Five million! I sat back and took a breath. Marco and Isabel Villa? The congressman from the local district? So much for the photos of the perfect family his office peddled to the press.
“I hate to be the bearer of bad news,” Fab said, though judging by the tone of her voice, she’d like to administer a slap-down. “He doesn’t have money of his own; he’ll have to beg it off his wife. Why would she pay for a husband who’s not sticking around?” she asked in disgust.
Kimber shot Fab an angry glare. “Damn Isabel and her money. We’re in love.”
I closed my eyes for a second, taking a breath. Love? Maybe for little Marco. “You’re asking him to jeopardize his career in order to be with you. The scandal will kick up again come reelection time, and if it doesn’t, his opponent will remind the voters. What about the kids you say you love?”
“From the first day I went to work as the children’s nanny, there was this connection. I will be a better mother than Isabel has ever been. This will work; I know it will,” Kimber persisted like a willful child.
Fab jerked her head towards the door, flashing a thumb drive she’d taken out of her pocket and lifting her shirt to show an oversized envelope tucked in her waistband.
I shot her a dirty look. “The affair is over, and Marco regrets that he has hurt you,” I said lamely. Probably sorry he got caught.
Kimber jumped up, crossed to the kitchen, and returned with a gun in her hand. “You bitches! Marco’s sleeping with one or both of you.” Gone was sweet Kimber. Her face had transformed into a vicious sneer; nothing nice about this side of her.
I eyed the .22 that fit in the palm of her hand. Not a Glock, my personal favorite, but still deadly if she knew how to shoot, and at close range, the odds were high she’d hit one of us even if she didn’t.
Kimber waved the gun at Fab, directing her to sit on the couch next to me, and paced, grumbling in an irate tone. She grabbed her phone off the table. “He’ll take my call now,” she yelled at the screen. “Mary? What’s your last name?” she asked Fab.
Fab looked confused.
“French,” I blurted. “Mary French.”
Kimber identified herself as such when someone answered the phone; after a short wait, she exploded and threw the phone across the room. “I’m calling the cops. I’ll have you two arrested for breaking in, and I’ll come across as sympathetic when I identify myself as the Villas’ nanny.”
Fab patted my back, and I knew she was about to pull her weapon. If it ended with the two women pointing guns at one another, I had no doubt Kimber would pull the trigger.
I began to stealthily reach for the gun in the back of my waistband, but Kimber turned her gun in my direction, her eyes glued on me. “Oh,” I yelled and crossed my legs. “I’m peeing on myself.”
I jumped up and heard Fab gasp. Not having the graceful kick that Fab had perfected, I launched myself at Kimber’s mid-section in the moment of confusion, knocking her arm upwards and the gun out of her hand.
Kimber fought back and landed a couple of punches before Fab dragged her off me by her hair, dumping her against the wall. “Don’t even think about moving.” Fab took a couple of steps and kicked the woman’s gun under the couch. “The bathroom is that way,” she told me, smirking and pointing down the hall.
I threw myself back on the couch.
“Listen up.” Fab stood over Kimber, hands on her hips. “Your relationship, or whatever it is, with Marco is over. What will it take for you to go away? You expose this tawdry mess, and you’ll be the loser; you’ll be a tabloid sensation, then fade into obscurity. Good luck getting a decent man after your reputation gets dragged through the mud, and it will.”
“I want to talk to him.” Kimber started to cry.
“How much?” Fab demanded. “Name a price. Do it now. Once we leave, you can fend for yourself, and trust me, you’ll hate the next negotiator that shows up.”
I smiled at my friend—Fab was perfect for a game of hardball—though I shuddered at that last comment. Kimber wouldn’t be the first person to disappear at the direction of a politician. I didn’t know Fab’s fixer friend or what he was capable of; in fact, I’d had no idea such a job even existed except as an interesting plot twist for television.
Fab took her phone out of her back pocket. “In addition to the money, you get a first-class ticket to anywhere you want to go. There are a lot of beautiful places in the world—choose one.”
