Initiation in Paradise Read online

  INITIATION

  IN

  PARADISE

  PARADISE SERIES

  BOOK 17

  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. The author has represented and warranted full ownership and/or legal right to publish all materials in this book.

  This book may not be reproduced, transmitted, or stored in whole or in part by any means, including graphic, electronic, or mechanical without the express written permission of the author except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

  INITIATION IN PARADISE

  All Rights Reserved

  Copyright © 2019 Deborah Brown

  Kindle Edition

  Cover: Natasha Brown

  PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA

  Contents

  INITIATION IN PARADISE

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  Chapter Forty

  Books by Deborah Brown

  About the Author

  INITIATION IN PARADISE

  Chapter One

  Honk! The infuriating woman laid on the horn.

  I slid into a pair of flip-flops and hustled out of the house, my annoyance cooling when I laid eyes on my friend’s hand, wrapped in something white, resting on the steering wheel.

  Fab had called only minutes ago.

  “I have an emergency. Will you come with me? I’m sitting out front.”

  “Are you okay?” I grabbed my bag.

  “Just hurry.”

  “I’ll drive,” I yelled.

  Fab shook her head and motioned me over to the passenger side of the Hummer, which I owned but seldom got to drive.

  I hopped in and asked, “What happened?” as Fab sped out of the compound, my new nickname for the street we lived on. After purchasing the block as a wedding gift for his only daughter, Fab’s father had had twelve-foot-high fencing installed and added a security gate at the entrance.

  “Well…” she started, then paused, tapping her finger on the steering wheel as she waited for the gate to open, and sped out.

  Fab’s hesitance to answer had me squinting at her and wondering what she was up to. “You missed the turn to the hospital.”

  “I lied.” Fab whipped the pillowcase off.

  I stared, first at her, then her uninjured hand, then back at her.

  Fab hit the gas as though I’d jump out, hightailed it to the main highway, and turned north.

  I turned to the passenger window, oblivious to the scenery passing outside the vehicle, and silently counted, one… two… and snapped my head around. “What the heck are you up to?” I didn’t want to know, but since I was trapped in my car, with her in control of our destination, I’d better suck it up and find out. In the back of my mind, I contemplated jumping out at the next signal.

  “Really, Madison.” Fab rubbed her ear. “It’s your fault that I had to resort to such sneakiness to get you out of the house. You need to snap out of your honeymoon hangover. Our husbands are up to something, and we’re going to find out what it is.”

  My husband. I smiled. Creole, aka Luc Baptiste, had kept his undercover name after retiring early from the police force. Getting caught in a shootout and the months of rehab that followed had been the major factor in his decision. However, not being a cop anymore had no effect on his observational skills. At some point, he was going to pick up the tail in his rearview mirror and notice that his wife’s car was following him. Although Fab was doing a good job of hanging back, shielding herself by using other cars for cover.

  I leaned my head back against the seat. “Whatever you’re up to is going to get us in so much trouble.”

  “Us?” Fab sniffed. “What about them? If Didier had just been upfront, instead of being so evasive, we’d be headed to the office instead.” She squealed the tires as soon as the signal turned green.

  Didier—also one-named since his days as a highly sought-after model—had since retired and was now on his way to becoming a real estate mogul.

  No, I wanted to tell her, I’d be checking on my other business interests. I’d stayed in touch via email since I got back from my honeymoon, but it wasn’t the same as visiting in person. It was harder for my employees to cover up their shiftiness when I was standing in front of them.

  “I didn’t notice any difference in Creole this morning,” I said. “Has it occurred to you that your husband could be chasing a real estate deal? Since the two of them are partners, it makes sense for them to check it out together.”

  We bypassed the cutoff to Highway One, which meant we weren’t headed to Homestead or Miami, and veered off on a two-lane highway that boasted mangrove forests on both sides of the road. The shallow waters attracted large flocks of migratory birds and the occasional alligator, if the sign with the snapping jaws was any indication.

  “Why can’t they be upfront?” Fab countered.

  Creole’s truck had hit all the lights green and was now so far up the road that the bumper was a faint dot. Reading my mind, Fab kicked the Hummer into high gear and sped after them to close the distance.

  “I don’t know. And guess what? I’m willing to wait until they get home to ask. I suggest that we turn around,” I said, knowing full well that my voice of reason would go unheeded.

  There was nothing out on this road except wildlife; a handful of manses hidden by trees, their rooflines barely visible; people living off the grid; and one restaurant. I’d read where most of the off-gridders had been run off by law enforcement due to pesky ownership issues but had just moved back once the headlines from the sweeps died down.

  “Damn.” Fab pounded her fist on the steering wheel.

  She’d lost them shortly after they made a right somewhere in the distance but would never admit it, expecting to find a driveway that never materialized. I predicted that they’d turn up behind us, flagging us down for an explanation. I’d be leaving that bit of unpleasantness to Fab.

