Mother and her damned blind dates…not one of them had ever been remotely interesting. I had a reprieve while Zach and I were a couple, but since I was single again, she wouldn’t rest until I was married and her dream of grandchildren came true. She stopped pestering Brad with attempts at fix-ups once he began dating Julie. She had a son named Liam, giving Mother one almost-grandchild; and she salivated for more.
I turned to Brian. “So, you’re my date?” The waiter set my wine glass in front of me or I’d have left.
He looked like a nice guy, but what did that mean anyway? Boring! A non-descript fellow, brown hair, cheeks flushed. I’d bet one of his body parts that he had no clue what he was getting into.
He groaned. “I’m sorry you didn’t know.”
“Brian is the director at Sunnyside Retirement Home. We met when he filled in and conducted a tour for my poker group.” Mother smiled at him.
“Are you and Spoon thinking about a move to the old-folks home?” I asked.
Brian coughed and took a drink of water. “Sunnyside is a scenic, maintenance-free, upscale senior-living retirement community, with all the amenities and extensive health care options for those in their retirement years.”
“Do you have a minimum age requirement?” I asked. “He’s my age,” I said, and looked at Spoon.
Spoon glared at me and I gave it right back. He downed the rest of his beer and set the bottle down with a bang.
Mother frowned. “Brian and I sat together at lunch and I realized the two of you had a lot in common. He’s unattached and so are you. It’s time for you to meet someone new.”
Brian looked uncomfortable. “I want to thank you, Madeline, for referring the Odell’s Sunnyside’s way.” He looked at me. “Your mother’s friends are quite lively.”
“They all smoke, drink, and gamble, don’t let those phony chips fool you; they’re backed with hard cash and payout when they leave. Do you allow these activities?” I pasted a phony smile on my face.
“Madison!” Mother kicked me again.
“We have a Bingo night that’s very popular,” Brian said.
I bet about now Brian wished he had ordered something besides a Shirley Temple. “My boyfriend left me for his supermodel ex-wife. What’s your story?” I took my annoyance with Mother out on him, and I regretted it instantly.
He patted my hand. “Madeline told me your sad little story. I’m very sorry.” He put his arm around my shoulders. “She also told me about your penchant for bad boys, they’re never worth it in the end,” he clucked. “You should try a regular guy for a change.”
“What a prick,” Spoon mouthed, glaring at him.
“I can’t believe you,” I said angrily to Mother. “What about your boyfriend?” I looked at Spoon. “She wasted your time,” I said to Brian and pushed his arm away. I grabbed my glass of wine, downed every last drop, and slammed it onto the table, shattering the stem.
No one said a word.
I shoved my chair back. “I’m not ready.” I burst into tears and ran past the hostess stand at the front of the restaurant, and right into the open arms of Creole who was coming in the door.
Chapter 3
Creole grew up down the block from my Aunt Elizabeth, whom he had enjoyed a mother-son relationship with. She had unofficially adopted him, often hiding him from an abusive, drunken father. It surprised me that my brother and I didn’t meet him until I came to live in Tarpon Cove. Since my aunt’s death, I learned that she lived two lives and actually managed to keep them separate. From the day Creole introduced himself to the family, Mother had opened her heart to him as if he were a second son.
He put his arm around me and led me out of the restaurant. “Why are you crying?” he growled. “You know I hate that.”
“Take me home,” I sniffed.
Creole scooped me up in his arms and carried me across the parking lot to his pickup truck. He reached into the glove box and handed me a napkin after depositing me on the front seat.
“Do I need to go back in there and beat the hell out of someone?” His crystal blue eyes, now dark cobalt, bore into me.
I hit the highlights of what Mother had done and also explained that I overreacted because I’d had a crappy day.
“Madeline and I need to have talk. I’ll make it very clear that when you’re ready, I’m going to be your first date,” he barked.
