Deborah Brown - Madison Westin 07 - Kidnapped in Paradise (13 page)

Fab threw her hands in the air and stalked back around to my side of the SUV. Withdrawing keys from her pocket, she hit the unlock button. “Get out. You
’
re not funny.”

“You know that
’
s not true.”
I
tousled
her
hair
.

Fab linked her arm in mine and warned, “Just in case you think you
’
re going to run off.”

* * *

Bitsy, our favorite receptionist, had her ample behind parked in its usual spot behind her desk in the middle of the showroom. Her heavily made-up face etched into a scowl when we raced through the roll-up doors. She flipped us off and turned her back. 

Fab moved her hand behind her back to where she kept her Walther. “You know, Bits-ass, there are other big-boobed, fake-blonde strippers that can do your job. Who
’
d ask questions if you didn’t show up to work one day?”

I wanted to laugh but didn’t, knowing Bitsy was stupid enough to try and outdraw Fab with the little pea-shooter gun she kept in her desk drawer. I tugged on Fab
’
s arm.

“A dollar says I beat you up to the second floor.”

Fab hesitated a second before she shot over to the stairs, leaving me standing there. I passed on demanding a “thank you” from Bitsy for distracting Fab from pulling her gun out.

“Hurry up!” Fab yelled from the top.

“You
’
re such a show off.” I ran up the stairs and hung on to the handrail just in case, not wanting to tumble backward.

Brick looked disgusted as we shoved each other to see who got in the door first.

“Are you two ever going to grow up? This is a place of business.” He pointed to the leather chairs in front of his massive desk, which would dwarf anyone except him.

Fab and I had clearly changed roles, usually she manned the window and I sat in the chair. This visit she draped herself in the one of the chairs. After looting the candy bowl on the credenza, I went and stood by the window, enjoying the corner view of the palm-lined street. I scoped out the property to find the fastest way off the lot, for one of those just-in-case moments. I learned from the master. Fab was always on the lookout for the quickest escape route.

Brick shoved a picture across the desk.

“I
’
ve got a pickup for you two. This time it's a person, not a car.”

Fab and I looked at one another. I noticed it was a booking photo of an older woman, though I found it hard to judge her age since jail wasn’t a picnic and had an aging effect. She had pale, weathered skin, a hardened glint to her beady eyes, and grey stubbly hair. She didn’t look like a grandmother who carried cookies in her pocket. Brick held up his hand.

“
I
don’t want any excuses. It
’
s an easy job. She
’
s being released from Lowell in Ocala, wrongfully convicted, a little domestic dispute. She just wants to be reunited with her family and enjoy life.”

Oh great, the middle of Florida.

We needed to start specifying that we were taking jobs in South Florida only. If I had my way, it would be only the Keys. In times like these, I was happy Fab wouldn’t let me drive; a round trip would take twelve hours.

I flicked the photo back across the desk, scrunching my nose.

“Where did you get this case?” Not a stupid question for most people, but posing it to Brick would be a waste of breath. He had a low percentage rate with the truth, and getting all the information from him on anything was impossible.

“This woman can’t possibly afford your helping-hand fees. Is she some criminal friend of yours, or perhaps their mother or sister?”

His clenched his jaw and glared at me.

“You two listen to me. I apologized for Carlotta Ricci and how the case didn’t go according to plan. I also paid your screw-me rate.”

“Thanks for reminding me.” My mouth was drawn in a tight line. “A new stipulation to working for you is that if the job goes off the rails and over the cliff... in simple terms, if we get shot at, arrested, or kidnapped, t
he fee is quadruple. One more thing, too: you might want to think about Jimmy Spoon’
s reaction if anything serious were to happen to either one of us.”

Brick's fist came down hard on the desk, his eyes growing dark and beady. “Are you threatening me?” he demanded.

“Just stating facts,” I hissed back. “You know the man. Here
’
s a big FYI: He
’
s dating my mother.”

I could see from the look on his face the last tidbit of information came as a surprise. For a man who did business in the Cove, it surprised me that he was ill-informed. It would behoove Brick to keep track of life there; his ignorance could end up biting him in the rear.

“Like-I-said,” Brick stuttered, his anger abating a little. “Pick Mrs. Compton up. Take her home. How hard can that be?”

“You always say that,” I reminded him. “Are we agreed on the new terms?”

“Yeah, yeah. But don’t think you
’
re going to screw me on every job. I should have a release date by tomorrow.” He busied himself with the papers on his desk.

Fab stood up.

“Are you two done?” She didn’t wait for an answer, having already cleared his office door.

I grabbed cold waters and two more bags of Oreos from the snack bowl to calm my nerves from the stressful meeting and waved goodbye to Brick.

“Most people take one piece of candy, not the whole bowl,”
Brick snapped.

“
Well I’
m not most people. Besides, I share––one for her, the rest for me.”

Fab waited at the bottom of the steps.

