Free Swindled in Paradise by Deborah Brown Page B

surprised at her bluntness.
    “Her father is the Chief of Police here in Miami,” I lied convincingly. Harder would kill me if that ever got back to him. At fiftyish, he liked them young, and he’d be insulted at the father label. He was old enough, but he’d deny it.
    “I’m going to tell him you said that,” Creole said. He held his arm out. I linked mine in his and turned, noticing for the first time that the lit-up restaurant with sidewalk seating was the scene of the shooting, B’s. I skidded to a stop.
    “I’m not setting foot inside there. Why didn’t you tell me about this?” I practically shouted at Fab. Heads turned at my outburst, but I didn’t care. “Don’t you think you owe it to me to let me decide if I wanted to come back here or not?”
    Creole cut off her response and turned me to face him. “What happened that I don’t know about?”
    “Fab and I were almost gunned down in this restaurant. Remember the day I texted that I had something to tell you? At the time, I thought getting shot at should wait until we were face to face. Then Didier got arrested.” I pulled away and marched over to the valet, who was getting ready to drive off in the Hummer. I jerked the door open and held my hand out. “Give me the keys. Please.”
    “No can do. It’s her car.” He tossed his head in Fab’s direction.
    “It’s registered to me.” I leaned in, jerking the keys from his hand. The valet got out, shrugged and walked away.
    Didier lowered his head and whispered in Fab’s ear. He dragged her to the curb, arguing in French. Whatever lie she came up with placated him, and his anger dissipated somewhat.
    “I should have told you, but I didn’t think you would come,” Fab said. “The odds are good it won’t happen again tonight.”
    “We’re leaving,” I fumed.
    Didier and Creole edged off to one side and huddled together.
    “Are we okay?” Fab asked.
    “Of course we are,” I said.
    She nodded.
    “What did Balcazar say when you told him you wouldn’t be back?” I dragged her over to an empty outside table, trying to keep my voice down. “You left out a few pertinent details that day, such as his relationship with Didier. Does your boyfriend know his friend tried to hook you into something illegal?”
    “It doesn’t matter. Balcazar’s shutting down the games until the investigation into Lauren’s death is over. Word on the street is that they hit the wrong restaurant; the message was meant for someone else.”
    “I can’t believe you spouted that drivel with a straight face. Heads up—I didn’t tell Creole before, but I’m relaying the gruesome details on the way home. Working for this Balcazar character could get you killed. Think about that.”
    It annoyed me that Fab wasn’t taking this seriously. Right now, her attention was on her boyfriend and she was looking frustrated that she wasn’t close enough to eavesdrop.
    I nudged her out of her reverie. “I suppose if they decide that Lauren was killed by mistake, you’ll believe that too?”
    “At this point, all I want is for them to no longer consider Didier a person of interest. Once they do that, they’ll start looking for the real murderer.” Fab tucked a stray lock of my hair behind my shoulder. “I knew this dress would look great on you.”
    “Was there any doubt? You picked it out.” I smiled at her. “Don’t try to change the subject. We’re not cats; we only have one life, and we take too many chances as it is.”
    Didier wrapped his arms around me from behind and whispered, “I guess this dinner wasn’t meant to happen. Turns out there’s another reason for you to leave; Creole will explain. Go ahead and go. Fab and I will take a cab home.”
    Creole was already behind the wheel of my Hummer. The valet stood at the passenger door and helped me in, and without a word between us, we eased into traffic.
    “I’m sorry, I probably overreacted. But when I realized where we were, it freaked me out.