Trouble in Paradise

by Brown, Deborah

  Raves for Deborah Brown

  “Reading Deborah’s books are like taking a road trip to Florida.”

  ~BookBlogs.blogspot.com

  “Five stars all the way. The lady knows how to write a mystery.”

  ~Jodi Hanson, Chapters and Chats

  “Smartly written, fast-paced and sometimes hilarious read. Lots of things for the reader; mystery, love interest and funny lines.”

  ~Alikat

  “Deborah writes books that have fun characters, interesting situations and just fun to read.”

  ~Richard C. Hayes, Alexandria, VA

  “I love this series and author. Interesting characters that you’ll love and a great plot.

  ~Thepaperbackblog.blogspot.com

  TROUBLE

  IN

  PARADISE

  A Madison Westin Novel

  Paradise series

  DEBORAH BROWN

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or to actual events or locales is entirely coincidental.

  All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof, in any form. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical without the express written permission of the author. The scanning, uploading and distribution of this book via the Internet or via any other means without the permission of the publisher is illegal and punishable by law. Please purchase only authorized electronic editions and do not participate in or encourage electronic piracy of copyrighted, materials.

  Copyright @ 2013 by Deborah Brown

  Excerpt from Crazy in Paradise @2011 by Deborah Brown

  Excerpt from Deception in Paradise @2012 by Deborah Brown

  Published by: Paradise Books April 2013

  ISBN-13: 978-0615776774

  ISBN-10: 0615776779

  MADISON WESTIN NOVELS

  Crazy in Paradise

  Deception in Paradise

  Trouble in Paradise

  Table of Contents

  TROUBLE IN PARADISE

  CHAPTER 1

  CHAPTER 2

  CHAPTER 3

  CHAPTER 4

  CHAPTER 5

  CHAPTER 6

  CHAPTER 7

  CHAPTER 8

  CHAPTER 9

  Chapter 10

  CHAPTER 11

  CHAPTER 12

  CHAPTER 13

  CHAPTER 14

  CHAPTER 15

  CHAPTER 16

  CHAPTER 17

  CHAPTER 18

  CHAPTER 19

  CHAPTER 20

  CHAPTER 21

  CHAPTER 22

  CHAPTER 23

  CHAPTER 24

  CHAPTER 25

  CHAPTER 26

  CHAPTER 27

  CHAPTER 28

  CHAPTER 29

  CHAPTER 30

  CHAPTER 31

  CHAPTER 32

  CHAPTER 33

  CHAPTER 34

  CHAPTER 35

  CHAPTER 36

  CHAPTER 37

  CHAPTER 38

  CHAPTER 39

  CHAPTER 40

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  EXCERPT FROM CRAZY IN PARADISE

  CHAPTER 1

  EXCERPT FROM DECEPTION IN PARADISE

  CHAPTER 1

  CHAPTER 1

  You know the humidity is off the charts when your scalp tingles and itches. I adjusted my gun belt for the umpteenth time, walking between the Lamborghinis and Ferraris in the parking lot of Brick Famosa’s South Miami luxury car rental/sales business. The car lot stood on pricey real estate at the intersection of two palm tree-lined avenues in The Grove.

  It only took a minute to locate Brick standing in the far corner, towering above the sports cars. I waved both arms to catch his attention and that’s when I noticed he had his hands raised above his head, facing a man with a gun pointed at his chest. Brick showed no sign of fear; cool as a cucumber. He kept his eyes on his would be shooter and gave a quick glance in my direction as I crisscrossed my way over the driveway, crouching beside a Bentley, the perfect oversized auto for hiding behind. Sliding my Glock out of its holster, I stood and took the shot.

  The bullet hit its mark, tearing through the shoulder of the grubby looking twenty-something. He screamed obscenities, as his cannon skidded across the pavement. No doubt if he’d pulled the trigger, Brick’s guts would’ve been blown all over the back fence, turning Famosa Motors into a tourist attraction, where people would stop by on the pretext of buying a car, only to gawk at the scene of the crime.