Kimber dried her eyes and underwent another personality transformation. Calming down, she spoke in a soft, little-girl voice: “Five million.”
“One.” Fab held up her index finger.
“Three million and that’s a good deal.” Kimber sucked on her bottom lip in a full-blown pout.
Fab reversed the direction of negotiations: “Half-mill.”
“One.” Kimber number one was back and demanded in a hard tone: “Cash. Los Angeles; at least it’s warm out there.”
“Don’t be ridiculous. The money will be wired to an account of your choice.” Fab turned her back and walked away, making a call. “When can you leave?” She looked over her shoulder.
“When I get the money,” Kimber snapped.
I kept both eyes on Kimber, ready for another roll on the floor if necessary. Her expression changed constantly; she needed to work on her poker face. I was suspicious of her change of attitude. The Villas needed to be careful. If she went quietly to the west coast, I’d be surprised. I didn’t care; I was only thinking about myself. I wanted to go home, bullet-free and without a detour through the local jail. I wasn’t sure, if this wild story came out, that Fab and I could get bail.
“Here.” Fab closed the space between them, handing Kimber the phone.
Kimber mimicked Fab, turning her back.
Fab half-laughed, “amateur” written on her face. She picked up the pieces of Kimber’s phone, which had smashed against the wall, removing the SIM card and setting the rest on the table. At least we’d have a head start before the cops showed up if she decided to call and report us.
Kimber stalked over, slapping Fab’s phone into her outstretched hand. “Get out,” she hissed.
She didn’t have to tell me twice. I bolted for the door and forced myself to walk sedately to the elevator. I held the door open, waiting for Fab, who still stood in the hallway. I’d just started to tap my foot when she turned and hustled in my direction.
As soon as the elevator doors closed, I said, “Let’s hope we’ve heard the last of her.”
“Not our problem. Edward has a man in the parking lot who’ll shadow her every move.” Fab gave me a once-over.
“What?” I wrinkled my nose.
“Peeing?” she said in horror.
I laughed all the way back to the SUV.
Chapter 17
Emotionally drained from the events of Fab’s latest job, I told her very succinctly the next day that I wouldn’t be accompanying her on another job for her cleaner client. Fab informed me that Kimber had been whisked off to an unknown location when she’d flipped out in an inconsolable crying jag and it was either that or end up in a mental ward; either way, she assured me, Kimber wouldn’t end up dead. I stayed home long enough to pack an overnight bag, then left for Creole’s without a word. After texting him, I made my way to his bed, slipped between the cool sheets, and fell asleep.
Creole made a quick appearance and listened while I related the details; to say he wasn’t happy would be an understatement. Instead of unleashing an angry lecture, however, he held me until I fell asleep again. I woke to find a note in the space where his body should have been, with “I love you” written on it and a crude drawing of an oversized head, hair sticking on end, labeled “self-portrait.”
For two days, I hid out at his house, trying to overcome my guilt at how the Kimber situation had ended. Once again, a client had failed to inform us how unstable the subject of an investigation was. I caught up on my sleep and lay on the patio reading the days away. Creole showed up for
short periods, offering brief distractions. He didn’t bring up Kimber and neither did I, but I was certain the subject wasn’t closed.
I finally dragged myself back home for date night. I’d suggested to Creole in a short phone call that we call in sick, but he reminded me we’d already agreed to go.
Mother had been bragging about a new restaurant, The Reef, that had opened in Islamorada, a short drive south through The Keys. It took serious effort to convince Fab to go to the place. I went on their website and printed out the reviews that mentioned that the dress code was casual-dressy and a menu that didn’t list a single hamburger; even the kids’ menu had seafood dishes.
I barked at her, “Do I have to remind you that Creole and I rarely object to any snooty restaurant that you choose, and we manage to go without attitude? Mostly, anyway.”
Didier’s eyebrows rose as Fab grumbled in French; when she was done, she gave me a tight smile and said, “Fine.”
