Free Deborah Brown - Madison Westin 06 - Revenge in Paradise by Deborah Brown

Fab didn’t waste time, and to her credit, drove calmly out of the parking lot. It didn’t matter where we went, Fab located the exit first. Good for getting out of tight spots.
    “That was horribly depressing,” Fab sighed. “One poor guy sat there and whoever he was expecting never showed. I thought about sitting down and talking to him.”
    “I think we should have a girls’ night, just the two of us. When’s Didier coming back?”
    “Later tonight.” She smiled. “He called on the way out the door, reminded me to stay safe and out of jail.”
    “Let’s walk down the beach to that new restaurant. They have tables on the sand.”
    Fab picked up her phone off the console and looked at the screen. “It’s Brick.”
    She had trained me to put all my calls on speaker, even though she never reciprocated. I punched her in the arm, making a poking gesture at the phone.
    She made a few unintelligible noises, then said, “Send me the address,” and hung up. “No fun tonight. We’re picking up the Jaguar.”
    She scrolled through her phone and called out the address, which I put in the GPS and a beeping noise sounded.
    “That’s Creole code for stay out of that area. Now what?” I felt nauseous knowing we had a decision to make; we couldn’t satisfy everyone.
    “We’ll lie and say we used the navigation tool on my phone. You stay behind the wheel and I’ll hop out and do the drive away.”
    “I’m not lying to Creole about anything. He’ll find out, and when he does, he’ll tell Didier.”
    Fab twisted her hair in a nervous gesture, then clipped it in an ugly bun. “I can’t do this by myself,” she whined. “How bad can the neighborhood be?”
    I rolled my eyes. “Take a look around…and we’re not even there yet.”
    We rode in silence. She made a couple of turns, landing us in the middle of a ratty commercial area. Our GPS had us turn onto an access road and bounce over rotted railroad tracks. Judging by the deterioration, the area had been abandoned for a few years.
    Fab hit the steering wheel. “I’ll park in front of the building. You leave immediately and go home. I’ll drive the Jag back to Brick’s and get a ride.”
    I shook my head in disbelief. “You know I won’t let you go by yourself.”

 
     
     
Chapter 10
     
     
    The paved road turned to gravel right before turning into the parking lot of a long-ago-vacant manufacturing plant. A block-long property, it was filled with old airport hangar-style buildings. They had missing doors, broken windows, and weeds growing up out of the cracks; at some point, the building had turned into a giant receptacle for hard-to-get-rid-of trash. Someone had gone to the expense of surrounding the property with barbed wire fencing only to have some creative soul hack out sections, making the area easily accessible by a car in several places. Two men, who were hunched over in the far corner of the fence, baseball caps covering their faces, looked up from sorting their shopping carts. They checked out the Hummer and looked away.
    “Please tell me that the car’s not parked in one of those creepy buildings.” The roll-up doors were also missing, probably ripped off and sold as a resale item. I wanted to cover my eyes and pretend we’d listened to Creole and turned down the job, having gone home instead. I stared into the cavernous dark spaces, daylight casting a slim shadow to just inside the open doors.
    “We’ll drive around back first.” Fab braked and drove slowly. “Setting foot inside the buildings is the last option.”
    “Fab, the hairs on the back of my neck are standing on end. Maybe we should listen for a change.” My phone wolf-whistled. “That’s Creole.”
    “Do not answer it. You need a more professional ring tone,” Fab said in disgust. “There it is,” she said, and pointed.
    Someone had taken the time to park the Jaguar in Executive Parking, or so the sign read. It was the perfect dumping place for a stolen car, or