  Brick took two steps, gave the gun a kick, and cold cocked his assailant with his fist. “Why in the hell didn’t you kill the dumb bastard?” he yelled at me. “You’re a better shot than that!”

  “Thank you to you, too. My shot hit exactly where I aimed. I don’t have the time for another murder investigation.”

  Brick ran his hands through his jet-black hair, and used his shirt to wipe the sweat from his face. “It would’ve been a public service. Didn’t your instructor teach you to shoot to kill, Madison?”

  “It’s not as simple as all that.” I re-holstered my gun.

  Brick reached in his pocket, taking out his cell phone. He turned his back, making it impossible for me to hear a single word, and made a couple of calls, glancing several times over his shoulder to make sure I didn’t disappear.

  It was a sweat-soaking beautiful day in South Florida. Light blue skies, and not a single cloud. I smiled at Brick when he put his cell phone back in his pocket. “Instead of thank you, I’ll take an IOU.”

  “You’re ballsy, Red.”

  “You’ve told me that before.” Brick had nick-named me Red for my shoulder-length red curly hair which was subject to the whims of humidity; not quite Bozo curly, but on its way. “What did your admirer want?”

  Sirens screamed up the street, and any second they would fly in the driveway.

  “The little bastard bragged that he planned to strip me of my cash, steal a car, and still he was going to shoot me. What took you so damn long? I saw you get out of your SUV and then sneak around between the cars.”

  “Anyone standing in the parking lot can see whether or not you’re in your office. I was happy to see you weren’t at your desk; totally not in the mood for your ditzy receptionist.” Brick’s office encompassed the entire second floor, a large open space with a panoramic view of the surrounding area through the floor to ceiling windows.

  “Hey, my clients love Bitsy.”

  “That’s because Bit’s boobs are ginormous and barely covered, along with the rest of her. Gossip has it that she danced at your newly acquired Gentleman’s Club.” Brick just purchased his latest venture located out on a deserted stretch of the Tamiami Trail. He provided liquor, cigars, and overly endowed, naked women, some men’s idea of a perfect evening.

  “People talk too much.” Brick had his hand in many moneymaking ventures: he had a PI business, a string of pawnshops up and down the state and recently became a bail bondsman.

  “If I hadn’t saved your life, did you have a Plan B?” I asked.

  “I only saw one option, to rush the little prick, hoping to survive the bullet. Then I saw you and hoped you’d brought back up, knowing that you shoot people on occasion.”

  I pointed. “Your friend’s coming around.” The man on the ground let out a low moan, moving around.

  Brick jerked him off the ground, throwing him face-first against the hood of a shiny black Testarossa, bashing a big dent in
his forehead.

  “Mark my words, Red, you’re going to be sorry you didn’t kill him. He’ll drag the two of us into court because he’ll be the victim, and this will be our fault. Then one day he’ll walk out of jail, holding a grudge, under the illusion that time in the joint made him smarter, his time spent plotting two murders.”

  I hated that Brick might turn out to be right. “Proof that no good deed goes unpunished; I save your life, and he comes back and kills me.”

  Two Miami police cars screeched to a halt in front of us. Thirty seconds later a paramedic van pulled up behind them. Brick intercepted the police before they got to me; the paramedics unloaded their stretcher and went straight to the shooter.

  Casio Famosa, Brick’s twin brother and Miami homicide detective, made a beeline straight to me. I should’ve known Brick’s first call would be to him. The brothers were both overly large, muscled bookends, with the difference being Brick had lots of black hair, and Casio was cue-ball bald.

  “Where’s the gun you used to shoot the punk with?” Casio asked.

  “In a holster behind my back.”

  “Take it out slowly, leave one hand in front of you,” Casio directed.

  “You’re talking to me like I’m going to shoot you.” I reached behind my back, handing him the gun. “When do I get it back?”

