Swindled in Paradise (18 page)

“Hungry?” I made little circles on his chest with my finger. “Dinner is prepped and waiting for you to fire up the barbeque.”

“I’m starving.” He gave me another long, thorough kiss.

I put my hand on his chest and shoved lightly. “Feed me first.” If he needed convincing, my stomach grumbled at that moment.

He stood and pulled me to my feet. “I like coming home and finding you curled up here. We don’t get enough time alone absent pending drama.”

The details of the encounter with Officer Watters can wait until later,
I decided. “I crave quiet time with you. My favorite is to lie in your arms and just talk, watch a movie, or read. I love my family, but when they all descend, it’s loud and noisy and everyone watches what everyone else is doing. It’s hard to even sneak a kiss. What is it Mother calls us—lovebirds?”

“I have something planned for after dinner.” He arched his eyebrows and grinned.

“I’m so sorry,” I said in my most innocent voice, biting my lower lip.

His eyes filled with confusion. “Do you have something planned?”

“I do.” I pulled away and walked into the house, where I opened the drawer on a side table and retrieved a deck of cards. I put them on the counter in front of him.

He studied them, turning the pack over.

“You’re at the whim of your hostess.” I teased his lips with my finger. “We’re going to play strip poker, and the first person to lose all their clothes is sadly not the winner. The other person gets to decide what we’re doing the rest of the evening. The loser doesn’t get to complain.”

“Good thing I’ve got the evening already planned.” He winked.

“You’re very sure of yourself.”

“I’m a very good player.”

“I’m not half-bad myself.”

* * *

Creole pushed me down on the chaise, straddled the cushion in front of me, and shuffled. He fanned the deck, holding them out. “Best two out of three?”

“I’m willing to put it all on one game.” I leaned forward, puckering my lips. “Shall we smooch on the deal?”

His fingers wrapped around my chin and brought my face forward, sealing the stakes. “Are the cards marked or something?” He flicked the cards, giving them a cursory glance.

“Deal!” I poked the cushion.

“Did Fab find anything at Lauren’s that I don’t know about?” he asked after laying down the last card.

“Are you forgetting that I waited in the car?” Not waiting for an answer, I continued, “I’m not giving you Fab information—ask her.”

“Is Fab going back to Lauren’s?” He held his cards to his chest.

“Fab never tells me stuff like that. I have to catch her in a lie or sneaking back in the door. She’s an insomniac, and it’s worse when Didier’s not home. She has a tendency to disappear in the middle of the night.”

He smirked at his cards and winked. “Just so you know, I offered to cover her back.”

“Yes, I heard about the offer of your services. Don’t take it personally if she sneaks off without you.”

“How many?” He snapped his finger, pointing to my cards.

I covered my face with my hand and stifled a groan—nothing but low-numbered cards, with the exception of the ace. I tossed the rest face down. “Four.”

“Sorry, hon.” He took three.

“No you’re not. It’s so ungentlemanly to gloat.”

He turned his cards over, showing a pair of tens.

I flipped my cards over as well. Once again, the ace was the only decent card, and it meant nothing by itself.

“I’ll show you what a gracious loser looks like.” I stood and unzipped the back of my dress, sliding it slowly over my shoulders. I let it fall in a puddle on the ground and stepped out, standing before him in nothing but a smirk. “Surprise.”

“Looks like we both came to play.” He stood, unzipped his shorts, and kicked them on top of my dress. He had the same surprise for me—whichever way the game went, it was destined to be over in one hand.

He scooped me up and carried me inside to his big, king-size bed.

Chapter 25

Two days later, Phil called early, asking to meet for breakfast at The Bakery Café. Her background check on Balcazar was complete, and she wanted to share her findings.

I shoved my foot into a tennis shoe to protect my toes and hobbled down the hall, stopping in front of Fab’s door and giving it three stiff kicks. “Rise and shine, we’re leaving in twenty,” I yelled, then hustled, giggling, back to my bedroom and into the shower.

I dragged on a clean uniform, which meant a mid-thigh flirty skirt, and t-shirt and took a look in the mirror. I made a face. The skirt was too short for my thigh holster, so I switched holsters to the one that fit in the small of my back. If I didn’t know better, I’d say Fab had slept through my wake-up call, since I didn’t hear a sound as I headed to the stairs. “Don’t think I won’t leave without you!” I shouted.

