Deborah Brown - Madison Westin 07 - Kidnapped in Paradise (4 page)

“Sort of felt sorry for him,” Brad said. “He looked a mess. He had a stained white dress shirt to go with his flood pants, and worn loafers so big they banged the concrete when he walked. I
’
d say he was trash diving again and couldn’t find everything in one can.”

“Court date? Did you help him get bail?” Fab asked me.

I shook my head, having no clue what they were talking about. I was just happy that my phone hadn’t rung in the middle of the night, with Crum on the other end asking for a ride home. I
’
d already informed the regular jail-goers that free rides from lockup were now during business hours only.

“Stupid ass!” Brad snorted, then explained to me. “Crum decided to lie on a bench in the boat launch area off Hyacinth, reading last week
’
s newspaper. The sheriff drove up and asked for ID, which he didn’t have. Despite being early afternoon, he got written up for loitering. Either Crum didn’t know he was sitting on the drug dealer bench, or he copped his infamous snotty attitude, and the sheriff didn’t like being treated like gum on his boot.”

“I warned him not to cop a ‘tude with the judge and remain calm,”
Liam said.

“Gave Crum my number in case he gets locked up and needs bail,” Brad elbowed me lightly. “If you can pick your drunk friends up, how hard can it be?”

“Good to know. I’ll start referring the middle-of-the-night calls to you,” I said.

“I told the professor that if he gets locked up, he should put my name on his approved visitors list. How cool would that be?” Liam looked excited.

I knew he wanted to go visit the jail, since he found out I
’
d done it more than a few times. I never mentioned that I could arrange a visit; his mother would flip.

“I
’
m leaving tomorrow, going out on a short run on the boat,” Brad said.

Liam didn’t
look happy.

“I
’
m thinking about hanging up my nets,” he continued, giving Liam a teasing glance. “If we
’
re going to be a family, I’ll have to take on the job of making sure you don’t get in any trouble,
so I’ll
need to be around.”
      

“You can also keep Mother out of trouble,”
I laughed.

Since all of us Westins had relocated to Florida, we were closer than ever, which meant, for the most part, that we meddled in each other’s love lives.

“Now that we
’
re getting good write-ups, the reservations are rolling in,” Brad said. “Crum deals with the day-to-day, keeps the place cleaned up. He
’
s forbidden to fix anything, though, after I caught him trying to fix a leaky pipe with tape. He has to call my handyman. Best of all, he doesn’t take any crap. We had a couple of loud, drunken guests. Twice he told them to shut it up, and then manhandled them off the property. He
’
s eccentric, but the guests tolerate him and don’t seem to notice that he stomps around in his underwear.”

“Crum gets someone he can’t handle, tell him to call me,” Fab offered. “I’ll come over and shoot them. Problem solved.”

She made a finger gun, giving Brad a wink. As long as I’ve known Fab, she rarely resorted to shooting a person––she always had something much more clever planned.

“Mother and I both would love to have you around all the time. Give you a chance to bond with Spoon,” I said to Brad.

Jimmy Spoon was Mother
’
s younger boyfriend by ten years; a reformed bad boy. She told me he always listened and made her laugh. Brad would have to get over the fact that he was hot and sexy and not a retired businessman with a paunch.

Brad grimaced
. “I
’
m busy bonding with Creole and Didier. Your boyfriends don’t fool around when it comes to their workouts. I thought I
’
d puke after the last bike ride. Smartass that I am, I said, ‘Sure I
’
m good for fifty miles,
’
instead of admitting it had been a while since I
’
d been on bike other than to ride around the beach.”

An SUV blew into the driveway, skidding up to where we stood. An attractive blonde jumped out with tape recorder and camera in hand.

“So much for journalists being dumpy old men with a pencil behind their ear,” I whispered to Brad.

“Behave,” he shushed me. “You
’
re watching the black and white movies again.”

“Nice legs,” Liam checked her out.

“I noticed that,” Brad said.

“
So sorry
, we have to leave.” I waited for a response but Brad and Liam had turned their attention to their guest. 

* * *

“Hey, Boss!” Phil, the bartender, waved when I walked through the door of Jake
’
s.

As soon as I bought out the previous owner, number one on the to-do list was having the run-down bar disinfected. Then I’d turned my attention to making it a fun place to drink and eat, adding big screen televisions, a juke box, and a game room, which was currently used for poker by Mother and her friends. She had total control and a strict invitation-only policy and, as long as it made money for the house, I didn’t feel compelled to complain.

All the seats at the bar were currently occupied by locals, mostly men who hung on the curvy, blonde bartender
’
s every word. Two women sat on the end in front of video game machines that Mother had brought in. The machines were an instant hit.

I put a tray together with glasses, ice, and a pitcher of tea for Fab and me. While she stayed in the driveway smiling at her phone and speaking in French, I checked my cell phone for any missed messages and went out to the deck. I sought out my favorite corner table, the one with the best view of the inlet of water that ran along the property’s edge.

