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

money for that ride? Better yet, can you prove it’s yours?”
    “We both work for Brick Famosa of Famosa Motors and we’re here to retrieve the Jaguar that the customer failed to return. We’ve got the paperwork and the keys.”
    “How well do you know Gage Banford?” he growled.
    “Never heard of him.” I noticed he blew off my explanation.
    The way he sneered, I guessed that to be the wrong answer. Out of the corner of my eye, I watched as Fab got hustled into the back of a police car. The door slammed and drove away, another car following them.
    “Can you tell me why I’m standing here, cuffed?”
    He jerked my arm. “I’m not the lead investigator on this.” He had his hand on the back of my head to shove me into a police car.
    “I’d like to call my lawyer. His number is on my cell phone inside the SUV.”
    “I’m sure you would but that’s not my call. Now get in.” He pushed me onto the seat. “Sit up,” he said, and jerked me upright.
    “Why am I being arrested?”
    “You’re being taken in for questioning. Now be quiet.” He slammed the door.
    I shifted to my side, trying to take the pressure off my arms, wiggling my fingers so that my hands wouldn’t go numb. None of it worked. If I got out of whatever trouble I was in, I’d have to rethink working for Brick, once again.
    That Gage character must have committed some major felony. In lieu of him, would Fab and I be an acceptable trade? Except, lately, we hadn’t committed any crimes. Hell, I even drove the speed limit.
    This cop sure as heck didn’t drive the speed limit as he wound through the streets, no lights or sirens. We arrived at police headquarters where Fab stood by the back door with a plain-clothes escort holding on to her arm, and two other men appeared to also be in custody.
    My door opened, a new face reached in and helped me out none-too-gently. Fab nodded at me, and I returned a half-hearted smile.
    We were both hustled up the stairs and down a corridor through an open door. The officer gave me a slight shove inside a small, uninviting conference room for criminals and sat me down in a chair in front of a severely gouged table and three other chairs. The door closed and Fab and I were separated. There was not much to look at—no snack bowl, or refrigerator for cold drinks, probably a vending machine in the hall. Would someone loan me a handful of change? The room was eerily quiet so that the slightest sound reverberated off the concrete walls. I scoped out the room, looking for the two-way mirror. All cop television shows had them in interrogation rooms. Odd. Not one single wall decoration; only a large white board, markers left in the tray.
    If Fab were here, she’d have us out of these handcuffs and doing a swan dive out the window. Such a bad idea , I laughed to myself.
    I flung my hair to the side and laid my face on it, one layer between my cheeks and the tabletop. I knew my hair was clean, but was unsure about the table. I coaxed myself to relax, like in the meditation CD I bought and used twice. I pretended to be sitting by my pool, enjoying the sun, Jazz lying next to me asleep. I crossed my fingers and hoped this wasn’t trouble we couldn’t get out of.
    The door opened. “You can sleep once we get you processed and into a cell,” a man’s voice boomed.
    “I’d like to call my lawyer,” I said. Cruz’s voice rang in my ears: “Do not answer any questions without a lawyer.”
    “Whichever one of you talks first gets the best deal. You tell me what I want to know and we’ll set up something sweet.” He eyed me like a cat does a mouse right before springing in for the kill.
    “I don’t know what the heck you’re talking about, whatever your name is. Miami is in the United States, the last I heard, and I’m entitled to a lawyer.”
    “Investigator O’Neill. Once you’ve been booked, you get your call. Make this easy on yourself and cooperate.” He stuck out his hand with a smirk, knowing mine