ask,” Creole said. “Didier took the Hummer. When he
’s
done
,
he
’
s dropping it off at Spoon
’
s auto body shop, where it will be stored until you get back. It
’
s not like it
s
some old Buick; it sticks out and is well-known around town.”

“Does Fab know we
’
re taking the Mercedes?” I asked.

Fab stood at top of the stairs listening to the conversation, bag in hand. She had a pinched look on her face, as though struggling to control her irritation. So she wasn’t just going along with the plan, not as much
as I had thought.

Creole stood in the middle of the living room, his eyes shifting between the two of us. “I’ll be driving you.”

“Let me get this straight!” Fab yelled. “You
’
re going to take us to some undisclosed location and leave us with no ride, no phones, and no electronics? For how damn long?” She stomped down the stairs, ending up in front of Creole, glaring.

At long last, there was the explosion. The angry words were sweetness to my ears, as I agreed with every one of them.

Creole pasted a patient look on his face, prepared for her tirade, probably wondering what took so long. He picked up two phones off the coffee table and handed one to me and the other to Fab, which she jerked out of his hand.

“My number is programmed in,” he said.

“So if something goes wrong, we have to hope you answer your phone and that the call doesn’t go to voicemail. Oh, and the big one, that you show up in time,” Fab protested.

Fab stepped away from him and caught my raised eyebrow. She marched out of the house ahead of me and climbed into the back seat, which she never did, and I silently questioned her. She shrugged, saving her energy for a confrontation she could win.

“My house? My plants?” I asked.

“I
’
ve got it handled," Creole said. As he climbed behind the steering wheel, he handed me his phone. I looked at the screen, and it showed a picture of Mother.

“I guess you know,” I said to her.

“I
’
m not happy either, but I love you and want you to be safe. Brad called and told me. We both want you safe.” Mother made a kissy noise. “Don’t be so hard on Creole; he
’
s doing what he
’
s trained to do.”

“I love you back.”

“You
’
re a lot like me,” she said with a laugh. “So try and behave for as long as you can. Hopefully it will be over soon. Pass the phone to Fab.”

I handed it over the seat.

She covered the phone and kept her voice down. I never heard the exotic Fabiana make a kissy noise before, and yet she did to Mother. It pleased me as much as I knew it would Mother. Fab handed the phone back. I looked at the screen and the call had been disconnected.

“No goodbye?” I looked at Fab.

“I’ll tell you later what she said.”

I wanted to put my head back against the seat and close my eyes, but I needed to pay attention so I knew exactly where we were going. I decided that for the moment I would change my attitude. I wanted to live, so I
’
d cooperate.
 

Chapter 31

Creole turned off at Conch Key. A few turns later, after passing a couple of drunks asleep on benches, he turned onto a side street across from a commercial section of the docks. Looking around the mostly vacant cul-de-sac, the ten foot high mountain of clam shells outside the fish businesses caught my eye. Two warehouses stood side by side. The next hurricane winds would blow the wooden one down. 

Creole pulled up in front of a concrete building with an old weathered sign hung by a cord, boasting that it had once been a boat repair place. Withdrawing a remote from the console, Creole pressed a button and the barbed wire fencing parted to let us into the parking area. Another touch of the button, and a ground-to-roof steel door rolled up. Creole drove in, letting the door close automatically behind us.
      

Creole turned on his headlights. The two-story building appeared to be empty. The only other exits were a door at the back of the building and a small, grimy window that barely let any light in. A steep set of steps led up to the second level, a single metal door at the top.

“This is creepy,” I said, not wanting to get out of the truck. In my new spirit of cooperation, I took Creole
’
s hand as he helped me to the ground. He reached into the back and grabbed our bags.

Fab pushed me in front of her as I followed Creole reluctantly up the metal stairs. I hated stairs, especially steep ones. I gripped the skinny pole railing and started up, counting each step. Forty-four in all.