  Fab slowed and scoped out the sides of the road. Finding a gravel turn-in, she took it, hitting a pothole and rolling down the dirt track onto a flat piece of land that had been cleared and had an unobstructed view of an inlet of water off Card Sound. A small red box house on wheels was parked to the right, nestled under tall trees and surrounded by a chicken wire fence that set off a pitiful-looking yard.
A skinny white-haired woman in her sixties or seventies with a weather-lined face, decked out in jean overalls and rubber boots, leaned against the side of a pickup that had seen better days.

  “I’m going to ask her a few questions.” Fab parked and got out.

  The woman’s eyes glittered as she checked out Fab from head to toe. A sinister smile started to take form and disappeared in a blink.

  Bad sign—my neck hair suddenly stood on end. I sighed and got out. Fab and I were both armed, with weapons holstered at the middle of our backs. I’d been embarrassed at leaving the house in crop sweats and a long-sleeved t-shirt, but brushed aside the idea of changing in the face of an emergency and was now happy that I had. My knockabout clothes offered protection from the mosquitos and other unidentified flying insects.

  “Look, two new friends,” the woman said gleefully and waved. “It’s been a while since I’ve had a redhead.” Her dark, pin-dot eyes zeroed in on me.

  “Would you mind answering a couple of questions so we can get back on the road?” Fab asked, the picture of sweetness, a damsel in distress.

  “Come in.” The woman motioned to the red house. “I love company. Can never get enough.” She cackled.

  It was a disturbing sound. I grabbed the back of Fab’s top and slowed down her progress in closing the distance between her and the woman, in case she was of the mindset to take the woman up on her invitation.

  Crazy alert. I’ve had plenty of experience and was definitely looking at it on display.

  “That’s nice of you, but we need to get back on the road,” I said.

  That didn’t set well. The woman scowled, as if to say ‘who asked you?’

  “It’s beautiful back here.” I smiled lamely.

  In a flash, the woman produced a double-barreled shotgun and pointed it at us. “Get moving. Now.” She nodded toward the house.

  Fab was in mid-reach for her Walther when the woman pulled the trigger and blew out the windshield of the Hummer, glass flying everywhere.

  Fab jerked on my arm, and we hit the ground and rolled into a dense thicket.

  “You girls got nowhere to go.” The woman’s high-pitch laugh floated in the air. “Except where you’ll get eaten by gators.” She pulled the trigger again. “Run, sweeties, run.”

  Fab rose to a half-crouch and motioned me to follow as she crawled deeper into the bushes and straight into murky, ankle-deep water. What lurked in the muck was anyone’s guess.

  Resigning myself to the fact that I was in over my head when it came to finding a way out, I followed Fab’s lead, doing my best to keep up and not let fear get the better of me. She turned slightly, tapping her lips with her finger, and grabbed my hand. If anyone could get us out of this predicament, it was her; she didn’t lack in courage or skills.

  Another shotgun blast filled the air. Then again. It didn’t ruffle the bushes, so what was the woman shooting at? I didn’t want to know the answer.

  “Come out, come out.” The voice, pitched high and hard, echoed behind us. Hopefully, she wasn’t as close as she sounded.

  Fab picked up speed, forcing her way through the underbrush.

  “Answer me.” The woman’s voice lost volume as it began to fade away.

  Tense with fear but not wanting to be the reason we got caught, I pulled my t-shirt up over my cheeks to protect my face from the slapping branches. Our clothing did little to protect us from the dried-out limbs that snagged and tore at the material. I tried to focus, listening for any sound that would mean the woman was advancing on us as we continued our trek through the mangroves.

  She’d stopped yelling her “come to mama” commands as we continued to crawl along, hoping we were moving toward civilization. The thought was almost amusing, since we hadn’t seen much evidence of it on the drive. Hopefully, the joke wasn’t on us, with the woman not bothering to pursue us because she knew all paths led back to her, so she could sit back and be patient.

  I trusted Fab’s sense of direction—her navigation skills had never let us down. It would be nice to find a sign or, better yet, a stable person to ask and ascertain our location. Thank goodness we weren’t alone—we had each other.

  The trees curled in on themselves and grew more dense and harder to navigate, forcing us to wade through the shallow water as we stuck close to the crushed underbrush.

  I lost all sense of time as we continued our slow hike through the vegetation. Finally we came to a clearing and surveyed the area from our partially hidden vantage point.

  “Fab,” I whispered.

  She shook her head.

  Chapter Two

  We crawled out of the underbrush and onto another piece of land that had been cleared for use as an oversized campsite. A few trees had been chopped away, but the area wasn’t as large as the one the crazy woman lived in. An old silver airstream was parked on one end, next to it an older model Ford pickup, with an aluminum covering serving as a patio, as evidenced by ratty lawn chairs. On the far side, a galvanized steel carport with no sides housed an impressive still setup.