It didn’t take long for Creole to become firmly entrenched as a member of our family—but thankfully not related by blood, since we’d kissed more than once. Even though he was easy to look at, lean and hard, and moved like a tiger on the prowl, I had no plans to start dating when breaking up still felt like an open wound. Besides, there were a few black marks on my relationship track record; an ex-husband lurked around out there somewhere.
“I’m high maintenance. I’ve been called crazy more times than I can count, and I’ve been known to carry a gun.” I smiled at him.
“You threatened to shoot me once, and did you see me running for the door?”
My stomach growled loudly. A glass of white wine on an empty stomach was now making me nauseous.
“How about Roscoe’s?” he asked. “I can get us onto the secret back patio where all the tables have chairs.”
Roscoe’s served the best burgers in Tarpon Cove, but after a couple of fights broke out he removed all of the seating in the front and told people to eat in their car or leave. He didn’t have a brisk walk-up business but the drive-through always had a waiting line. He could afford to reject the “customers always comes first” rule.
“Afterward, I need to go back to The Crab Shack and get my SUV.” I grabbed another napkin and wiped my eyes.
Creole picked up his phone. “Madison’s car is in the parking lot; you make sure it gets back to her place. It’s the least you can do since you’re part of the reason I found her crying.” After a short pause he added, “And tell your girlfriend that the next time she wants to set Madison up on a date, she runs it by me first. Got that?” He sat listening for a minute and then hung up.
“How did Spoon take you telling him what to do?”
“He laughed at my nerve but said he’d get your SUV back to the house. He can’t shoot me, I’m law enforcement.”
Shortly after my aunt’s death, Creole came back to South Florida on loan from the DEA in the pursuit of a big drug case. After locking up the bad guys, he transferred permanently to the Miami office and now consorts with drug dealers all day. “Creole” is an alias for his undercover work. Only a handful of people know his real name—Luc Baptiste. The Westin family perfected the art of secret keeping.
He pulled into Roscoe’s and parked. “Don’t move.”
He favored the big testosterone trucks, and being short made it impossible for me to get in and out by myself in a dignified fashion. He opened the door. I held out my arms and he swung me onto the ground, gave me a shake, and pushed me up against the side of his truck.
“You will explain to me why you didn’t call me after the shooting at Jake’s, and how come I had to hear about it through the grapevine.” Turning me completely around, he said, “No bandages, that’s a good sign.” He leaned down, his lips grazing my cheek.
He tugged on my hand, clearly impatient, and hustled me around the back and in through the delivery entrance. Roscoe and Creole did a convoluted hand shake, and man-hugged. Creole introduced me, saying, “This is Madison, my next girlfriend.”
Roscoe gave a shout of laughter before his dark eyes swept over me from head to toe. He stood basketball player tall, towering over Creole who is well over six feet. “Nice to meet you.” He smiled his approval. “I suppose you want entre to the private patio?”
“Can I brag to my friends?” I asked. I had enjoyed Roscoe’s food on many occasions. It was the place to go when your mouth watered for a great hamburger, but I always had to enjoy them from the front seat of my SUV.
Roscoe shook his finger. “No, you cannot. The riffraff will converge and demand
entrance.” He took our order and I noticed he stuck it first on the wheel.
Creole pulled out my chair and went and got us bottled water. “Look at me,” he said when he returned, sitting across the small table from me. “You didn’t call me or Fab, why not?”
“Do you want me to cry all through dinner?” I flashed him a sad face, hoping to change the subject.
“I can get the information out of you and there won’t be a single tear shed.” He twisted my hair around his fingers and pulled my face forward. “Start talking.”
“Started the morning with being threatened. He’s dead; left a big mess. Johnson the sheriff is a dick and the crime scene cleaner dude is seriously weird. Can’t believe Kevin tried to fix up his sister Julie with him. Why were you at The Crab Shack?”
“Harder called with some sketchy details but knew you’d come out without a scratch. I went by the house and Fab informed me you were at The Crab Shack having dinner with Mother. She said Madeline stopped by, acting weird, so I thought I’d better check it out.”
