Deborah Brown - Madison Westin 06 - Revenge in Paradise (3 page)

He must have tapped into my thoughts because the bathroom door opened and he threw a pose against the jamb, stark naked. He held out his arms and I walked straight into them.

He scooped me up and set me in the large claw-foot tub that was rapidly filling with warm, bubbly water. I caught the scent of my favorite bath gel, frangipani. He stepped in behind me, catching me by the shoulders. Relaxing against the back of the tub, he drew me into his arms, dipped a large sea sponge into the water, and ran it across my shoulders.

The bathtub sat in front of a large glass window and the sun shined brightly, overlooking a secluded section of the beach out across the Gulf water.

“Another new rule today,” he murmured in my ear.

I leaned forward. “What?”

He pulled me possessively against his chest, the firm muscle of his thigh meeting my stomach.

“We’re going to sleep together every night I’m not working, whether it’s at your house or mine. I’ll find you.” He licked the inside of my ear, his teeth nibbling on the lobe.

“Is this where you’re going to tell me you want Fab to move out?” That had been a sticking point with my last boyfriend. He asked every time he came over when she was moving. I got good at giving evasive answers.

“I like Fab and Didier and it’s not like we have to share a bathroom.”

I realized I’d held my breath waiting for his answer.“Four adults is a lot, but I’m fine with it. I think it’s going to work because we all get along.”

“There will be rules,” he said and cupped my chin, twisting gently so I could see that he was serious.

I rolled my eyes. “Rules? Did you know Fab has them?”

Creole grinned. “Underneath that pretty face, Didier has some good ideas. It’s where I got the idea.”

I reached for the soap, lathered my hands, and massaged his foot. Unwrapping his leg, I ran my soapy hands up and down his inner and outer thigh. “I don’t have to write them down do I?”

He pinched my bottom. “First, you will not do anything that puts your life in danger. Second, no lying. Lastly, if I tell you not to do something, you will not just go ahead and do it anyway.”

“I don’t usually lie. I tend to shade the truth when needed and then there are those times I make up stories out of whole cloth.”

He put his lips to my ear and chuckled. “Do you agree to the rules? A simple, ‘Yes, sir,’ will do.”

“What if I’m naughty and forget?”

“I’ll check with Didier and get back to you. I forgot to ask that part.”

“No more man-bonding for the two of you.” I flicked water on him.

The two of them enjoyed exhausting sports. They ran sprints on the beach, challenged each other to see who could do the most push-ups on the sand, and went for grueling bike rides that took them up and down the Keys.

He tipped my head, cradling my face in both hands, and bent his face toward mine, seeking my lips and brushing them slightly. “I thought about you all day,” he whispered. His mouth fell upon mine, pressing me with a bruising kiss.

“Thank you for announcing to the family that we’re together. I would’ve waited until we were caught naked. My favorite part was when you sealed it with that look daring them to say anything.” I lifted his hand to my lips, kissing his fingers.

“Who’s going to be the one to tell them there was no wedding in South Carolina, that we ran off and spent very little time out of bed?”

“No one’s going to ask except maybe Mother and I’ll change the subject.”

“You’re all mine now,” he whispered.

“Yes, I am.”

Trying to enter unnoticed, I turned the knob to the front door slowly, peering around the corner into the kitchen.

“No one’s here but me,” Fab said, filling her coffee pot with water to drink her early morning cup of mud. The bag said “coffee,” but I wasn’t convinced. “Brad drove your mother home last night. Her car disappeared a few hours later so I assume Spoon must’ve had it picked up and delivered to her.”

Spoon owned an auto body shop down in the seedy section of the docks. This family didn’t have car problems; he picked them up, left a courtesy car, and delivered washed, waxed, and noise-free running vehicles when they were returned. He made it very clear that he’d prefer us to get rides home at night and made sure our cars were waiting in the driveway the next morning.

“You in trouble with Didier?” I asked.

Fab looked ready for work in her halter-top and white mid-thigh shorts, showing off her long legs. She reeked of sexiness. Her signature Walther lay in front of her on the counter.

