Deborah Brown - Madison Westin 07 - Kidnapped in Paradise (37 page)

We went down to the water and walked along the shore. When we were opposite the stairway by my house, we raced across the sand and snuck up the back steps. We stuck our heads around the fence. Nothing in the backyard had changed, not a single item out of place. We cut across to the French doors, which hadn’t been tampered with.

“There
’
s a key under the flower pot.” I nudged Fab.

She rolled her eyes at me and inserted her trusty pick into the lock. Everything in the darkened living room was in the same place we left it. I had a sixth sense for knowing if something had been touched, and nothing stood out.

Fab skirted over to the drawer in the kitchen island, taking out a loaded Beretta and checking the chamber. You never knew when you
’
d be enjoying morning coffee, and someone unwanted would show up.

Fab headed up the stairs, gun cocked, to check out each room. “You stay at Creole
’
s hideout, and I’ll go to Miami until we get this figured out.”

The plan sounded good, except that I didn’t think I
’
d be welcome at Creole
’
s. Fab wouldn’t be happy that I failed to mention my change of plans. And if she found out, she wouldn’t leave me to fend for myself. She deserved a happy reunion with Didier, though. One of us should be happy, and my vote went to her.

“All clear up here,” Fab called down from the top of the stairs. “Everything in its place. I
’
m going to shower and pack a bag. I’ll sneak out the back again. Gunz is picking me up. And you?”

“I’ll give you a head start and follow.”

“
Cheer up. We’re alive.
”

It didn’t take long for Fab to come back downstairs carrying a small leather duffel bag.  She flopped onto the couch while I went upstairs to shower.

The warm water from the rainfall shower head sprayed down over me. I retrieved a sea sponge and my mango apricot body wash and went over my body three times, making sure not a speck of ick was left attached to my skin before I gave the same thorough treatment to my hair. I had to force myself to get out, the hot water turning lukewarm.

I bundled up in a white cotton robe, comfort clothing, and had to remind myself I had to be prepared to run. I changed into a running skort, followed by a lightweight sweatshirt. My feet were so sore I couldn’t bear the thought of stuffing them inside a pair of tennis shoes. That would have to wait. First things first, I put my lock pick in my back pocket. Never again would I leave the house without one. I followed that with cash and identification and then my final accessory. I grabbed my gun holster from the drawer.

I came back downstairs feeling a tiny bit better. “
I
don’t like leaving you,” Fab said. She put a phone on the counter and a Sig Sauer. “We stay in touch and call each other every day.” I reassured her I would be locking up and leaving right behind her.

I threw my arms around her and hugged her. “Thank you,” I whispered.

“Don’t go thinking you were all slouchy in a crisis. You forget, I
’
ve seen you in action. Don’t get used to being solo for long.”

“We
’
ll talk later,” I said. “Watch your back.” Fab waved, and once the door closed, I stared at the clock on the stove and waited, counting down the minutes.

I went into the kitchen to savor a cup of my favorite coffee that I hadn’t had in days and enact my hastily put-together plan.
      

I found my electronics, my laptop and phone, on the granite island where I had left them. Creole didn’t trust us from the beginning, and as it turned out, he had good reason. I scanned the internet, checking for news stories on Bonnet and was disappointed. No dead bodies had shown up anywhere.

I pushed small discs under the legs of a large, solid-wood buffet that housed holiday dishware and was impossible to move anywhere, but with this little invention it made it easier to relocate a heavy piece of furniture and this one was headed in front of the French doors. Anyone trying to enter would find that the door would open only a crack, giving me time to be cocked and ready; my Beretta and Glock were fully loaded. Moving to the front door, I shoved a chair under the knob.
      

I dashed upstairs and snatched up my favorite pillow and then returned to the main level, double-checked the door locks, and added another chair to the front door. It might not keep someone out, but it would make a ton of noise. I grabbed a cold bottle of water from the refrigerator and my phone and then stretched out on the daybed. It was perfectly placed for a view of the patio and front doors.

Chapter 44

I woke up in the near-dawn hours feeling disoriented, unsure as to why I lay fully dressed on the daybed. The unwanted memories came rushing back. I grabbed the Beretta and listened to the sounds of the night, hearing crickets and cats howling in the distance, letting everyone they woke up know they were having sex. The seashell nightlight from the kitchen illuminated the foyer, letting me see that the chair and chest were still in place.

The last thing I remembered was putting my head on the pillow. I felt guilty for not calling Mother to let her know I was back in town and okay. Instead of dragging her out of her sleep, I
’
d wait until the sun came up to call her. I reached for a baseball cap that Brad left behind on his last visit, and stuffed my red hair neatly underneath. I guzzled a cup of coffee along with two aspirin. I waited for the pain to ease in my feet before shoving them into a pair of confining tennis shoes, wincing as my swollen toes came into contact with the unforgiving leather. I tweaked my undercover look, pulling my hat down and donning a pair of large, dark sunglasses.

