Deborah Brown - Madison Westin 07 - Kidnapped in Paradise

by Deborah Brown

  “I felt guilty not believing Horton before I met her. But after reading the file Phil put together, I got over that.” Fab’s expression was grim. “Miss Hot Mess is reckless with other people’s lives. It surprises me that she’s still alive. Some people live under a shining star and get away with doing what they want, when they want. It’s a bitch when it catches up.”

  Chapter 26

  Fab made faces and a couple of unintelligible noises at her cell phone, then ended the call with “text me." She threw the phone on the chaise next to her leg. I knew our short time lounging by the pool in the warm sun was about to come to an end. Hopefully, it wasn’t something that would require guns.

  “We’ve got a job,” Fab announced.

  “We? Funny thing, I never heard my name mentioned, and whoever was on the phone didn’t ask for me.”

  Jazz looked up at me and meowed. Although he’d gone right to sleep like no human could ever do, he seemed to notice when I stopped petting him.

  “Just once, can’t you be agreeable?” Fab fumed.

  “And miss out on an opportunity to irritate you? I don’t think so.” I pointed my finger at her, effectively cutting off her next words, and she glared instead. “I’m going to want something in return for all of my cooperation. Favors, IOU’s, whatever you want to call them. You could replace your growl with… well… a smile would be too much to hope for, but something friendly. Say, when I click my flip flops, you do your cheery best. Are we agreed?”

  “I don’t like IOU’s. We’re like sisters.”

  “’Sisters’. That’s so manipulative, but good. You only don’t like them, because you didn’t think there was a chance in some place excruciatingly warm that you'd ever owe me. Now that I have a drawer full, you’re pouty. Deal or no?”

  The ring of her phone broke the silence. She read the message. “Deal. Now let’s go.”

  “Hold on, favorite sister. How about some details?”

  “I’ll tell you when we’re on the road and you can’t jump out.” She laughed. “We need to change. Wear tennis shoes, and don’t leave your damn gun on your bedside table.”

  I flinched at tennis shoes.

  * * *

  Fab blew down the Overseas Highway, past the shimmering turquoise and deep-green waters of the Atlantic and Gulf. The scenery never got old, rushing past swaying palms under blue skies with fluffy white clouds. Fab careened off the road at Islamorada, a city made up of small islands, halfway to Key West.

  “It’s a car retrieval job,” she broke into my reverie. “There is a slight catch; this one doesn’t have a GPS locator on it, so we have to find it first.”

  “It surprises me Brick would let a car off his lot without GPS, for as many that don’t get returned. What are we looking for?”

  “A 1960 cherry-red Corvette. White convertible top, in pristine condition.”

  “Nice! Do I get to drive it back?” I raised my eyebrows. “You can’t drive both cars at once.”

  “You get to drive your car for a change. You have to admit, I’m a better driver.”

  I laughed at her. “You’re delusional.”

  “We get one chance with this one, so we’ve got to be careful. I’ve only got a home address. It’s on a one-way street. All the houses are jammed together, and the neighbors will notice a strange car. The woman has to know it’s being looked for and isn’t going to leave it sitting on the street.”

  “A woman! That’s a first for Brick. He usually rents to dirtball men and criminal ones at that. What do you know about her?”

  Fab was slow to answer. “Not a lot. She’s easily excitable and doesn’t want to give back the car.”

  “So she’s crazy,” I mumbled.

  Nothing about this job added up, starting with Fab’s evasive attitude. She’d been quieter than usual the entire drive. “Is this a routine retrieval? We find it, you jump out, get behind the wheel, and we drive away?”

  Fab nodded.

  “Do you have a description for her?”

  “Precious Ivory is six feet tall, has waist-length black hair, and a big chest. She shouldn’t be hard to spot.”

  “Wait. Who in the hell is the client?” I exploded.

  In all the time I’d known Brick, he’d only had a soft spot for one stripper and that was Bitsy. I’d never seen her in one of his cars. He also didn’t deal in classic automobiles. The only two I’d ever seen on the lot belonged to him, and they were brought in on a flatbed for service and went back to his house the same way.