I wondered about Jax and why I hadn’t heard from him; silence from him wasn’t a good thing. I called his number, but it went straight to voicemail. I didn’t know how much trouble he was in, but sometimes the best choice was to pack up and clear the state line before anyone came looking. He wouldn’t be the first person to choose that problem-
solving technique.

Fab blew in like a mini hurricane. Most of the men stopped mid-sip to look at her lithe body, not realizing those legs could kick a man to the ground in the blink of an eye, and that they
’
d be lucky if that was all she did. She wouldn’t think twice about kneeing them between the legs.

I poured her a glass of tea.

“
So we’
re divorcing?”

“You
’
re my new assistant.” She gave me one of her creepy smiles; it no longer bothered me, but most people found the look unnerving.

“An assistant you keep in the dark,” I sniffed. “I want overtime, hazard pay, and paid vacation.”

“Just as long as you know who
’
s boss.”

I laughed at her. W
hen she started getting in trouble,
I’
d be easy compared to Didier and Creole.

She scowled at me.

“Don’t worry about Gunz. You won’t be seeing him around much. I told him if he gets caught doing anything illegal, he
’s out.
”

She tapped my glass with hers and smiled.

Chapter 4

“Since this is your first 'corporate’ client,” I said as I made air quotes, “why are we skulking around in the middle of the night?”

Fab stared intently at the road as she flew up the interstate, getting closer to Fort Lauderdale. It hadn’t been hard for the two of us to leave the house at almost midnight without questions. Creole worked erratic hours, mostly at night, and Didier had a business meeting in New York and wouldn’t be home until the morning.

Fab blasted her horn at a car wanting to slide in and share the same lane.

“My client had the hot idea of me subbing in for the receptionist who
’
s going on vacation. No amount of explanation could convince him I would suck at the job. Mostly, I didn’t want to be humiliated by getting fired on the first day,” she grimaced. “So I decided to take care of business before I got stuck reporting for a desk job.”

I bit down on my lip to keep from laughing. Fab sucked at customer service. It wouldn’t take long for her to turn surly and rude.

“So whatever we
’
re doing is Plan B?”

She nodded.

“I tweaked the game plan a little. Thought I would tell the client after I got the job done. Once I get tossed as the worst temp ever, it will be difficult to come back and snoop around.”

Fab cut around an old junker car, coming a hair
’
s breadth from removing what was left of the front bumper. The driver, a twenty-something, was either incredibly short or scrunched down in his seat, his head barely clearing the top of the steering wheel. Apparently, he had no sense of humor; he stuck his middle finger out the window.

“You showed him whose is bigger,”
I chuckled.

“Back to business,” she snapped her finger. “I
’ve
already staked out the office and the entire building. The surrounding area is all high-rise office buildings, restaurants, and a dead zone on the weekends. Their security system is lame. I can bypass it in seconds after picking the lock. I’ll be in and out in less than a half hour. They
’ll
never know I snooped through their offices.”

Fab suffered insomnia when Didier left town, which made this a perfect opportunity to do some night-time sleuthing.

As we drove, Fab told me that her client was a commercial real estate developer who'd lost every deal he tried to put together in the last year. In some cases, he'd been outbid by as little as a few hundred dollars, always to the same broker and his client, an anonymous corporation. Not a man to believe in coincidence, Fab's client felt certain it had to be someone from his office feeding the crucial information, and he wanted proof. If it wasn’t a mole, then he still wanted the person responsible. There were only three other people that had access to the confidential information, all believed to be trusted colleagues.

Fab was dressed like a burglar in form-fitting blue jeans, a long-sleeved shirt, and tennis shoes. She had her long hair tucked under a plain baseball cap. And then there were her accessories: Fab never left home without her lock pick and her Walther.

Surprisingly, Fab didn’t do her usual driving trick of waiting until the last second to exit the freeway before cutting diagonally across three lanes of traffic. Once we were off the ramp, she maneuvered the deserted streets. She found the place with ease and parked around the corner on the opposite side of the street.

“
Wait here,
” Fab directed. “If the cops or anyone else shows up, text me, and you get out of here. When I get to a safe place, I’ll call you.”

I slid across the seat and moved the SUV closer to the corner, giving me an unobstructed view of the two intersecting streets in both directions. I whipped a paper map out of the console and created a cover story to memorize for why I would be sitting in a darkened auto in the middle of the night. I would blame it on the surly voice of the GPS woman—she was in a bad mood and had given me bad directions.

I tried not to check the time every few minutes, but I couldn’t resist. I managed to keep my eyes on the five-story building across the street. Eighteen long minutes later, Fab darted out of the building on the far side, a young man in a security guard uniform giving chase right behind her.

How did she not know about him?
I wondered.

Good thing Fab was in excellent physical shape and not a bad runner. I watched as her hat flew off and her hair cascaded out behind her, but she just continued to pound the pavement. We
’
d made a pact to stay out of jail, so getting arrested and being charged with breaking and entering, or worse, couldn’t happen
.