Harder had earned the esteemed title of Chief of Detectives for the illustrative Miami police department, and was Creole’s boss. We got off to a rocky start, when he thought I had criminal tendencies and I thought he was an ass. Turns out we were both wrong.
I asked Harder once, “What’s your first name?”
“Detective,” he said. Now I suppose he’d change it to “Chief.”
Creole cut into my thoughts. “I heard Johnson had a few choice words for you today. He won’t bother you again. Ever,” he assured me.
Johnson, the newest member of the sheriff’s department, would laugh off threats of bodily harm. Best case scenario, he gets transferred to Boise.
I changed the subject. “How was your day, honey?”
He put his lips to mine. “I could get used to you asking me that question.”
One of the cooks came out and set our hamburgers—loaded with lettuce, tomatoes, pickles, and secret sauce—and little skinny fries in front of us. “I love their fries.” I popped one into my mouth.
Creole watched me devour the French fry. “I had a high-level meeting this morning and then went back to the office for a long, boring conference call. Harder and I started throwing paper balls at one another. He taped the call so his assistant can get us a transcript by morning.”
“Did I say thank you for rescuing me from a dreadful evening?” I looked at his flawless caramel-colored skin and shoulder-length dark hair. I wanted to fling myself in his arms, but not while still second-guessing my previous relationship, which felt like a failure on par with my divorce. “You’re smoking hot. You deserve someone not on the rebound; a woman who makes you laugh and serves you breakfast, or coffee anyway, in bed.”
He lifted my chin and looked into my eyes. “You have a little time left to decide you want me on your own. After that, I’m going to pursue you relentlessly until you change your mind.”
“That sounds stalkerish.”
Creole tightened his grip on my chin. “Tell me you feel nothing when we kiss, that my fingers on your skin leaves you cold. Tell me to get lost and I will.”
We stared at one another. “No matter what happens, I’m never going to tell you to get lost.”
He picked up a French fry and shoved it between my lips.
Chapter 4
Fab stomped into the kitchen, yelling, her blue eyes glaring. “I will not allow you to turn into a crappy friend.” She grabbed me and ran her hand across my back. “Go get your Glock, right now.”
“He’s dead. That should make you happy.” I reached for my favorite coffee mug, white ceramic with raised seashells.
It annoyed me that Fab always managed to look great in the morning with relatively no primping. Her waist-length brown hair tied up in a ponytail, she had on her favorite skinny jeans and a white, low cut T-shirt, which camouflaged her Walther at the small of her back.
Fab, a coffee snob, got her special blend out of the refrigerator. If you asked me, it looked like mud and the first sip made you gag.
She snapped her fingers at me. “I hate that Zach made you doubt yourself. If you don’t snap out of it, I will hurt you.”
“How will you explain that to Mother?” I smirked. “Did you know what she had planned at dinner last night?” My eyes narrowed.
“What I know is I had to hear from Creole that you almost died yesterday. The only thing that made me happy was that he had to hear the news from Harder,” she snickered. “What did Madeline do now?”
Fab and Harder had an avid dislike for each other. He itched to arrest her, and he knew her investigation skills blurred the lines of legality, but she still managed to elude his grasp.
“She fixed me up with some bland piece of toast, forgot his name already. Can you imagine the first kiss when he feels up my Glock?” I half laughed. “Creole said he’d make sure she doesn’t do that again.”
“What’s up with you two? The way he looks at you should make you want to get naked.”
“He did mention he could use my body in delightful ways to wipe every memory of Zach from my mind and heart.” The thought of being horizontal with an unrestrained Creole made my skin tingle.
“What’s wrong with you? He’s almost as hot as my Didier. What is it that disgusts you? The rock hard abs, tight ass, or those long legs that could wrap double around your frame? He speaks French, so he can whisper those naughty things you like to hear.”
Didier had spoiled me and Mother, always whispering French in our ears, eliciting blushes and giggles. He flirted shamelessly, and we loved every second.
