Swindled in Paradise (19 page)

“Phil uncovered that Ursula owns an interior design business and has office space in an upscale furniture store in South Miami. She called Ursula and scheduled an appointment regarding a job redoing the lobby of the Shores Hotel,” Fab related. “Phil bought us time to slip into the condo and have a look-see without having to worry about jumping out the window.”

“How is Phil going to pull off this meeting without Ursula catching on? It’s ballsy.” I could see this plan ending badly.

“Phil assured me when I asked the same question that she’s got it handled. She’s sending an associate who’s going to pass himself off as an executive of the hotel—invite her into the bar and interview her. Phil has every confidence in her man candy, as she called him. He’s played the part of an executive on more than one occasion.”

“I’d feel more comfortable if one of us was involved, but let’s face it,” I stared over at her. “Neither of us have the skills for that scam.”

Fab ignored me. “Phil’s always come through so far. She promises, she delivers, and doesn’t have one suck-ass excuse after another, like most of the people we’ve worked with in the past.”

“Language,” I tsked in Mother’s voice and shook my finger.

“You know damn well that if she were here, Madeline would laugh.”

“I think Mother had a bit of a hidden wild streak before we moved to Florida, and now we’ve thoroughly corrupted her.” I sighed. “How do we know Mr. Ursula won’t be home?”

“I highly doubt Mr. Preston Sinclair III, the property owner and esteemed businessman out of Miami, would appreciate your sneering tone.”

“Answer the damn question. Do we have that angle covered?”

Fab shook her head. “You know I excel at last-minute improvisation. You’re staying in the car. I’ll check out the parking lot, knock on the door, all the normal things, and if things go awry, I’ll text you. If Urs shows up, you text me pronto.”

Fab drove into the Miramar Beachfront Condominiums and up to the security panel in front of a set of ornate pink electric gates, egrets framed in each panel. I never stressed over the key card scanner, knowing that Fab kept her counterfeited card regularly updated. So far, it had never been rejected, allowing us to wander around exclusive areas at will.

Mother watched her use it once and demanded one of her own. She and her friend Jean used it to sightsee through private communities when they tired of shopping. They’d been stopped by security guards a couple of times but were well-dressed, so didn’t raise an alarm. Their flimsy excuse of the gate having been left open and not realizing it was a private community was always accepted, and the guard would point them towards the exit.

The three-story buildings were set in an S-curve, giving each unit a waterfront view of the Gulf on its own private beach. The natural setting had the feel of a bird sanctuary, with egrets, geese, and a variety of ducks strolling the property.

Most of the action took place in the center of the property at the overly large lagoon pool that boasted a tiki bar in the center. Four barstools had been claimed, and a handful of people were swimming. Several tennis courts and both basketball courts were in use by sweaty, shirtless men. The playground was empty.

Fab parked in front of a three-story building and scrutinized the outside. “I’ll be right back. Call me when you get the call from Phil that the meeting is over.”

“What if something goes wrong?” I whined, feeling guilty that I was the slacker who always sat in the car.

“I can hear you worrying—stop it! Get in the driver’s seat. If the cops roll up, be ready to take off as soon as I jump out the window. Wouldn’t be the first time.” She made a face.

“Except that the unit is on the third floor.” I stared up. “Don’t you need jumping stuff so you don’t break something, or worse?”

“Stuff?” She raised her eyebrow.

“Caught me,” I mocked. “I don’t know the name of the equipment crazy people use to jump from anything. As much as I hate jail, it beats a mashed-in brain.”

“Must I remind you of our pact? No getting arrested.”

I grabbed her arm. “Promise me you won’t do anything stupid.” So what if I sounded whiney and clingy; I didn’t care.

She patted my head like I was a child.

“I’d rather pay your bail. And Brick will cover it, even if I have to hold a gun to his head.”

“No wonder he thinks you don’t like him. Don’t worry, I’ll be back, and in one piece.” She slammed the door.

I climbed over into the driver’s seat, just in case. Somewhere in the wannabe-PI manual, there must be tips for being prepared for a quick getaway, and I clearly needed to memorize them.