“Just know in the new business, you
’
re handling all the billing issues.”

“Have you thought about buying your own car and telling him to go to hell?”

“You sound like Didier. He wants me to find another line of work,”
Fab sighed.
 

Chapter 16

I came through the side fence, returning from an early morning walk, a bucket of shells in my hand.
      

“About time you showed up.” Fab smiled and shoved a glass of iced tea at me.

I squinted at her, and sat in a chair across from the lovebirds.

“Pardon me for being suspicious, but what do you want?”

“I
’
m just trying to be more gracious, show you I don’t take you for granted.”

“I suspect Didier
’
s influence.” I looked over at him, trying not to laugh. “Are you enjoying the one time you asked her to do something and she actually did it?”

“Cherie....” He shook his finger.

Every time I heard him say that French endearment as a two-syllable word, I felt chastised.

“Just spit it out. When do I ever say no? Well, sometimes, but just because it
’
s so much fun.”

“I got a new client and I need your help,” Fab said.

“Aren’t I an associate or some other such BS title? How many people knew before me?”

Didier glared at me.

“It
’
s not like I used the F
word.
” I glared back. “What kind of case?”

“The client is Horton King, a yacht salesman up in Miami. He
’
s out on bond for beating his girlfriend.”

“Not interested. Have fun without me.” I wasn’t interested in helping a woman abuser.

“He says he never touched her,” Fab said.

“That
’
s what they all say. Or maybe she deserved it?” I arched a brow and smirked.

“Then why call us?” Fab asked. “I want you to go.”

* * *

We parked in front of an all-glass building, which lay on Beach Boulevard in Fort Lauderdale. Inside the floor-to-ceiling sliding doors of the showroom, two-million dollar boats were on display. More than three dozen boats of various sizes were on exhibit around the lot. At least no oily salesman lurked nearby, waiting to pounce once we got out of the SUV.

“Miss Merceau.” A man came around the corner of the building. Nice looking, fortyish, definitely worked out, with thick grey-silver hair that looked good on him. On a woman, that hair would make her look older than a stump.

He stuck out his hand, and he and Fab shook. I refrained from licking my palm and sticking it out. Instead I put both hands in my pockets. I
’
d do anything to keep from shaking hands.
      

Fab said something I couldn’t hear as Horton King invited us into his office.

Once seated, he opened a folder and shoved a picture across his desk. It was of a young blonde woman. She had thick black roots, a pair of blackened eyes, and a puffy mouth. ‘
Kelsey James’
was
scribbled on the bottom of the page.

He held out his hands, palms down, twisting them side to side. “Take a good look at my knuckles. Don’t you think they
’
d be bruised?” He stood up and unbuttoned his dress shirt, taking it off and turning around for our inspection. “Not a mark on me.”

“Tell us what happened,”
Fab asked, giving him a smile.

He seemed like a decent sort. Behind him on a table was a framed picture of himself with two teenagers, but I wasn’t sold. I knew firsthand that the normal-looking ones turned out to be just as abusive as the ones who boasted of their talents. Scanning the office, I scowled; no snack bowl in sight. If he was about to launch into some long-winded explanation, I
’
d need a mini Snickers bar or something else with white sugar.

Lately Fab and I had reversed roles. She had swiped my patience gene, while I just wanted to go to the beach. Ever since we found the head, I felt unsure, even fearful at times, in my own home. I shook my head, refusing to allow the gruesome image to take hold again.

“We
’
d been dating about two months,” Horton began. “
Kelsey’
s high-strung, a bundle of energy. We got along great.”

That was code for
‘She’s crazy but the sex was amazing’.

Horton blew out a long sigh of frustration and ran his hands through his hair, settling back in his leather chair. Behind his glass desk, he had an amazing view of the dark blue waters of the Atlantic Ocean.

“We went down to Marathon for dinner,” he said. “Kelsey was in a bad mood when I picked her up, a surly attitude from the start. I thought with a little food and drink we could salvage the evening.”

He was hanging in for the jungle sex.

I tried to hold back a snort and instead it came out as a weird unidentifiable noise. Fab and King both stared at me. Fab toed my leg with her expensive pump. She had out-dressed me in a sexy black pencil skirt and a cream-colored, button-down silk blouse. I traded my tropical print skirt in for a black one and forced my feet into a pair of sliders.

“Can I get you something to drink?” he asked.

He turned and opened a small refrigerator, pulling out two bottles of water, as Fab requested. His back to us, I poked her arm and tapped my watch, fake yawning.

She shook her finger in a perfect imitation of her boyfriend.

“Before we got out of the car, Kelsey started a fight in the parking lot. She informed me that I was a snore-bore, that I didn’t know how to have fun, and that she wanted to see other people.” He paused. “Then she demanded money and said she
’
d get her own ride home. I told her I'd take her back. I stopped for a traffic light several blocks away. She jumped out of the car and took off.”