Deborah Brown - Madison Westin 07 - Kidnapped in Paradise Read Free

non-payers.
    Jake ’ s was a tiki-themed dive bar that served the best Mexican food in the Cove. The rest of the block consisted of the recently remodeled Trailer Court, an old deserted gas station, and Twinkie Princesses––a roach coach that served fried food, or so the sign said. I ’ d never seen it open for business, but they paid their rent on time.
    My eyes shot to the far side of the property, and my mouth dropped open at the sight of an old lighthouse sitting where a car wash used to be.
    “What in the hell?” I shrieked. “Where did that come from?”
    I pointed to the tall cylindrical building with the red rooftop.
    “ Surprise! ” Fab cried. “That ’ s my new office.” She noticed my look of complete shock and added, “You said I could have that empty space for my office.”
    “How did it get here?” This wasn’t the small house converted into office space I had imagined.
    “It arrived on the back of a flat-bed late yesterday afternoon.” She ran around and opened my door, tapping her foot impatiently as I slowly got out of the car.
    I was rarely rendered speechless, but this was one of those moments. Fab took my hand and dragged me over to the structure.
    “There are three levels,” Fab explained as she unlocked the door. “I’ll make the top space the office because it ’ s all windows.”
    I had one foot over the threshold and jumped back.
    “Who died in here?” A strong stench permeated the air around us. “The body ’ s not still in there, is it?”
    I pinched my nostrils and walked backward, not wanting the stink on my clothes.
    “I’ll give you the number of the crime scene cleaner.” I frowned as I thought of the weird business owner who’d told me once I was his only repeat, non-law enforcement customer. “Mention my name, tell him you ’ re family, and you might get a discount.”
    “Older buildings sometimes have scents,” Fab sniffed.
    The sound of a motorcycle roared up. I turned, happy to get away.
    “What’s he doing here?”
    Gunz hefted his large body off his Harley, wearing his signature tropical shorts and boat shoes. Big and bald, he had a fondness for spray-on hair when the mood suited him. He ’ d built his reputation on supplying forged paperwork for a price, having started out with phony identities and then branching out to complete packages.
    “ More surprises, ” Fab whispered. “ Be nice, he’ s painting his hair on again.”
    He waved, big sunglasses covering his face, making his arrogance less noticeable. “I got a guy coming over to see about hooking us up to plumbing and electrical. Already hired a crew to do the repairs, power wash, and paint. We should be ready to move-in in about a week. I made it clear, no excuses.”
    Due to his illegal entrepreneurial spirit, Gunz kept a very low profile. His only weakness was dating certifiable, crazy girlfriends who enjoyed “ jungle sex, ” as I’d once heard him call it. That was one of the few times I minded my own business and didn’t ask for him to elaborate.
    “I hate to be the party crasher here, but are you two going into business together?” I wagged my finger between the two of them. “You ’re a criminal, ” I hissed at Gunz before turning on Fab. “You assured me you ’ d only be taking jobs on the up and up.”
    Gunz cleared his throat and glared at me. “I ’ m reformed.”
    If he didn’t look so sincere, I would ’ve laughed.
    He pulled himself up to his full height of six and a half feet tall. “I sold off the lucrative paper business. I only kept my police department account. I ’ m now a banker. I arrange loans and repayment plans,” he smiled with a flash of teeth.
    “So you ’ re a loan shark,” I huffed.
    He growled and started to speak, but I cut him off.
    “Listen you two: you both are now under my two-sheriff call limit. The second time you ’ re under investigation or arrest, you ’ re both out. And a second rule: if there is even a whiff of a maimed