Now seemed like a good time to text Creole our location. He tended to be less surly if I didn’t wait until after the GPS alarm went off. Though that wouldn’t be a problem this time, as Fab had disabled the unit again. Still, he and I had come to an agreement that I’d keep him updated when out on a job, no matter our location.

My finger hovered over the send key for the “B&E in Duck Key” text with a smiley face, but I chickened out. If he found out about today, I could always tell him I’d forgotten to text him. We’d agreed not to lie to one another, but it was such a tiny one that it would be okay, wouldn’t it? I sighed and texted the address to him.

Phil’s report had noted that, according to county records, Preston had purchased two adjoining units on the top floor and remodeled them into one. I reclined the seat until I had a perfect view of the expansive wraparound patio with four sets of French doors, which appeared to be open. I recognized the patio furniture as high-end, with everything cushioned and a pile of extra pillows; a great place to kick back and enjoy the view of the beach.

I tapped the clock on the dash, trying to control my anxiety. From personal experience, I knew it took time to snoop through a three-bedroom residence and make it look like the place hadn’t been tossed. Next time, I’d asked for a timeframe.

Tick, tick—forty minutes.
This job was supposed to be in and out.

My gut screamed that something had gone wrong. I continuously turned in my seat to scan the property through the side and back windows. Only one car had driven in while I was there. It had parked a few spaces away, and a woman got out with a bag of groceries and disappeared into the next building over. I kept watch for a security guard headed in this direction on foot or in a golf cart. One had gone by a while ago in the opposite direction and parked at the pool. I cracked the window, listening for the blaring of sirens in the distance, coming closer until police cars blew through the gate… But nothing. I turned my attention back to the patio, reassuring myself that Fab wasn’t leaning over the balcony and deciding how to get to the bottom in one piece.

My phone chirped, informing me of an incoming text. “Interview over.” I tapped out a quick text to Fab to hurry the hell up, and my finger was hovering over the send button when I glanced up to see her exit the lobby doors as if she had all day.

As I turned, my eye caught a flutter of movement on the patio. A tall, dark-haired man stood there. He was only wearing shorts and appeared to have just rolled out of bed, his hair standing on end. He watched Fab’s every move as she crossed the driveway. From this vantage point, there was no mistaking the fact that he was hot.

I clenched my hands together to contain my nervousness and crawled back into my assigned seat. Something had gone wrong, but the good news was that the Hummer hadn’t been swarmed by law enforcement. Brick would kill us, but he’d have to wait in line behind two angry boyfriends.

“You okay?” I asked when she opened the door.

“Now that was weird.” She rolled down the window and waved to the man, and he waved back.

“Is he as good-looking up close as he is from here?”

The man pushed his hair back in an unconscious gesture, showing off a muscled bicep. I kept my eyes glued to the side mirror. He waited on the patio until we’d disappeared through the security gates, never taking his eyes off the Hummer.

“Preston Sinclair’s delicious, a gentleman with a great sense of humor. If I weren’t with Didier, I’d dump Ursula in a swamp somewhere.”

“You break into the man’s, excuse me
Preston’s
, condo and now you two share some kind of mutual admiration?” I knew it was a dumb question, but I couldn’t stop myself from asking. Men loved Fab. “Details.” I snapped my fingers.

She grinned at me, having clearly enjoyed her breaking-and-entering foray. “I knocked, no answer, rang the doorbell––nothing. So I broke in. Imagine my surprise when I walked into the master bedroom, and found Sinclair leaning up against the headboard, working on his laptop in a pair of well-fitting boxer-briefs.”

“Did you just break in?” Sinclair demanded, incensed. His eyes darkened, and his lips quirked on the sides. “I’m calling the police.”

Fab noticed that he hadn’t reached for the phone sitting next to his muscular hip to back up his threat. “I have a good reason.” She flashed the smile that she reserved for men. “I’m sure we can work something out.”

“I’m sure we can.” He leisurely ran his eyes over her from head to toe.

The bastard’s not getting sex
, Fab thought.

He slid his legs off the bed.

Fab pulled her Walther. “Stay right there while we negotiate.”