  Casio looked me over in a tasty-morsel sort of way. I guess my jean skirt and t-shirt passed muster. “You know how it works, when the case is over. Why?”

  “My brother gave it to me for my birthday.” Wait until Brad heard about this incident. He approved of my taking self-defense classes, and happy I passed the test for my concealed weapons permit. I was certain that using my new skills weren’t part of his plan. Brad’s first question would be, “What the hell were you doing there anyway?”

  “Do you have a permit to carry?” Casio asked.

  “In my wallet, in the black Tahoe over there.” My SUV was the lone auto in visitor parking. It made me feel safe and it saved my life one night in a game of road rage tag. I’d even used it once as a motel room, when last minute tickets were given to me for a NASCAR race in Daytona. I wouldn’t trade it for one of Brick’s over-priced sports cars because, even with long legs, my feet never reach the pedals, even with the seat pushed forward.

  Another dark SUV, with blacked out windows, screeched to a halt. Must be more law enforcement, I thought. That level of window tint was definitely illegal. The window rolled down, and Detective Harder sat behind the wheel.

  I must have groaned because Casio looked at me and laughed. Harder and I had a past; he disliked me and the feeling was mutual. He got out dressed in a nice pair of golf shorts and shirt. I blinked a couple of times, thinking that I must be hallucinating. I’d never seen him without his uniform on, a black suit he’d either slept in or picked up off the floor from the night before. Who knew he could do normal? His military hairdo rumpled, tanned skin and sunglasses propped up on his head, he headed in Brick and Casio’s direction.

  Another generic looking cop walked over to me. “Detective Simon,” he introduced, handing me his business card. “What happened?”

  I related my story in exact detail. Not one word of my usual exaggeration, sticking to the facts.

  “What’s your connection to Gentry Swain? Simon asked.

  I shook my head “Who?”

  “The shooter over there with the extensive rap sheet. He just made the leap from assorted misdemeanors to a felony. He’ll find prison is nothing like county jail.”

  “First time I laid eyes on him, he had a gun on Brick.”

  Harder had me in his sights and I dreaded his every step. “Madison Westin, why in the hell didn’t you kill him? The dirtball will get out and kill someone else. Reoffending is high. Criminals fantasize about committing the perfect crime.”

  “You the only detective on call?”

  “Brick and I are friends.” Harder gave me his signature smile, which made him look like a growling dog. “He called me to make sure things went smoothly.”

  Harder was difficult to read and I knew first hand that he loved a good game of hard ass. “Are you arresting me?”

  “At least you haven’t lost your sense of humor. Now go home, and have a nice night if you can.”

  “You’re not doing a very good job of imitating the real Harder,” I said, subtly mocking him, shifting from one foot to another.

  “Thank you for saving Brick’s life. We grew up together, we’re lifetime friends. And besides, Brick likes you and told me to play nice. Truce?” Harder nodded his head. “Did you get hurt?”

  “My new gun belt rubbed a big blister into my back, and no matter how large the bandage, it likes to move around.”

  Brick suddenly appeared at my side. “You never did tell me why you came by. You need a car?”

  “I want to intern under your private investigation license.”

  Brick snorted. “That was the only laugh I’ve had all day,” he said.

  “I’m calling in the old IOU I have from you from a previous favor, which I can use right now and that doesn’t count the half dozen I deserve for saving your big… hmm, life.”

  “Let’s be clear, if we come to an agreement, it means that I have unlimited use of your services,” Brick said.

  “I’ll bring the papers by in a day or two for you to sign,” I said. “Just remember I’m available for all things legal.”

  “Done… and you keep your IOU.” Brick gave me a fist bump. We shared the same aversion for shaking hands.

  “Wait until Zach finds out,” Harder said.

  Zach Lazarro was my on-again boyfriend. He’s working on not taking it personally when he tells me to do something and I ignore him. He just needed to learn that Westin women don’t take direction well. “Are you going to tell him?”

