Deborah Brown - Madison Westin 07 - Kidnapped in Paradise (5 page)

Just as she was about to sprint around the corner, she stumbled, going down flat on her face. In the next breath, she jumped back on her feet and launched herself forward, the guard still in pursuit. She disappeared from sight onto a side street.

I started the engine and jammed my foot on the gas pedal, making the tires squeal. I rounded the corner to see that the guard had gained ground and was within arm
’
s length of Fab; his hand snaked out to grab her and came up with air. The next time, she might not be so lucky. I sped up, shining the high beams and laying on the horn. After startling the guard, I maneuvered the car into the space between Fab and the guard and released the door locks.

The passenger door flew open and Fab hurled herself inside, landing in a sprawl across the seat. I glanced in my mirror to make sure I hadn’t miscalculated and that the guard was still standing several feet away. I stepped on the accelerator and sped away as the guard fumbled in his pocket. Fab, out of breath, gulped in huge breaths.

She lowered the back of the passenger seat and crawled off the console so that she was lying face down, her butt sticking up awkwardly in the air.

I took off into the night, turning randomly down darkened streets, not sure where I was going. At the light, I recognized the name of the street, knowing it would take us back to the interstate. After making the turn, I kept to the speed limit, not wanting to attract any attention.

Fab
’
s breathing slowly returned to normal.

“It didn’t take long to find the information,” she said at last. “I had finished snooping when I heard someone in the hall. Surprise, and it was on me––a security guard! I scouted this location twice, including the general area, going over every single inch of the building and no guard, and none of the other buildings on this block have one. My client also made a point of telling me that there was no guard. He threw open the door, flipped on the light, and asked, ‘What the hell are you doing in here?
’
”

She paused. “I recovered first from the mutual shock, head butted him, and during those few seconds it took him to stay on his feet, I ran. I kicked open the door to the stairwell and caught a glimpse of him out of the corner of my eye, he was coming fast. Thank goodness for tennis shoes, not my usual strappy sandals, or I would have been running barefoot and been caught for sure.”

Fab's ability to get out of tight spots had always amazed me. I unscrewed the top off my water bottle and handed it to her.

“All the practice I've had sliding down banisters and jumping steps came in handy. I raced down two flights of stairs and jumped the last section banging out the exit,” Fab said, laughing to herself.

I merged onto the interstate and breathed a sigh of relief that we were headed south back to the Cove. And mostly because there were no flashing lights behind us.

Fab downed the water and pitched the bottle into the back seat.

“Thinking this job would be a piece of cake, I didn’t plan an alternate getaway. Last time I ignore that detail! I hit the pavement, not sure of my direction, and focused on not letting the damn guard catch me.  You’ll be proud of me. I only thought briefly about shooting him and was relieved when it registered that the furious honking wasn’t sirens. I knew it had to be you, kind of happy you don’t follow directions.”

I grimaced.
“I guess breaking into an office building isn’t the sure thing that it used to be. Did you get what you needed? Hopefully you don’t have to go back.”

Fab grinned at me and retrieved the micro camera she
’
d tucked into her pocket. She pulled up several images of memos and emails she'd found in a file, which were barely visible from my vantage point.

“I believe I found the mole. Stupid woman left a paper trail.”

“Was it someone in the inner circle?”

Fab shook her head as she continued to admire her handiwork.

“The VP
’
s executive assistant. She
’
s been with him for ten years, and she's also his mistress. She fed the numbers to his competitor, who in turn set up dummy corporations to cover their tracks. According to one memo she’d sent to her co-conspirators, the guard had been hired two days ago. She’d been ballsy enough to hold late night meetings at the office. I wonder what made the company decide to hire a guard?”

“Maybe to keep someone from doing what you just did.” I looked over at her, assessing her torn pants, scraped-up hands and knees, and bleeding arm. “How badly are you hurt?”

Fab shook her head. “Not much. Actually, I
’
m feeling pretty good.”

“It
’
s the adrenaline rush that
’
s got you pumped up. That
’
s why nothing hurts. It
’
s why your mouth is dry, your hands are shaking, and why you
’
re obsessing on the details instead of looking me in the eye.” I shoved more water at her. “Drink this. Put your seat back again. Just lay there and breathe slowly.”

“I see no reason to tell the guys about this, do you?”
Fab worried.

“My new policy: I won’t rat us out—but if Creole asks, I
’
m not lying.”

“Then you’ll give me a heads-up, right?”

Fab hadn’t realized yet that Creole always found out and then shared details with Didier. That man could convince a jury to give a life sentence for littering.

Just once, couldn’t she fess up?
I wondered.

“How do you plan to hide your injuries?” I asked. “Do you need a doctor? I know one I can call in the middle of the night, and there’s always our favorite nurse.”

“Why?” she looked puzzled.

“You must have hit your head, because you
’
re not complaining about my driving.”
 