I rolled my bicycle down to the beach. I knew my SUV was at Spoon
’
s garage behind barbed wire and locked, with electric fencing and no chance of getting it out without Spoon giving the okay. I rode along the hard sand down by the shoreline as far as I could go before pushing it across the beach to the main road. The streets were deserted. I pedaled to Jake
’
s faster than I thought I could, noticing that even the drunks had gone home to get some sleep before resuming their drinking. I picked the back door lock and parked the bike in the far corner of the kitchen. Phil would see it and come up with a cover story. I headed for the Trailer Court.

Much to my surprise, the Trailer Court had become so popular that the parking lot was full every night, the Vacancy sign off. Tonight was no exception. It drew a quiet crowd that wanted to spend a few days with their feet kicked up before they moved along. No one milled around, all seemed quiet. I heard a crunch on the gravel behind me, so I pulled the Beretta and twirled around.

“Hold on, Sister, don’t shoot.” Crum put his hands in the air. “I
’
m not armed.”

It was too early in the morning to be staring at the irate professor in his jockey shorts. Instead of his signature rubber boots, he was adorned in flip flops. It made me never want to wear the shoes again. They probably looked better on me, because I always had clothes on. I needed to prank Fab with wandering around the house in my underwear and boots. It would have to be when Didier was out of town.

“Just the man I want to see,” I sighed and reholstered my gun. “I need to borrow one of your crappy trucks. Preferably one that runs. Set a fair rental rate and I’ll pay you when I return.” I wanted to mention he should wear shorts, pants, something, but it would be a waste of breath.

“You insult my vehicles and then want to
borrow
one. Your negotiation skills suck.”

I should pull my gun again; he’d lose the snooty look.

“How many times have you told me you hate it when people can’t get to the point? Are you or aren’t you? I don’t have time to waste. I want the red one if it runs.”

He disappeared inside his trailer and came back out with a set of keys in his hand. “Are you in trouble?”

I ignored his question. “Has anyone been around looking for me? Any gossip?”

He shook his head in the negative. “I noticed you haven’t been around. Normally I see you every day. I didn’t ask any questions. Your name hasn’t been mentioned once. I assumed you went on vacation.”

“Anyone murdered? Found dead?”

He sucked in his breath. “No, that I would have heard.”

“You
’
re not to tell anyone you saw me, unless I turn up dead. Understand?”

He reached out and patted my shoulder. “The dead part would be distressing. I
’
m not sure your brother would let me live here without you around. You tolerate people
’
s idiosyncrasies more than anyone I
’
ve ever met.”

“That
’
s so sweet.” I wasn’t sure what else to say to what I felt sure was a compliment.

“There is one thing. Not sure if this is a good time,” he said, not making eye contact, just staring down and wiggling his toes.

I blurted out, “Carlotta? Where is she?” I
’
d forgotten about the troublesome felon. I perked at the thought. Carmine owed me big; maybe he was the solution to the Bonnet problem.

“
Well
… uh… hmm….” He shuffled from one foot to another.

“You promise me right now,” I hissed at him, “that she
’
s alive and well.”

“She was the last time I saw her. You know the woman
’
s crazy.”

I rolled my eyes in his face. “That
’
s rich, coming from you.”

Damn it, I didn’t
escape Bonnet to now be on the run from a retired mobster.

“You need to breathe,” he said. “Come over here and sit down so I can explain.”

I threw myself in the rickety webbed chair, defying it to collapse under me. I
’
d beat Crum over the head with what was left of the aluminum frame. He dragged a bench over and plopped down.

“I had to get rid of her,” he started.

I groaned, wrapping my arms around my middle.

“No wait.” He held up his hand. “Listen to me. I had to call Carmine and have him come fetch her when she had contacted some of her old clients and planned on resuming the flesh trade.”

“Call Carmine?” I thought I
’
d be sick.

“Did you know she procured women for sex?” he grunted. “Why don’t I jump into the middle of the story, you know the part about how I got rid of her.”

About out of patience, I clenched my fists, restraining myself from a good scream. Brad would be pissed if he had to issue refunds to our overnight guests.

“Carlotta told her son that we were engaged. She had me play along, convincing me it was the only way she could get out from under his control. I did like her.”

“Would you have married her?” I asked.

“I never experienced the feelings like I did with her, but I
’
m too old to think with my member.”

I ducked from the dramatic pose of his arms, one hand now on his brow. If I didn’t know better, I would have thought he taught drama instead of engineering at that overpriced college.

“After you left, Carmine showed up in a stretch limo. Carlotta introduced me as his new step-daddy, and that caught him off guard. I thought he
’
d strangle her on the spot, but instead he handed me his business card and told me I
’
d need it when I couldn’t stand her bullshit anymore.”

“I sniffed it in the air; she was up to something, sneaking around, all cagey-like. Well, my intuition was spot on, and no one creeps around in the middle of the night better than me. I tailed her. She had no idea I spent nights spying on her. She scoffed at my high IQ.”

“Yes, I know, it
’
s off the charts.” I closed my eyes for a moment, willing my headache not to come back.