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

anything else, since it couldn’t be seen from the street.
    “He’s not going to give up.” I pointed to my phone. Creole’s call went to voice mail and instantly the phone started to ring again.
    “Give me that thing.” Fab jerked it off a mat on the dashboard. “Hold your shorts,” she yelled, “She’ll call you right back,” and threw it down.
    I rubbed the base of my neck where pain started to gather into a full-blown headache. This is my fault. I should’ve stamped my foot and told her, “Hell no!”
    “You better hide from Creole for a while. He’s going to kill you. Hopefully he’ll be exhausted, because I know you’ll fight him and he’ll spare me the same fate.” The thought of Creole’s angry face gave me a stomachache.
    “Make sure Dickie has me looking my dead best for my final send-off. I wonder where I’ll end up.” Fab chuckled. “You’ll have to rent mourners since I don’t have any friends.”
    Dickie, our good friend and the owner of the local funeral home, would give her the star treatment. I imagined a room full of Florida’s finest derelicts hired to pay their last respects. I better make it mandatory that they have to be sober.
    I pulled on her arm. “Let’s go home. Now.”
    “You don’t even have to get out.” She opened the door. “Slide over. When I get the Jag started, I’ll follow you back to the freeway, then meet you at Brick’s. Try stomping on the gas so I don’t have to wait all day.”
    Just as the door closed, my phone rang again. I hit the door locks and took a deep breath. “Hi, honey.”
    “When I get my hands on Fab’s skinny neck, I’m going to slowly choke her to death. What the hell are you two doing over in the Tracks district?” His angry voice was on the verge of yelling.
    It made me feel safe in some odd way that I wasn’t alone. “Calm down. The doors are locked, I’m inside, and she’s retrieving the car.” I watched as Fab walked around the Jaguar, looking in the windows, and breathed a sigh of relief when the key worked in the lock and she opened the door.
    “Did the warning beep go off when the map came up?” Creole clipped his words.
    I hedged, not wanting to tell the truth, or to lie. “Do you—”
    All hell broke loose. I watched in disbelief as an assortment of law enforcement cars converged from every direction, screaming to a halt; police officers jumped out, guns drawn, pointing them at Fab.
    Another officer appeared out of my blind spot and banged on the driver’s side window. I screamed and jumped so hard that the seat belt cut across my neck.
    “Madison, Madison,” Creole yelled in my ear.
    “Help me,” I breathed.
    Seconds later, another loud bang and the window shattered into pieces. I covered my face and started the engine, but before I could get it in gear, the door flew open and I was dragged from behind the wheel, thrown face down on the ground, and my arms jerked hard behind my back and cuffed.
    “Creole, I’m sorry.” Tears slid down my face, knowing he’d never hear me, my phone left behind. He’d be going crazy wondering what just happened.
    I heard Fab scream something in French, probably something about the cops’ parentage. What the hell is going on? I tried to look up, but felt a foot pressed into my back. “Don’t move,” barked a man’s voice.
    I lay still to keep my wounds to a minimum, which meant holding my head at an odd angle with a view of the broken-up concrete. I heard male voices, but wasn’t able to make out the words. The sounds of hard-soled shoes hit the pavement, going in different directions. Car doors slammed, engines starting. A pair of hands wrenched me off the ground, and I stumbled to my feet and screamed as pain whipped through my shoulders.
    “What are you doing down here?” the officer asked. His badge indicated he was with the Miami Police Department. “You Madison Westin? Matches the photo we got back; the Hummer is registered to you. Where did you get the