His face turned crimson. “You need a very hard spanking, pulling a gun on me. Put it away,” he demanded with the arrogance of a man who was used to being obeyed.

Fab half-laughed. “Look, you domineering alpha male, are we agreed—no police?”

He nodded.

“This is about Ursula,” Fab said, sliding her gun back into her waistband. “I have information you might like to hear, unless you like your women psychotic and vindictive.”

“Yes, the beautiful Ursula is high-strung, but…do you have anything to back up your claims?”

Fab snorted at the term high-strung. “You’ll thank me when I’m done cluing you in to her dark side.”

Fab stared intently at the road.

“What did you tell him?” I asked.

“I’m getting there. And you don’t think I listen to your ramblings but I do, and what I’m about to say proves it.” She grinned. “I recited what we knew about Ursula in bullet-point fashion. Gave him the address where she lived with Ian, ran down the litany of repairs the house needed. I challenged him to check it out for himself to see if my retelling didn’t do the wreckage justice, and said he should talk to the neighbors, specifically the next-door neighbor.”

“Why do I miss all the good stuff?”

Fab sighed. “I suggested that he get rid of Ursula—the sooner the better. No sex is worth the havoc she can cause. He smirked until I got up in his face and instructed him to change the locks, alert security and give them a picture so that they have her on their radar, and call the sheriff if she ever shows her face around here again.”

“He must have believed you. I haven’t spotted a single police car headed towards the condos.” Not getting arrested was huge. If they cuffed Fab, it wouldn’t take long before they found me.

“At first, he didn’t want to believe a single accusation and laughed off my warnings. It didn’t help that he was distracted; he and his lower friend were in discussion about how to get me on my back in that big bed of his. Then the words ‘cement in the drains’ clicked in his brain, and he started to listen.”

“Did you happen to get any useful information in exchange for your dire warnings?” I asked, staring out the window and wishing my toes were dug into the sand.

“Preston knew nothing about a storage unit but agreed that it made sense, as she didn’t have time to sell anything unless she made arrangements with a junker in advance. He uses the garage for his cars, knows nothing is stored in there, and wouldn’t allow it anyway. He took me into another bedroom that she’d converted into an office, and made himself comfortable in her chair while I showed off my tossing skills. I inspected the drawers, pulling them out, flipped through her books, peered behind pictures, all the usual places, and managed to put everything back in its place. I even used one of your tricks and fingered the knick-knacks.”

“And all the while, Preston was stripping you naked with his eyes, picturing you over his knee, hoping you’d turn your attentions his way.”

“Sarcasm is so unbecoming, Madison Westin.”

“Is that your imitation of a disgruntled nun from your school days? If you pop out a ruler, I’m snapping it in half.”

“I daydreamed about breaking Sister Celia’s ruler one day,” she said. “Instead, I hid it. My big mistake? Telling my best friend, Bridget. She got caught smoking in the bathroom and bargained that tidbit for a ‘get out of trouble free’ card. I got summoned to the principal’s office; you would’ve thought I’d burned the school down.”

“Aww.” I gave her a sad face.

With light traffic on the roads, she hit the Overseas in record time and headed north to the Cove. A mask settled over her face. “Ursula had taped two files under the desk blotter. Preston copied them for me. In one, he found a storage receipt.” She reached under the back of her shirt and produced the photocopied pages.

I skimmed through several pages of handwritten notes in a chicken scratch that was barely decipherable, and others with columns of dates and dollar amounts. A cursory glance told me nothing.

“Preston invited me to dinner.”

“Of course he did.” I made an unintelligible noise. “And you said, ‘Can my boyfriend come along?’”

“Smarty. I told him about the love of my life, Didier; the only man allowed to spank me.”

“Oh please.” I giggled.

“We exchanged phone numbers, strictly business, and I offered to do a background check on the next girlfriend
before
he gives the lucky lady a key. He extracted a promise to keep him updated on the case and wants a call when I learn the contents of the unit. Preston said he supposed I would get into the storage place the same way I got into his house, which was how? So I informed him in my uppity French accent, ‘This woman never leaves home without her lock pick.’”