Chapter 5

The screaming woke me up. I sat upright, disoriented, and looked around, calming somewhat when I realized that I was in my own bed. The morning sunshine streamed through the bedroom window. It took me a minute to realize that I wasn’t dreaming, and in fact it was Mother screaming my name. Fab
’
s bedroom door hit the wall and footsteps sounded in the hall. I tugged on my sweat pants and pulled on a t-shirt before I retrieved my Glock, opened the door, and raced for the stairs.

In the entryway, Didier had his arms around Mother, who was mumbling incoherently. Fab had her Walther cocked as she headed for the front door. She cracked it open, took a peek, and slammed it shut.

“Don’t go out there,” she ordered as she flew back upstairs.

“Why not?” I yelled after her.

Mother looked at me, her cheeks drained of color and her brown eyes round and frightened. “Call Creole. Tell him to get his ass over here now. He’ll know what to do.”

Didier walked Mother over to the couch and I followed. He gave me a brief shake of his head, letting me know he had her under control, and stood with his arms around her. I took a deep breath, trying to control myself.

“What is going on?” I asked.

Maybe the peep hole had answers. I crossed to the front door and looked out into the courtyard, but I didn’t see anything amiss. I picked Mother
’
s phone up off the floor from where she'd dropped it and texted Creole:
9-1-1
. 

The phone rang in my hand just as Fab raced by me and out the door.

“Mother said to get your ass over here,” I told Creole before he could say a word.

I knew his next question would be the same as mine, and I wasn’t going to sound stupid with a lame answer of, “
I don’t
know.” I pulled open the door. First I looked at Fab and then I looked down. Then I screamed.

“
Madison, answer me!
” Creole yelled.

Fab pushed me back into the house and kicked the door shut, taking the phone from my hand and commandeering the conversation.

“Madison is fine. There
’s
a severed head on the front doorstep. The rest of the body appears to be missing.” She hesitated and then handed me back the phone. “He hung up without even a good-bye.”

Fab went outside again and this time came back laden with pink bakery boxes from The Bakery Café that Mother had dropped outside. They appeared to have survived the abuse of being dumped on the ground. I caught the scent of egg soufflé that drifted out of one box. If I knew my mother, the other box had an assortment of breakfast pastries. Everyone had lost their appetites now, but they'd make great leftovers.

I slid onto a stool at the kitchen counter and put my head down. “Anyone we know?” I asked faintly. I
’
d seen a dead body or two, but nothing prepared you for the sight of one, and certainly not just the head.

The phone rang again, and this time a photo of Mother
’
s boyfriend, Jimmy Spoon, came up on the screen. I handed the phone to Fab, as this was her area of expertise––imparting gruesome news. I noticed the miniature camera dangling out of her pocket and knew she
’
d been taking pictures of the deceased.

“You know everyone in town; maybe you could get over here pronto and ID the body,” she barked at Spoon over the phone.

I winced, knowing that Spoon, the local badass, didn’t tolerate being ordered around. Since Fab was now just staring at the phone in her hand, he must have hung up on her.

Fab jerked on my arm, and we both went into the living room. We sat on the daybed across from Mother and Didier. He still had his arm around her, but she looked less sickly and more coherent.

Fab looked at me. “Since we have no clue as to the identity of John Doe, we have no answer for why he's on our doorstep.”

“Have we screwed anybody over lately?” I whispered.

“There
’
s no one in my past that would send that kind of message. And that
’
s what it is––a message,” she whispered back.

Creole burst through the French doors in work attire of rumpled shorts and shirt, his eyes a deep blue, canvassing the room.

“What
’
s going on? Nothing you say ever makes sense,” he barked at Fab.

She pointed her finger toward the door he just entered. “Go back out the way you came in, and come back in the front door.”

Creole looked about ready to tell her to take a hike, when Didier gave Creole a nod, some kind of guy shorthand taking place.

Creole whooshed out a long breath. “Don’t go anywhere,” he said as he pointed at me.

“He
’
s going to have questions. Go answer them, and be nice,” I said to Fab.

“I
’
m always nice,” she said, giving me a deranged smile. “This time I’ll speak slowly so he can understand.”

I bit back a laugh. As soon as she stood, I stretched out on the daybed and began stacking the pillows under my head. Jazz, seeing a good opportunity for a nap partner, jumped from the chair to the table and then right beside me, nudging my hand for a head scratch before he settled down.

Everyone turned toward the front door at the sound of Spoon
’
s voice. Mother bounced up, but Didier caught her by the back of her shirt and pulled her back down, saying something to her in annoyed French. Although she didn’t understand him, she stayed seated.

“Stay here,”
Didier said as he stood up.
“If you go outside, I’ll tell Spoon you were quite naughty.”

I covered my mouth to keep from laughing. The look of annoyance on Mother
’
s face was priceless. She must have decided it wasn’t worth arguing over, because she sank back against the cushions, clutching one to her mid-section. I stayed with her. Unlike Fab, who had a fascination with gruesome crime scenes, I didn’t feel the need to see the head––again.