  “Okay, so it’s not a Brick job,” Fab said. “You’d never have agreed to help if I told you the client was Gunz. It’s not like I lied. You assumed, and I didn’t clear it up.”

  “Stop using that flimsy-ass excuse. Name one time I didn’t help you. Just one.” I poked my finger at her. “So, you’re telling me that we're tracking down another whacked out, disgruntled stripper girlfriend of Gunz's. Are you forgetting the last one wanted to shoot you but decided I would make a fine substitute?”

  “That’s why you’re my first choice to take to a shootout.” Fab grinned. “You really are damn good, you know. Now if I could just get you past that shoot-to-maim thing.”

  “I'd better text Creole. If he gets mad about the short notice, be prepared. I’m blaming everything on you,” I sniffed.

  Fab pulled onto the quiet one-way residential street, a waterfront community that ran along a series of canals. The homes were built on stilts, each with its own individual dock to park a boat. She slowed for two herons jay-walking with no sense of hurry. Fab tolerated behavior in animals that she never would in humans. If these two laggards were human, the horn would be blaring.

  She flashed up a picture on her phone. “It’s the white house over there, the one with the hot pink trim.” She pointed.

  Two cars were parked in the driveway, neither of them the Corvette. There was no garage, eliminating that as a possible hiding place. From the roadway, each house had an open, paved space that ran to the waterfront. Most of the houses had it set up as outdoor living space, some with a small kitchen and barbeque area. This one had a large dining table with a raft of chairs to accommodate a crowd.

  “Now what?” I asked.

  “We can’t be seen driving up and down the street. We lay low and out of sight. She’s not going to hand over the car, and she knows Gunz won’t call the police.”

  “Go back two houses and pull in the driveway,” I instructed. “It’s for sale and no one’s home. Let me do the talking if we attract attention. You concentrate on not looking scary.”

  “I admire that about you. Your creative storytelling.” Fab put the SUV in reverse and pulled into the empty driveway. “Great location.”

  I crawled over the seat and peered out the back window. It had a heavy tint, so no one would notice unless I pressed my face to the glass.

  “What did Gunz do this time?” I asked.

  “She caught him in bed with her best friend.”

  I groaned. “Some men are dogs. Horrible best friend, too.”

  Gunz had a kinky bent. He liked his sex delivered with pain, preferably from an amazon woman who had him trussed up. It excited him more if he thought there was a chance he wouldn’t get out alive.

  “Look.” Fab nodded to the corner.

  The Corvette pulled up to the stop sign and drove slowly down the street, turning into the driveway.

  There was no doubt that the woman who climbed out of the car, one long leg after the other, was Precious Ivory. In short-shorts and stilettos, with butt-length dark hair hanging down her back, she stood by the door and scoped out the street. Her back to us, she bent slightly and paid an inordinate amount of attention to the driver’s side door.

  Fab crawled into the passenger seat. “What’s she doing?”

  “Has she ever seen you before?” I asked. “You need to jog by and check out every inch of the car. Too bad we can’t borrow a dog.”

  Fab scooped her long hair into a ponytail, checking the
street again before she got out.

  Before the door closed, I told her, “Be careful.”

  Fab stayed on the opposite side as she walked up the street. Moving slowly past the Vette, she took a chance at loitering, knowing that the upstairs windows had a clear view of the driveway. A few houses past, she made a U-turn and doubled back.

  I groaned, seeing a jean-clad pair of legs coming slowly down the stairs. I jumped out the side door and ran toward the house. Fab caught sight of me and took cover behind the neighbor’s hedge. At the foot of Precious’ driveway, I fell to the pavement. Sitting up, I grabbed my ankle and surreptitiously waved to Fab.

  “Can you help me?” I called out.

  “Someone’s coming,” I hissed to Fab, in case she was close by. “Don’t take any chances. Just remember, Gunz has a track record of choosing unstable women.” I massaged my lower leg and ankle.

  Practically prone on the cement, I sat back up, not wanting an ambulance to get called. My only thought was to divert attention from Fab so that she could slip away unnoticed.