  Fab nudged me and pulled her Walther.

  Caught off guard once was one time too many. I drew my Glock and held it at my side.

  We didn’t have long to wait. The door to the trailer flew open, an older man managing to catch it before it banged into the side. He had grey hair, of sorts, a clump here and there. As he stepped gingerly down the steps, he caught sight of the two of us. Startled, he took a step back, checked us out, zeroed in our firearms, and seemed to relax.

  “Hey, sisters,” he greeted, and continued his trek to the carport, pausing without turning to look back to ask, “How’d you two get out here? Can’t be a good story.”

  “You’ve got the old-man rapport,” I whispered to Fab. “You take it from here.”

  “Wouldn’t have anything to do with the shots coming from Addy Clegg’s place, would it?” He reached for a ceramic jug and held it out. “Wanna drink? It’s not as good as the last batch, but it’ll make the hair on your chest stand up.” He laughed low and deep.

  We both shook our heads.

  If the smoke and nauseating smell coming from the still was any indication, the finished product would be ick! I wasn’t the least bit interested in a taste test. I also wasn’t sure how I’d explain hair on my chest to Creole. Whatever I came up with, he wouldn’t find it funny, and he’d never believe the truth.

  Before Fab took a step, she, like me, scanned the place for weapons and, in particular, a shotgun in easy reach. The previous one had been hidden behind the truck, though, where we’d never have seen it unless we were standing on top of it, and to be honest, we weren’t looking for one. Who would’ve thought we would receive that kind of reception when we weren’t a threat?

  “We took a wrong turn and got out to ask directions.” Fab took a couple of steps forward. “Next thing, the old woman started shooting.”

  “I’d steer clear of her. I’ve had a couple of encounters, and she made my man parts shrivel.” He shuddered. “You’re never going to get your car back. It’s most likely gone already, sold for parts. Addy’s friendly with a fellow named Deuce. Seen them together a time or two—made sure they didn’t see me. Anyway, Deuce has a reputation for being on call for a good deal.” He finished checking his gauges and walked over to a lawn chair. Slinging his body down, he stuck his arms out to steady it and keep from falling.

  “Your call,” I whispered.

  “Have a seat,” he said. “I haven’t shot an unexpected visitor yet and don’t plan to start now.” He waved at the empty chairs.

  Fab closed the distance, me on her heels. She jerked a chair back and, before sitting, tucked her Walther in the waistband of her pants. I stood behind her, acting as a bodyguard.

  “So that’s what the two back-to-back shots were about,” he mused. “Just guessing, but bet it’s a signal to one of her mean sonovagun sons to stay clear until she sends another signal. Best bet is to call your insurance company if you’re covered. Yo
u could call the cops, except I don’t have a phone, and even if I did, by the time they got here, your car would be long gone and Addy would be nowhere to be found. And if she were, it would be a ‘you said, she said,’ and she’d make you out to be liars that prey on old folks.”

  Phone? I’d really been thrown for a loop not to think of it before. I reached in my pocket. Empty. It must have fallen out on our crawl through the weeds. I remembered seeing Fab’s sitting in the cup holder.

  “How far is it back to town?” Fab asked.

  “Ten, twelve miles. And since you’re on Addy’s radar, you wouldn’t get far, sticking out like a sore thumb on the two-lane highway.”

  We could do it, but it would take a couple of hours, and in this humidity, we’d be a wasted, sweaty mess by the time we got back.

  Fab sighed. “I’ll make you a deal. I’ll give you my Walther in exchange for a ride back to town. Once we get there, I’ll exchange it for cash.”

  “I’ve got a Glock to sweeten the deal,” I said.

  “Don’t need either one of them—got several firearms inside the trailer.”

  “You name your terms for a ride back, and I give you both our words we’ll pay up.” I eyed the truck, which looked like the only vehicle on the property. It was the right size to tow the Airstream, but was it capable of getting us to town? Having a beater truck of my own, I knew that looks could be deceiving.

  “Doesn’t run,” he said on an exhale, noticing that I was sizing up his truck. “I’ve got a skiff. It ain’t pretty, but it runs, and I can motor you over to AJ’s, a restaurant not far from here. It would still be a hike back to town.”

  “You do that, and I’ve got a family member that can fix up your ride. In fact, he can send someone out that can fix it on site. He’ll do a good job, and no charge.”

  “Won’t kill me to do a good turn for two pretty girls.” He spit on his hand, wiped it on his tattered jeans, and stuck it out with a lopsided grin that showed he was missing at least half his teeth. “Cootie Shine.”

  Fab shook hands. “Fab Merceau.”

  I stuck out my knuckles, which he reciprocated, and we bumped knuckles a few times. I managed to keep up. “Madison Westin. I own Jake’s on the main highway. Stop in there and drop my name, and you get a discount—free.”