Deborah Brown - Madison Westin 06 - Revenge in Paradise

  REVENGE IN PARADISE

  PARADISE SERIES, BOOK 6

  DEBORAH BROWN

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or to actual events or locales is entirely coincidental.

  All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof, in any form. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical without the express written permission of the author. The scanning, uploading and distribution of this book via the Internet or via any other means without the permission of the publisher is illegal and punishable by law. Please purchase only authorized electronic editions and do not participate in or encourage electronic piracy of copyrighted, materials.

  REVENGE IN PARADISE

  Copyright @ 2014 by Deborah Brown

  Published by: Paradise Books October 2014

  Cover: Natasha Brown

  PARADISE SERIES NOVELS

  Crazy in Paradise

  Deception in Paradise

  Trouble in Paradise

  Murder in Paradise

  Greed in Paradise

  Revenge in Paradise

  Chapter 1

  The sun peeped through the rain-laden clouds as they rolled east out into the Atlantic, and a rainbow spread across the sky. Emerald-turquoise water surrounded the highway on both sides of the Keys for as far as the eye could see. Palm trees with spindly trunks and long branches lined the far edges of the beach, interspersed with colorful tropical plant life. I rolled down the window and a gentle breeze blew through my long red hair and tousled it into an unruly mess.

  I sighed when we veered off the Overseas Highway into Tarpon Cove and pulled up in front of Jake’s Bar; yellow crime scene tape stretched across the driveway. An assortment of law enforcement vehicles filled the street. The bomb squad had turned out, outfitted in riot gear, the local fire department and sheriffs pushed aside in favor of their more illustrative counterparts. Several K-9 dogs patrolled the property in bulletproof vests, sniffing every square inch. My employees filed out of the building in a single line, their hands in the air. Mother looked frazzled, her blond bob wind-whipped, and the ever-cool-under-pressure Fab followed right behind her. Both of them were cuffed and each had their own police escort.

  I peered through the passenger-side window. “Somehow this will be my fault,” I said to Creole.

  He squeezed my hand. “I’ll give you a written excuse. You’ve been with me for the last five days.”

  “Shh, you need to get my story straight. I’ve been with my childhood friend, Marcy, at her wedding in Myrtle Beach.”

  He shook his head. “I don’t understand why you didn’t just go ahead and tell your family you left town to take your cousin on a sexual test drive.”

  My aunt Elizabeth willed all of her colorful friends to me. It turned out she’d known Creole long before I did. He’d been neighbors with my aunt growing up and she had loved him like a son, and now, so did my mother. His real name is Luc Baptiste, but when you’re an undercover detective you get a street name, so we keep his real identity a secret. He had been as close as family before we started sneaking around.

  I groaned. “Some people would hear that and think, ‘That’s why she’s so weird,’ and then begin the inbreeding jokes.”

  “What kind of trouble have those two gotten into now?” He laughed.

  “Can I get another kiss? Who knows when we’ll get another chance? This looks like a long afternoon.” I stuck my hand under his T-shirt and ran my nails up his chest.

  It still amazed me that I’d finally agreed to have a relationship with him. The words barely left my lips before he rushed me out of town for a week on the beach in Key West. We never left the hotel room for the first two days, opening the door only to room service. My favorite part of the trip happened on the last day. He took me to a secluded spot on the beach on the pretext of a picnic and swimming and we spent the afternoon entangled in each other’s arms surrounded by nature’s beauty.

  Creole’s blue eyes sparkled with amusement as he pulled into a parking space in front of the trailer court I recently acquired. It sat back from the highway and was at the opposite end of the same block as the bar. “I don’t recognize a single officer. I’ll give Harder a call; he can get us a quick update.”

  Chief Harder of the Miami Police Department is Creole’s boss. Their relationship extended outside of the office and they always had each other’s back. Harder and my relationship had improved considerably from when he thought I was a criminal. He helped me on several occasions and I returned the favor whenever he asked.

  I ran my fingers through Creole’s shoulder-length black hair, pulling his face to mine. “I had a great time.”

  We both jumped at the pounding on the window.

  “What in the hell?” Creole yelled.

  Professor Crum glared at him. “I’m having you towed,” he snarled.

  I threw open the passenger door and slid off the seat of Creole’s black over-sized pickup and onto the ground, managing to keep my sundress covering my butt.

  “You have anyone towed off my property and I’ll evict your old ass. No court hearing,” I said, “just a special friend or two to tie you up and deliver you to Minnesota.”

  “Didn’t see you there, girly. Who’s he?” Professor Crum stood ramrod-stiff, with his usual good posture, dressed up in his cowboy boots and boxer shorts, his white hair sticking up on end.

  “Her boyfriend,” Creole growled. “If you ever look at her like that again, I’ll blacken both your eyes and I won’t care if you are one hundred.”

  “And to think, you could’ve had me,” Crum said, and winked. “Too late, I’m taken. Got a new lady. We’re going out to dinner.”

  Creole threw his head back and laughed.