“His initial anger pretty much evaporated when I launched into an excruciatingly detailed explanation instead of weaseling. He told me he was proud of me for being upfront. Then I jumped in his arms and sniffled about how happy I was that he came back early.”

“What’s your version of what happened? Hit the highlights and don’t gloss over the unflattering details like you usually do.”

She pressed her lips together but not before an exasperated sigh escaped. “I caught your mother, which is probably not an accurate description since she sat at the bar and made calls to set up her game, oblivious to anyone listening. It sounded like fun at first, so I offered to be security. I had second thoughts the night before, but telling your mother she should rethink her bad idea is a waste of breath. The game barely got under way when out of nowhere the shit hit the fan. I texted your mother. You know the rest.”

“Thank goodness there wasn’t any cash lying around.”

“She had that angle covered.” Fab gave me a wary smile. “Set it up as a pre buy-in, the money held by that CPA of yours. Once they finished, they’d cash out. In retrospect, we shouldn’t have tried to hide anything and let the cops investigate. The game didn’t have the appearance of anything illegal. But the doctor, lawyer, and CPA didn’t want their names linked in a headline with gambling. So they hit the secret door at the first sound of trouble.”

The microwave dinged and I took out the hot water and mixed myself a cup of coffee. Fab teased me that mine was nothing more than colored water as compared to hers that guaranteed to grow hair on your chest after half a cup. I slid onto a stool at the large island across from Fab. All important conversations took place in the kitchen.

“We need to talk,” Fab said as she pulled her long brown hair off her neck and secured it with the clip that she held between her lips. “Now that you’re becoming a real estate mogul, where does that leave our partnership?”

“Still partners is where it leaves us. While I was out of town, were you perhaps auditioning a replacement?”

Fab laughed. “I need you tonight for a Brick job, and as you pointed out, they can go south in a second. I’d like backup. I’m to show up at Miami International dressed in something skimpy, sexy and pick up three businessmen and deliver them to the Ritz-Carlton Hotel.”

“Who’s loading the suitcases?” I flexed my arm, tapping my bicep.

“If you’d work out more, I’d let you do it.”

Jazz sauntered in, meowing. Fab scooped him up and reached into the refrigerator for some butcher-paper-wrapped treats. To my surprise, she bypassed the counter and slid down to the floor to feed him.

I watched as he gobbled up the turkey; he had trained everyone in the family to spoil him.

“In the meantime, I’ve got to check on my mini empire. You driving?” I tossed her the keys.

* * *

Fab rocketed around the corner using the brake sparingly in my shiny black convertible Hummer. I’d gotten an excellent deal from Brick after reminding him several times that it had a lot of mileage, which made it a used car. He finally caved when his nephew boosted it and used it as a cheap motel room.

Fab squealed into a parking space in front of the office at The Cottages, a ten-unit property of small individual houses, steps from the Gulf of Mexico. I had inherited the property from my aunt Elizabeth.

We catered primarily to European tourists, recently getting a slew of reservations from Scotland. I looked forward to the first good-looking Scot to show up in a skirt. That would have the crazy women of the neighborhood converging. I had several year-round tenants and a firm rule––that got broken with regularity––not to rent to locals. I recently removed the welcome mat for the occasional murderer, drug dealer, and just plain riff-raff.

“Who’s that?” I pointed to a man, seat back, lying down behind the wheel of a banged up Chevy Vega, gunning his engine at the curb, desperately in need of a muffler.

“Why are you asking me?” Fab grumbled. “I don’t know the people in this neighborhood. That would be you. Go make friends with him and I’m sure he’ll tell you his life story. I’ll wait inside.”

I turned up my nose. “You need to get some social skills.” Fab was right. I’m not sure why, but I could be minding my own business and a random person would spill intimate details of their life into my ear.

Fab kicked the office door open. “Feet off the desk, that’s not professional,” she barked at Mac Lane, the manager.

Mac, a curvy middle-aged woman, had on her favorite light-up tennis shoes and was dressed in an unfashionable pair of culottes and a wife-beater shirt. Energy drink-addicted, she noisily slurped every last drop and threw the can across the room into the trash. I never regretted hiring her. She was tough, ballsy, and not afraid to use her Beretta to rid the property of undesirables.