When I made the reservation, I’d remembered Mother’s claim that she knew the owner and dropped his name into the conversation before requesting a window table. The surly woman who answered the phone informed me that we would need to be on time, or she wouldn’t hold the table and left unsaid, I don’t give a damn who you know.
We arrived without a minute to spare, thanks to Fab, who swore she couldn’t leave the house unless she looked perfect. Her black, above-the-knee halter dress hugged her frame, showing off her sculpted arms and legs, and she was wearing the requisite stilettos. At my insistence, Didier stopped at the main entrance, and Fab and I hopped out.
Creole had a last-minute meeting but had sworn he wouldn’t be late and would meet us at the restaurant.
The Reef was a U-shaped restaurant built on stilts, part of it sitting on land and the rest hanging out over the water. Through a wall of pocket doors that stood open, the dining area extended out onto the glass-enclosed deck that faced the ocean. The tables were elegantly set with white tablecloths, silver, and crystal, and each had a small hurricane lantern in the center, filled with shells and electric lighting.
The hostess pointed to the bar area, telling me it would be a few minutes before our table was ready.
As Fab stopped to take a phone call, the server came by. I ordered a glass of wine and a martini and told her that there were two others in the party, arriving momentarily.
“Is this seat taken?” a male voice asked. Without waiting for an answer, he pulled out the chair and sat, setting his drink down. The dark-haired fifty-something looked a bit rumpled and scruffy around the edges.
“Apparently so.” I thought about putting my foot into the underside of his chair, sending him to the floor.
“Let me get you a drink?” He started to raise his hand.
“No, thank you. I’ve already ordered, and I’m expecting my boyfriend and another couple.”
He winked as though I wasn’t telling the truth and this was some kind of flirting.
Fab appeared at the table. “Who are you?” she demanded.
“He’s with me,” another lizard announced. He slithered up and pulled out a chair for Fab and one for himself, plunking his behind down. The men simultaneously produced business cards, slapping them on the table in front of us.
I swept mine to the floor. “You need to leave,” I said, out of patience with this bumbling duo’s idea of a come-on.
“I’m Dill, by the way.” Lizard number two stuck his hand out. “That’s Butch.” He jerked his head to indicate the other man. “Get to know us; we’ll show you and your friend a real good time.” He winked.
I ignored him, leaving my hands in my lap. His slimy smile made my skin crawl.
“Tell me about yourself.” Butch patted Fab’s hand.
She jerked it away and blasted him in French.
Butch laughed and said, “I enjoy a little fire in my women.”
Fab and I engaged in a silent war.
Get rid of them, I telegraphed. Now!
You do it, she glared back.
Oh hell, where are Creole and Didier?
Fab nodded at the bar. Creole and Didier stood on the opposite end, stupid smiles on their faces, toasting us with their beer. Didier looked at his watch and said something to Creole, and they both laughed.
Game on. I glowered at them.
I settled back in my chair. “I need to relax,” I purred. “Just got out of prison.” I smoothed my hand down the front of my black and pink, spaghetti-strap tropical sheath dress. “It’s been an adjustment, no longer wearing that scratchy orange uniform and eating that hideous food.”
“Really?” Dill flashed me a lopsided smile. “What did a pretty little thing like you do?”
Neither looked terribly shocked.
“I never get tired of hearing this story,” Fab said, kicking me under the table. “Oh, let me!” She held up her hand as if asking permission. “She shot her boyfriend.”
“I only grazed his inner thigh,” I protested. “The judge believed that I never intended to shoot off his… well, you know.”
“I never bought that story, but she did get a shortened sentence.” Fab signaled the server for another drink.
The lizards looked a little paler, but they were still gamely hanging on.
Creole didn’t like it when I brought my gun on a date. I usually figured that what he didn’t know wouldn’t hurt him, but I had reached the end of my tolerance with these two and saw an opportunity to get rid of them and irritate my boyfriend. I opened my clutch and slid out my Five-SeveN. Giving new meaning to the word “crazy,” I licked the barrel, maintaining eye contact with Butch. From the corner of my eye, I saw Fab’s Sig Sauer make a split-second appearance from under the table. Thigh holster, I guessed; either Didier had no rule about not wearing a gun on date night, or Fab ignored it, just like I did.