  I bit my lip. He’d clearly usurped the title of most colorful tenant. “Is that why you’re dressed up? I found out your first name is Ernest––or do you prefer Ernie?”

  Crum’s eyes turned to dark slits and he said, “You do not have my permission to call me anything but professor or Crum.”

  Crum’s condescension didn’t bother me anymore since he looked down his nose at everyone.

  “What’s going on at the bar?” I asked.

  “Your mother and that delicious French girl opened the back room for poker. I don’t know if they couldn’t keep their mouths shut or what, but word spread like a sex disease.” He then pulled a condom from the back of his boxers. “I never leave home without one of these babies. I sew pockets on the back of my nice shorts.” He turned, wiggling. The pocket turned out to be a piece of mismatched material, this one a piece of a red bandana hand-sewn in place with sloppy stitches.

  Creole’s phone rang and he stepped away to answer.

  “I haven’t been gone long enough for them to commit felonies.”

  “The cops have been there at least two hours,” Crum said. “My opinion: They chased a couple of dirtballs out a few nights ago, and the guys came back to get even. Bistro, the loan shark, and his sleazy muscle, Jethro. I overheard the hot one threatening to shoot them.”

  Creole walked up in time to hear. “I know Jethro. I can make sure he never bothers you again.”

  “Let’s go see how much bail money is needed.”

  Crum tossed his head in Creole’s direction. “I think you can do better,�
�� he said.

  I tugged on Creole’s hand. “Can you make this go away?”

  It was a short walk to the bar. Mother and Fab had been separated off to the side, away from the other employees, and were not able to communicate amongst themselves without shouting. If I’d summed up the situation correctly, no one would be going anywhere soon because, at this point, there was more standing around than action.

  “I’ll call in favors to make sure no one in the Westin family goes to jail––and that includes Fab. Or I’ll make sure that they don’t stay long.” He gave me a wry smile. Creole dragged me behind the dumpster for a long, slow kiss against his six foot four frame. I stretched up his chest and, standing on my tiptoes, we fit together snugly. My body quivered at the contact, a moan escaping, begging for more.

  Kevin Cory called out my name. He was almost a family member and I knew he hated that idea. He liked my brother, Brad, and approved of him dating his sister, Julie, but he thought Mother and I were crazy and unsuitable role models for his teenage nephew, Liam.

  When we drove by, I’d seen him questioning Philipa, the bartender. Arms across his chest, he didn’t look happy about whatever answers she was giving him. We called the bartender Phil—a second-year law student who dazzled the customers with her bubbly personality, long blond hair, and butt-cheek-baring shorts. I didn’t worry about what she’d say.

  I heard my name called again and turned to see Mother waving, Fab next to her sporting an angry scowl. Before I could take a step, a female sheriff stepped in front of me.

  “No lookers,” she said as she pointed to the street. “This is an active investigation.”

  I checked out her uniform. It turned out she was local. Her badge read, Tarpon Cove.

  The Cove sat at the top of the Keys, the first small town to greet you upon entering the Overseas Highway after leaving Miami far behind. We had a small sheriff presence and I knew most of them by name.

  “We haven’t met––I’m Madison Westin, the owner.”

  Her dark brown eyes arched a bit at what I assumed was my not offering a courtesy handshake. Anyone who knew me also knew I didn’t observe that nicety, but most people just assumed I was ill-mannered. I disliked the term “germaphobe,” but I also hated anything slimy, murky, green, watery, and abhorred all bugs in general.

  “I’ve heard about you.” She looked me over, amusement on her face. “I’m Kevin’s new partner, Officer Ivyliss Sotolongo. You can call me Ivy.”

  “Johnson’s replacement.” I smiled. “I heard he got kicked—transferred—somewhere far from the Cove.”

  “He had a lot to say about you before he left,” she said, and laughed. “It was his dream to lock up your criminal ass which, to his disappointment, was a wish unfulfilled.”

  “Do you mind if I speak to my mother and make sure she’s okay? Her health is fragile,” I said, and managed to maintain eye contact to sell the blatant lie.

  Ivy looked over at Mother, who stared back. “She might want to cut back on the cigars. You can have five minutes.”

  Mother loved a hand-rolled Cuban cigar; she found a family run store in Little Havana that she frequented often. She’d been to the factory and knew everyone by name.

  I didn’t want to hear the answer to my next question––fearing the worst––but I asked anyway. “Is she under arrest?”

  “It’s not my call. But evidence is missing, along with a couple of witnesses and their stories are full of potholes, and did I mention they barely agree on anything?”

  Damn!

  “Jake’s caters to law enforcement; they have a special area in the corner of the back deck, one of the best views in the place. Hope to see you soon.”

  I walked over to Mother, enveloping her in a hug. “What in the hell,” I whispered in her ear. “Brad will flip when you tell him.” One thing’s for certain, I wasn’t going to be the one to tell my brother and wanted to be out of town again when he found out.

  “He doesn’t need to know,” she snorted. “It was a huge misunderstanding.”

  “Mother,” I mimicked in her no-nonsense voice, “I’m sure it wasn’t. Who knows you better than I do?”