  A tall, sixtyish man, with a hard glint to his eyes and shoulder-length grey hair tied in a ponytail, glared at me from the bottom of the steps, sending a chill up my spine.

  His face showed years of a hard life. With one look, you knew this man wasn’t to be crossed. He cleared the space between us in a few steps.

  “No sleeping in the fucking driveway. Hit the road before I run over you.” He spat, wiping his chin with the back of his hand, then wiping his hand on his torn jeans.

  “Sorry, I tripped. Just catching my breath,” I said. I grabbed the bumper on one of the pickup trucks to hoist myself up and earned a growl from the man. I made a show of standing up slowly, testing my foot before I limped back across the street.

  I resisted the urge to look over my shoulder and ambled up the road. Fab had disappeared, but I knew she’d pop up in a minute or two. I needed to hone that talent. I stopped at the bumper of my SUV and bent over, hands on my knees. I didn’t see anyone in the street, but I heard a car start.

  An old restored pickup in immaculate condition pulled alongside me, and the man who’d just threatened me rolled down the window.

  “Hey doll, want a ride?” he said.

  This time I noticed his missing front teeth.

  “Thanks, but I just live a few houses up.”

  “Whatever,” he grumbled and then roared off down the street.

  I watched Mr. Personality turn the corner before I ran around and jumped in the SUV. Even with my eyes glued to the rearview, I didn’t see Fab coming before she appeared out of nowhere and threw open the driver's side door.

  I arched my eyebrows at her. “Really, Fabiana. You have dirt on your clothes.”

  She made a face. “There’s a wire stuck between the door and the jam that disappears inside. Most likely, she made it look like it was wired for some fireworks, but I heeded your advice and didn’t touch it,” she said, out of breath. “I was about to roll under the car when I heard you talking. See, I do listen sometimes.”

  “I hope you made it clear that the price goes up when there’s a problem. My almost lying on the pavement qualifies as a problem.”

  “Did I forget to tell you it’s a freebie?”

  “Freebie,” I said with disgust. “He knew where the car was parked. Why didn’t he come get it himself? Why won’t he file a police report? Because he stole the car from someone, or better yet, it has title problems, also code for stealing. A red Vette wouldn’t be hard to find, especially since Precious is driving it around.”

  “Gunz is allergic to law enforcement. I need to go back over and see if she wired the passenger side.”

  “Forget it. You stick one leg outside this car, and I’ll come around and drag you the rest of way out, toss you in the back, and drive us home.”

  Fab glared at me. “Don’t threaten me with your driving. I need a moment to think how to get that car.”

  I bit back a laugh, but Fab looked ready to throw a full-blown fit. I liked when she yelled in French. Not understanding a word, I lacked the appropriate sympathy, prolonging her tirade. It could get pretty funny after a full minute or so of her screaming cuss words and me giggling at her.

  “Threaten you with my driving? I haven’t even pulled out my aces: Mother, Didier... and let’s not forget Creole. He will actually strangle you, unlike the other two. You know how protective he is.” I pulled my phone out of my pocket. “Which one to call first....” I tapped my cheek, giving her a pensive look.

  Fab reached for my phone. Ready for her reaction, I jerked it out of her reach.

  “Oh alright,” she said.

  “Would I give you lousy advice?” I asked her. “No!” I answered for her. “We’re going to try something new for a change. We're going to walk away from a job.”

  “I’ll need a good story,” Fab frowned.

  “Tell Gunz she had it rigged to explode. Dare him to open the door and play the odds. Maybe it's a car alarm, maybe not.” I glared at her. “Why are you in business with him anyway?”

  “He helped me get the cool office space. Who has a lighthouse? No one.” She crossed her arms and scowled. “I didn’t want some crappy trailer office.”

  “You wound me. You know I never do crappy. Old, maybe. I thought about getting an old house. Something with a porch so we could sit out front and watch traffic go by. I do like your choice, though. I wouldn’t have thought of it. I didn’t tell you, but Brad called and he loves it.”