Fab leaned sideways, and Butch jerked upward, a strangled sound erupting from his lips. The look of surprise on his face made me want to peek under the table to see exactly what she’d done with that gun.
I gave Butch the scary look that I practiced regularly in the mirror and gave the Five-SeveN a long smooch. “It was an accident,” I said in a dead tone and sighed.
Dill and Butch paled again under their phony orange suntans. They shoved their chairs back and leapt up, Dill mumbling something that sounded like an excuse about an appointment they’d just remembered, and practically ran out the door.
Fab and I knuckle-bumped. “That was fun.” Fab reholstered her gun. “Something to remember for the next time a man doesn’t heed our ‘get lost’—I just found out that a nice hard tap to his inner thigh will do the trick.”
“I don’t recall you telling them to get lost.” My lips quirked.
Creole and Didier had come around the bar and now stood over us, grinning and clapping.
The hostess appeared. “Your table is ready.” She smiled at Didier, which elicited a growl from Fab.
“Happy you two enjoyed the show. Enjoy your walk home,” I said huffily and started toward the door.
Creole grabbed me around the waist, holding me in an iron grip. “Order drinks,” he said to Didier. “A double margarita. We’ll be right over.” He propelled me outside and off to one side of the building.
“You could have at least gotten rid of those two cretins,” I yelled at him.
He cupped my face in his hands. “Oh, but it was so much fun to watch. Impressive. You two dispensed with them in under five minutes. So ‘hot mess’ of you to lick your gun. If I didn’t know you, I would have run too.”
“I have to disinfect my tongue and the inside of my mouth.” I sniffed.
“Here, I’ll do it.” He tilted my face and lowered his head, brushing my lips with a kiss that was both rough and sweet. “If it had looked for even a second like you didn’t have the situation under control, I would’ve whipped on my cape, swooped over, and dragged their asses out by the scruff of the neck.”
He kissed me again, and I found myself melting against
him when I knew I should have been putting up much more of a protest. He whispered against my lips, “Let’s go inside. We’re attracting attention. A couple of the people who heard you scream at me are milling around to see what happens next.”
“Just great.” I laughed and banged my head on his chest.
Chapter 18
Fab slowed for the large tortoise that had half a foot to go to make it across the busy highway in one piece. “I can’t believe that you were going to leave without me.”
I’d seen the tortoise from a block away and held my breath at his slow pace; I let it out now, happy that he’d made it and hadn’t ended up dead with a badly cracked shell. Once, my brother, being a good guy, had pulled off the road and picked one up, helping it across the road, and got bit as a thank you.
“Just being a good friend,” I said. “I thought I’d spare you the drama at The Cottages, knowing you have no tolerance for other people’s problems.”
“We each have our talents. That’s what makes us work.” She flashed me a cheesy smile.
“Uh oh.” I pointed as Fab careened around the corner. Police cars were blocking the street and driveway to The Cottages. From our vantage point, it was hard to tell whose property rated all the attention.
Fab slowed, scooting up in her seat to look over the steering wheel. “We can park on the side of the property, but that’s next to that dumpster,” she whined.
“First off, the sheriff’s department took the first one as evidence and the one there now is a replacement. And second, did you forget that it’s in an enclosed, fenced-off area, so you can’t drive through there anyway?”
Fab swung around the block and parked. We jumped out, cut through the fence that ran along the side of the pool, and followed the sidewalk along the back of several cottages to the office. Mac was kneeling on the couch under the window, looking out, her jean-skirted butt sticking up in the air. She shot a glance over her shoulder and waved us forward. “The deputies aren’t here for us for a change.”
I stood next to Mac and scanned the street. “What now?”
Executed in Paradise (Florida Keys Mystery Series Book 9) Page 12