“Just like I yelled at Mother last night in the middle of the restaurant, I’m not ready.”
Fab poured herself some coffee and sat at the island. “Sorry I missed that scene. How are you two going to make up?”
“I’m not speaking to her today so I have time to come up with something.”
We clinked coffee mugs and laughed.
Zach walked by the kitchen window, not looking in. It had recently been replaced with a garden window and filled with small tropical plants. The last hail storm that blew through targeted the panes, causing cracks. Now we had a larger view of the entire front of the house and anyone who walked through the gate.
“Hand me the gun in the drawer.” Fab held out her hand. “I’ll get rid of him and explain what no trespassing means.”
Past experience taught us that a Beretta in the utensil drawer could come in handy.
Zach Lazarro owned AZL, a security firm that boasted individual and corporate clients. Slice, his right-hand man, recently became a partner and the two traveled in a pack. Slice put his hands to the window, looking in, and waved. The doorbell rang.
Fab slid off the stool and was half way to the door. She cracked the door open, sticking her nose out, and said, “What?”
I couldn’t hear what was said, but Fab looked at me and I nodded to let them in.
Zach and Slice filled the kitchen; both were over six feet tall, ex-navy seals, and hard-asses. Slice was a species all to himself. Over two hundred pounds, he was a solid wall of steel, complete with a menacing scar that ran the entire length of his face.
“You made me coffee.” Slice bared his teeth at Fab, his version of a smile.
Zach hugged me. “Came to check on you. I heard about yesterday.”
I wanted to run my hands through his tousled black hair and smooth it down. “Help yourself to something to drink. I’m considering a name change for Jake’s, and in the meantime, I’m putting up a sign shouting new ownership.”
Zach grabbed a bottle of water from the fridge and slid onto a stool across from me at the island. His blue eyes were intense, checking me over. Slice grabbed Fab’s elbow and lead her out to the patio. She’d be mad that he cut off her eavesdropping opportunity.
“Jake’s not coming back,” I told Zach. “I bought him out and it’s all legal-like.”
He covered my hands with his. “I’m sorry about how ev
erything went down between us. You deserved to find out from me and not to be publically embarrassed.”
He had been my boyfriend since shortly after I arrived in Tarpon Cove. After a long relationship of I save your life, you save mine, I met his parents for the first time in a restaurant, along with his ex-wife, Lucia, and son, Anthony III—Zach looking uncomfortable to acknowledge our relationship. Thank goodness for Mother and Creole; they got me out of there with my dignity intact.
He continued. “Lucia showed up on my parent’s doorstep with her luggage and our son. Anthony had begun asking questions about his father, and she didn’t want to compound her lies by saying I’d died.”
“That must have been a shock for your parents.” I’d already heard bits and pieces of the hows and whys and, quite frankly, I didn’t want to hear anymore. At the time of Lucia’s arrival, our relationship had begun to crack under the stress of what he termed my being a “Fab wannabe.” Earlier that day, he told me he needed a break in the relationship. He wanted a stay-at-home girlfriend, not one who carried a gun and partnered with Fab on her quasi-legal jobs.
“Lucia found out she was pregnant after the divorce became final. She figured I wouldn’t be interested since we had an acrimonious divorce. We’ve talked through our issues and we’re considering reconciliation, but our focus is Anthony.”
This was the first time he had stopped by since that fateful night, although I’d seen glimpses of him around town. I supposed it was nice for him to stop by and check on me, but I wanted to tell him not to do it again. “I’m happy for you; I know you wanted a family.” I smiled, although I know it never made it to my eyes. “You look rested and relaxed.”
He squeezed my hand.
Do I look happy? Look rested and relaxed? No, I don’t. I wanted to tell him to get out of my house. I couldn’t fault him; he did what any man with integrity would do, stand by his child and the child’s mother. That’s why I had loved him.
Greed in Paradise (Paradise Series) Page 2