If I stopped to make coffee, we’d be late; besides I’d already decided to hold out for a latte. On the way out, I rang the doorbell a half-dozen times and slammed the door. I slid into the passenger seat and shoved the keys in the ignition, lighting up the dash clock. Five minutes—then I’d start honking the horn.

The front door flew open with a bang. Fab blew across the driveway and around to the driver’s side. “Could you be more annoying?” she complained as she squealed out of the driveway.

“Do I really need to answer?”

“Go ahead, smirk now. Wait until Didier has a talk with you. We were…it doesn’t matter; you killed the moment.”

“My defense will be that I learned that trick from you,” I said haughtily.

“Where are we going?” Fab grouched.

“Our favorite café for breakfast. A double latte and a pecan roll, and I’ll soon have you laughing about the start to the morning.” I bounced in my seat. “The best part is, the background check is back on Balcazar.”

“We need to know more about Lauren. Where’s that report?” she asked in exasperation. “Didier is still the prime person of interest. The cops aren’t scratching his name off the list because they don’t have a replacement.”

Fab cut across the highway and lucked out on the traffic signals, making it to the café in record time. She growled when she saw our favorite table for people-watching, at the end of the sidewalk, overflowing with teenagers.

“Stop grumbling and hurry up. Phil got us a table over there.” I pointed. “Beats sitting inside.”

“Our table empties, grab it,” she said, heading inside the bakery.

“I’m hungry,” I called after her. She knew that was code for her to order actual food and not just a danish.

“Fab’s cranky,” I warned, slipping into a seat next to Phil. “Some good news would be an attitude-changer.”

“Well, it’s not a smoking gun with someone else’s fingerprints on it.” She grimaced.

I leaned back in my chair, scanning the faces around us for anyone familiar.

A few minutes later, Fab slipped into a chair, plunking a box down on the table, a tented number on top. “Food will be out in a minute; they’re not very busy.” She leaned across to Phil. “I don’t want to hear about Balcazar; the hell with him. Anything new on Lauren?”

Phil and Fab glared at one another for a moment. Then Phil jammed the top back on her coffee cup and slid her chair back, making a loud scraping sound on the sidewalk.

“Sit down,” I said to Phil and turned to Fab. “You say something nice to make her stay.”

Fab looked at her in all innocence. “Would you like another cup of coffee?”

I bit down on my lip so I wouldn’t laugh.

Phil dropped back down. “No, I would not.”

The few heads that had turned our way lost interest. Finally, the server delivering a tray of food broke the silence.

“This looks yum.” I picked up the plate with the individual frittata on it and pushed the goat yogurt and fresh berries in Fab’s direction.

“It’s new on the menu. I did peruse the ingredients and noted there wasn’t anything listed that would make you barf. Your pecan roll is inside,” she said, pointing to the box, “along with Didier’s cookies.”

“I’m taking over the meeting,” I told Phil. “We both want to hear your report, and we’ll save our questions until the end.” I gave Fab a nudge under the table with my toes.

“Balcazar is a criminal and a crook,” Phil said before she took a sip of water.

I was pleased to see that her opening line got Fab’s attention.

“Ten of his high-powered friends formed a corporation that appears, on further investigation, to be nothing more than a multimillion-dollar Ponzi scheme. The company specialized in the buying and selling of overbuilt condos. The deals were set-up with phony buyers and documents that appeared legit, but were complete fiction. When the collapse seemed imminent, the partners severed ties and disappeared. All but three, I should say. One was found murdered, one is presumed dead despite never being found, and the third vanished.” She smirked at Fab.

“What are the chances of having two friends/business associates murdered and another go missing?” I asked.

“It’s rumored that the FBI was in the process of squeezing the dead man, Harry Gant, for information. He’d supposedly just finished negotiations on a sweet deal that he wanted signed before spilling what he knew. A security camera at his office showed him leaving late one night and two unidentified men hitting him over the head and dragging him to a waiting van. He turned up several hours later, his body beaten and smoldering in a dumpster at a nearby construction site.”

