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

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.”