  I looked at my best friend and roommate, Fab, and stage-whispered, “You couldn’t stay out of trouble for a few days?”

  “Get your lawyer on the phone. I’m not up to a trip to the big-girl jail.” Fab’s dark eyes shot Mother hate-filled looks. “I’m so glad you’re home. I want details.”

  “Mother,” I continued to whisper, after noticing Ivy moving closer, “you’re in frail health if anyone asks. You can have a miraculous recovery once we get you out of here.”

  Mother dabbed her eyes.

  “Stop, you don’t fool me. What the hell happened?” I shook my head. “The truth, not the cleaned up legal version.”

  “When Fab and I were on a recovery job, we discussed opening the back room for a friendly card game, to a select group of friends. Things didn’t go as planned.” She sighed.

  I snapped around and glared at Fab. “You took Mother to boost a car? Were guns drawn?”

  “It was an easy job for a change. Found the BMW at the girlfriend’s house, I got in and drove away.”

  “There is no such thing as an easy recovery job. I’ll bet cash there’s more to your story.”

  “I didn’t have anyone else,” she hissed. “You know I need a driver. All she had to do was follow me to Brick’s for the drop-off, what could go wrong?”

  Brick Famosa owned a high-end car sales/rental lot, Famosa Motors. I thought he stopped renting to people without a credit and background check, especially when they paid with all cash. But apparently not; he kept Fab and I busy driving all over South Florida recovering cars that failed to be returned.

  “You’re asking me that with a straight face when ninety percent of our jobs end up with threats of violence?”

  “You exaggerate at ninety percent,” she huffed. “Have you ever tried to tell your mother her idea is a sucky one? She has voices in her head and only listens to them.”

  “Since when do all these different agencies show up for an illegal card game?”

  “Some jackass called in a bomb scare. They burst through the doors. I wanted to run but got down on my knees, like they told me.”

  “Officer Ivy informed me that no evidence was found. I’m assuming she meant evidence about the card game. How did you make that disappear? Nice job, by the way.”

  “I texted Madeline, she took care of it; swept everything off the table into garbage bags and sent the men out the secret back door.”

  Fab must be mad––she called Mother by her first name.

  Mother put her head on my shoulder and said, “I thought I had everything covered since I ran a couple of practice drills before we opened.”

  Creole walked up behind us, scooping Mother off of her feet and into a bear hug. “Since when are you in the habit of ticking off drug-dealing pond scum?” he asked.

  Kevin joined Ivy, and together they glared in our direction.

  I cut in. “Mother, did you give a statement to anyone?” She shook her head in the negative.

  “Don’t say one word until I get Cruz on the phone.” Cruz Campion was a hotshot lawyer I kept on speed-dial for just such occasions.

  Creole and I exchanged looks.

  “Bistro needed a get-out-of-trouble card for a violation of his parole conditions,” he said. “In retaliation, he concocted an elaborate story about guns, gambling, and bomb making.”

  Fab groaned. “I picked up Bistro’s car. The BMW belonged to him.”

  The jail bus rumbled into the driveway. I recognized it as the one they used for special occasions like drunk-driving checkpoints. I watched as my employees filed on board.

  “Break up the love feast, ladies, time to get yourselves a seat,” Ivy yelled, advancing on us. She looked at me. “We’re going over the bar one more time and, unless anything new turns up, you can reopen tomorrow.”

  “No more questi
ons,” Creole advised Ivy. “Every one of them is lawyered up.”

  “All of them?” she asked in astonishment.

  I smiled at her. “If you ever need a criminal attorney, Cruz is the best in South Florida. He boasts the whole state.”

  Kevin, who had stood quietly at Ivy’s side, spoke up. “It will be a while before they’re released and you’re not welcome to hang around.”

  He grabbed Mother’s arm. “You might be my nephew’s grandmother one day. Why can’t you be a good example and bake cookies or something?”

  “I don’t need to bake as long as there are bakeries.”

  Chapter 2

  Fab rudely interrupted Jazz’s nap and threw herself onto the couch, the cat on her chest. “What took them so long to release us?”

  My hundred-year-old cat was king of the house. When he meowed, you’d better jump or it got louder until a person’s ears couldn’t take it any longer.

  Creole picked Mother and Fab up near dawn as they filed out of the sheriff’s station; they were the last to be released. “You’re lucky Brick posted all the bonds at no charge,” he said, his sinister smile unnerving me.

  He continued. “The officers deliberately stood around doing nothing until shift change, foisting all of you on the next crew to process. That raised the irritation level.”

  My patience having evaporated, I yelled at Mother and Fab. “What in the hell were you two thinking?”

  I tugged on Creole’s shirt and motioned for him to sit on the large footstool in front of my chair. I stopped myself from wrapping my legs around his waist.

  “You were going to open it anyway!” Mother paced around, finally smacking Fab’s leg and sitting down next to her. “What’s the harm in a practice run?”

  “And you,” I said, glaring at Fab, “can manhandle bad guys all day long and you can’t control one old woman?”

  “I’m not old!” Mother shrieked.