A shudder went through my body at the thought of that gruesome death.

“The second man, Robert Stark, was under investigation in Gant’s death. His ex-wife reported him missing because she needed her alimony check. The cops went to his multimillion-dollar house, which was in foreclosure. They found signs of a struggle and his tongue on a serving tray in the kitchen, blood everywhere.”

I gasped, covering my face and trying to block the image from taking hold. I put what was left of my breakfast on the empty table next to us.

“No other parts turned up?” Fab asked.

“Nothing, but the three of us know how easy it would be to make a body disappear with the right connections,” Phil said.

“Anyone investigating the corporation?” I asked.

“An investigation was opened by the state’s attorney and, as far I can tell, has gone nowhere. Even though some of the investors lost big money, no one is uttering a word.” Phil pointed to the bakery box. “Can I have a cookie?”

I held my breath, crossing my fingers that Phil didn’t get her head bitten off.

“Help yourself.” Fab pushed the box in her direction. “Lauren have a part in this scheme?”

“Can’t prove it, but it’s hard to believe she was completely ignorant. Lauren banged the man, going from receptionist to a six-figure job and million-dollar condo in a matter of months. Besides having a wandering dick, who knows what he told her while sharing the same pillow.”

“Get any dirt on his wife?” I asked.

“Not a blemish that I could find. Tina Balcazar is the other half of the power couple. She came into the marriage with family connections and money, neither of which Balcazar had. Her daddy can call politicians, who actually take his calls, and claims at least two ex-presidents as friends.” Phil took out a small notepad and thumbed through the pages. “Almost forgot, about ten years ago, Stark was the prime suspect in two other grisly murders, bodies found in a condemned house up near Orlando. A neighbor snooped around after noticing a car come and go, found them, and called the cops.”

“Do you think Didier is in any danger?” I asked.

“He shouldn’t trust anyone but his lawyer. I know Cruz, and he never talks about his cases, not even in a casual way,” Phil said.

“This was a great choice for breakfast. We can meet here anytime,” I said.

Phil bent down and pulled two envelopes out of her pale-pink designer tote, handing them to me. “Here’s a detailed summary and my bill. You know where to find me if you need anything else.” She stood and waved, then walked to where her SUV was parked at the curb.

“Do you have to be prompted to say thank you?” I asked Fab.

“Thanks!” Fab yelled at Phil’s retreating back.

Chapter 26

Phil had scribbled the address for the elusive Ursula on a sticky note attached to the top of one of the envelopes she’d handed me. I passed it off to Fab, who perused it before pulling out of the parking space. She called Phil and asked several questions, but the conversation lasted only a few minutes, during which Fab used her business voice. I didn’t hear yelling from the other end of the phone and sighed with relief.

Ursula Richards had landed in an upscale, gated condominium community in Duck Key. The unit was owned by a businessman out of the Miami area, and according to records, it was a second home. What was unknown was whether she was a renter or a guest.

Fab had her foot pressed down hard on the gas, flying down the Overseas Highway on this sunny, blustery day. I kept my eyes peeled out the window, watching the palm trees sway back and forth, the waves churning in the Gulf of Mexico.

“How was your night the other night?” Fab asked.

“I lost at strip poker.” I smiled. “I couldn’t have had a worse hand.”

“How many pieces of clothing did you start with?”

“One.”

She threw her hair back and laughed. “Excellent idea! I’m going to boost a deck of cards from Jake’s. I know where the new ones are stored.”

“Winner gets to decide how to spend the rest of the evening. You’ll have to plan everything in advance and remember not to gloat, since you’ll probably cheat.”

“Ohh.” She frowned. “I’m not that great at cards. I’ll have to choose something else.”

“You can’t be gracious and let Didier have his way once in a while?” Her frustrated look amused me.

“Didier
always
gets his way,” she blushed. “Not that I mind all that much.”

“Miss Fabiana,” I mimicked Mother, “get your mind back on the job. What are we doing exactly?”

“Thank goodness for Phil. I’ll smooth over the waters somehow.”

My eyebrows shot up. “Let’s hope she never quits or, worse, retires.”