“Just filled the refrigerator.” She put a fresh piece of bubble gum into her mouth, flinging the paper wrap in the direction of the trash, though it missed by a mile. “How was the bogus wedding trip?”

“Toe-curling, excruciatingly amazing,” I sighed. “And if you tell anyone, you’re fired.”

I plopped down onto a chair in front of the desk. Fab claimed the couch, stretching out and shoving pillows under her head. I redecorated the office tropical island style—rattan furniture covered in shades of green, with bright splashes of tangerine and cream. Office rule: A full snack bowl topped off with crackers, cookies, and mini candy bars.

Mac banged her feet against the desk, sending the running lights racing around the bottom of her shoes. The problem was that only the left one worked. “I knew Creole would be hot.” She frowned, staring at her shoe. “You’re a little skimpy on the details.”

Fab snickered from the couch.

I changed the subject. “Who’s the scurve at the curb?”

“Did you get a close-up look?” Mac crossed herself. “He’s creepy looking—his face scarred up from one too many fights. The most impressive one runs from his ear to the side of his mouth. Looks like he sewed it up himself. And he has mean, narrow, beady eyes. Heard him laugh once and it sent shivers up my spine.”

“Please, tell me you didn’t rent to him.” If she said yes, I’d need aspirin.

“Hell no!” Mac’s eyebrows came together in a scowl as she said it. “He doesn’t even live in the neighborhood, I checked. That’s Jami’s boyfriend, claims to work construction but I don’t believe him. He drives her to every job and stands guard.”

Jami had been the gardener since right after I took over management of the property. She rode up one day on her bicycle and insisted I didn’t know anything about planting; turns out there’s more to it than throwing a plant in a hole and covering it with dirt. She conducted her business from the back of her bicycle, carrying small tools around in its dual baskets. My green thumb was not a match for my father’s, I should have paid more attention all those times I followed him around his garden. Now I excelled at lugging plants home from the nursery with instructions for where to plant them. Jami was always outgoing and friendly but had two distinct personalities: the responsible one that showed up to her accounts every day and the other one, a hard partier by night.

“What happened to her husband?” I had met the man a few times. He was older than she was––I suspected he provided stability. He had a good sense of humor, which sold me.

Mac stuck her pen in the large bubble she’d blown and the sticky mess covered part of her mouth, a piece sticking to her brown hair. “She traded down, apparently he wasn’t exciting enough. She needs to be careful with this more sparkly model.”

I glared at Mac when she brought her shoe down hard on the desk again.

“Damn. I may never find another pair like these.” Mac patted her shoes.

Interrupted by a knock, Fab reached out and turned the knob, giving the door a shove.

Jami stood in the doorway in her signature, barely covering anything short-overalls, her hot pink hair pulled into a ponytail sticking out of the top of her head, wearing a T-shirt advertising her skills, and bathed in sweat. The last time I’d seen her, her hair screamed fluorescent red.

“I hate to ask,” she said, shuffling from one foot to the other, “but can I get a pay advance, we’re getting kicked out of our trailer?”

I raised my eyebrows. “I thought you and your husband lived in an apartment.”

“I got tired of being a boring vanilla wife.” She twisted a pink lock of hair around her finger. “I packed my clothes one day while he was at work and left a note.”

Ouch! “I’ll help any way I can,” I said. I liked her, but she made terrible decisions.

Jami looked around the room and back at me. “If you’d let me stay at the Trailer Court, I wouldn’t need much of an advance.”

Fab burst out laughing.

The estate of Gus Ivers had just settled. We’d been business partners for a short time, and his bequest left me the owner of an entire block of commercial real estate, except the portion I already owned, Jake’s. Most of it run down and in need of repair.

“The place is a dump and I haven’t decided what I’m going to do with it yet,” I told her. “There’s only one person living there and he has a bad attitude.” Becoming a slumlord was not in my future.

“I know the professor.” Jami smiled. “Caught him prowling around the yard of another client, stealing apples. Now I take him a bag at least once a week.”

“A professor? Why am I the last to know?” Mac smacked her gum. “What’s he like?”

“He’s a piece of weirdness in underwear,” Fab said, and rolled her eyes.