“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.
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 t
o 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.
“Make yourself comfortable, Mother. I don’t think we’re going anywhere until after the sheriff and coroner leave, whenever that is.�
� I wrinkled my nose.
“Do you have any idea where… well… he came from?” Mother pointed to the front door.
I shook my head, but I noticed that more than once since the discovery Jax had popped into my head. I couldn’t help but wonder if he could supply any answers. Before mentioning his name, I planned to speak to him, on the chance I was wrong. I hadn’t even told Mother he’d arrived in town. Could there be a correlation in Jax's situation and the corpse-less head on our front stoop?
The door opened and everyone trooped back inside, Fab in the rear. She looked at me and shook her head, giving no indication she had anything newsworthy.
Creole crooked his finger at me. His blue eyes, dark and intense, checked me over, his mouth twisted and hard. I returned his stare but focused on the day-old beard that begged me to run my cheeks across the whiskers.
He sighed at my hesitation and crossed the room, hooking my arm around his neck and scooping me into his arms.
“I can walk,” I whispered, then licked the stubble on his cheek.
“Behave yourself,” he whispered back and carried me through the doors out to the far corner of the pool. He sat on a chaise and put me on his lap.
At first I thought he would kiss me, but instead he looked down my top. “I called Kevin; he should be here in a few minutes. Spoon ID’d the head as belonging to an ambitious, low-level drug dealer, Jones Graw. Spoon thought he moved north a long time ago. Big question is, why is he dead and how did end up on your doorstep? I don’t like the message that’s being sent.”
Neither did Fab, I thought.
“Maybe he got delivered to the wrong door.” I wrapped my arms around his neck and pushed myself against him, making a kissy face.
His lips found mine, sparking chemistry. The kiss grew demanding, consuming, lips and tongues dancing. Creole’s arms encircled me as I dissolved into him. After a long moment, I finally pressed my face against his chest, breathing heavily.
“Break it up, you two,” Fab said cheerfully, as she rattled a deck chair against the concrete.
Deborah Brown - Madison Westin 07 - Kidnapped in Paradise Page 3