  “Gunz is waiting for a call,” Fab said.

  Before she could get her phone out, a flatbed rolled around the corner and came to a stop in front of Precious’s house and honked.

  Precious bounced down the stairs barefoot, meeting the driver. They stood at the Corvette and talked. He handed her a clipboard, she signed something and ran around to the driver’s side, dropping out of sight. A minute later, she jumped back up and nodded in the man’s direction.

  “This is an interesting turn of events,” I said.

  “What the hell is she up to?” Fab seethed.

  The driver backed down the street, parking at the end. Precious jumped behind the wheel of the Corvette and pulled it up to the flatbed. She got out, patted the hood and blew it a kiss. It didn’t take long for the car to be loaded and secured. As the flatbed rolled away, Precious waved and went back to her house.

  “At least the truck won’t be hard to follow,” Fab said.

  Chapter 27

  Two hours later, after following the Corvette up the turnpike, the truck turned off on the causeway, north of Miami. Fab was in pure frustration mode, mostly because she had to follow the speed limit. At least I had something to look at as we drove over the flickering blue-green waters of Biscayne Bay.

  “You'd better hope this guy turns off before we reach the ferry to Fisher Island, or this trip was for nothing,” I said.

  The island is private; the rich paid big money to mingle with those of their financial status. No one can step foot on the ferry without proper identification and a place to go. Uninvited lookers aren’t allowed. Other private islands dot one side of the causeway, though most only have a sign as a deterrent.

  Fab hit the steering wheel. “Now what?” The truck passed the last exit before the causeway ended at the open water. The choices were now down to the ferry or a U-turn.

  I picked up my phone. “Is Brick in?” My tone was brusque, as I was not in the mood for polite chit-chat with Bitsy.

  “He’s out. I’ll tell him your rude ass called.” She hung up.

  “She doesn’t like me.” I faked a sad face. “Brick can get us onto the island. We’ll have to come back tomorrow.”

  “What are the chances we’re going to find the 1960’s Vette sitting in someone’s driveway?”

  “I’m telling you now, breaking into every garage is not on the list of options.” I stared at her until she reluctantly nodded her head in agreement. “Why would someone let her hide what is basically a
stolen car on their multi-million dollar property? What’s in it for them?”

  “This is a great story to get rid of Gunz. We won’t mention that we have connections to get a pass for the island. Agreed?”

  I flashed her a weak smile. The hairs on the back of my neck told me that getting rid of that bald bastard wouldn’t be easy.

  * * *

  It surprised me when Fab pulled up to the docks and parked. I thought we were headed home until she passed the turn. She mentioned updating Gunz, but I thought she’d do it on her own in their new office. Some unfortunate fellow had taken the job of ridding the lighthouse of the noxious odor. To my surprise, he did a pretty good job.

  “Are we hanging out in the parking lot, or does Gunz have a boat slip here?” I asked.

  Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Gunz lumbering down the sidewalk, and I pointed my chin in his direction. He glanced from side to side, as though expecting someone to jump out from behind the neatly stacked crates.

  I silently chastised myself for not staying in the SUV and minding my own business. It was Fab‘s fault. I had to follow behind and stand close enough to hear every word, since she skimped on details in the retelling of anything.

  Gunz scanned the parking lot. “Where the fuck is my car?” he yelled, throwing his hands in the air.

  “Precious got rid of your car already. It’s out on Fisher Island somewhere,” Fab told him.

  He continued to yell. “Why in the hell do you think I hired you? You get your skinny ass out there and get it back.”

  “Hey,” I interrupted. “Lower your voice. Fab’s not hard of hearing.”

  “Mind your own business, you scrawny bitch,” he snarled in frustration.

  Gunz isn’t a man used to having anything he utters questioned. His menacing tone made me want to step back, but I forced myself to stand my ground and not puke.

  He looked at Fab. “Why are you even seen with her? She’s not in your league.”

  “Your girlfriend wired the door of your car to blow up. Before I could get to it, a flatbed transported it to the island. Go get it yourself. I’m not getting blown up for you,” Fab said evenly.