  “We’re not friendly,” Harder grunted.

  The three of us watched the EMS van drive off the lot, Gentry Swain on his way to the hospital wing of the jail.

  “In the spirit of our new friendship, what’s the latest on the fisherman who floated up in the Gulf?” I asked Harder.

  “Friends now are we?” Harder laughed.

  “Yeah, what is the latest?” Brick asked, also curious.

  “No suspects in custody,” Harder told us. “We’re working our informants and rousting all the local dirt bags. Everyone is suspiciously tight-lipped.”

  “If you need any help you can call me,” I said with a straight face.

  Harder shook his finger at me. “You hear anything from one of those seedy little friends of yours, call me.”

  “Here’s a freebie: I didn’t do it,” I said, with a smile. “Is today’s shooting going to make the news tonight?”

  “Maybe a mention in the police log when the newspaper comes out on Wednesday,” Brick said. “No worries. No one here will be giving any interviews.”

  “You know where to find me if you have any questions,” I told them. “I’m having dinner with my mother and late is unacceptable.”

  CHAPTER 2

  The Crab Shack has the best seafood in Tarpon Cove. Tiki bar shaped, and first choice for locals on a casual night out, a warm breeze blew in off the water. I flew into the driveway of the restaurant, hit the dip hard, and bounced in my seat. All this after having gone home, showered and, in record time, changed into a new hot pink square-neck dress, with a flash of matching lacy bra. My red hair hung down, slightly curly. A few minutes late meeting my mother and brother could go unnoticed but, any longer, and there would be a ton of questions.

  Life had changed dramatically since the summer I’d planned to spend with my Aunt Elizabeth and instead got the call that she died. As an heir, she left me a lot of responsibility but her best gift to me, a new life, and friends that I loved. Every day I showed Elizabeth that her faith in me wasn’t misguided.

  Unless asked directly, the topic of my shooting someone would not be on the conversation agenda. Brick being a private man, who enjoyed some ano
nymity despite his high profile businesses, would wield his considerable influence to make sure today’s incident didn’t make headlines on the evening news.

  “You’re late, Madison,” my brother Brad informed me, standing when I approached the window table that boasted a view of the clear blue waters of the Atlantic Ocean.

  “Some people think ten minutes late is early,” I said kissing mother’s cheek. “You look great.” Mother never went anywhere not looking well put together. She loved to shop, as evidenced by her closet. She looked good for her sixty plus years in a cap sleeve, A-line style black dress. I knew she was back to sneaking around with her younger boyfriend, Jimmy Spoon. He’s probably the one responsible for her new blonde bob haircut, shorter hemline and red shoes. I feigned ignorance on the relationship issue.

  “I want a bra like yours.” Mother hugged me. “You look good, honey.”

  Brad shook his head. “Madison needs to put on a sweater.”

  Brad stands a foot taller than me, and has boy-next-door good looks. Tonight, he wore the uniform of most South Florida men out to dinner: black linen shorts, and a tropical shirt.

  He hugged me, before pulling out my chair. “I thought you’d bring Zach just to annoy me.”

  “Owww,” Brad yelped. Mother kicked him under the table, her way of telling him to stop asking anymore questions.

  “You know how pleasant making up can be,” I said to Brad. “We’re back together. Where’s your date?”

  “If you don’t want me showing brotherly concern, you need to find these things out before you kick a hole in my shin.” He glared at Mother. “Neither of you are getting any details on my personal life.”

  “Give me a day that you’re free and I’ll fix you up,” I offered.

  Brad was a good catch but, like me, he’d had some doozies in the relationship department. In my defense, none of my boyfriends got locked up for psychiatric observation with only being allowed to leave the hospital with a court order. I had a few ideas for fixing him up but I hadn’t sprung them on him yet. Pulling a Mother, ambushing him with a date he knew nothing about, was at the top of my list.