Swindled in Paradise (31 page)

“So where are you headed? The restaurant?”

“We’re headed to the Balcazar mansion, have a look around. Nothing may come of it, but at least we’ll feel like we’re doing something,” I said.

“How did you get the address so fast?” he humphed. “How’s Fab holding up?”

“It’s all in who you know,” I sighed as we rolled by a fender bender pulled off to one side. We’d been doing one mile an hour, thanks to the drivers in front of us that had to slow and gawk. “She’s a tough one and has shed a layer of frustration now that we can get back to the speed limit.”

“Talked to your mother. Madeline is frantic, wanting me to convince you to go home. I can handle it from here. I’ll call as soon as I get to Balcazar’s.”

“Will you?” My words dripped with sarcasm. “That’s so accommodating. What are the chances Fab would agree to that, even if I did?”

His heavy sigh rolled through the phone.

“Then what?” I demanded. “Give the little girlfriend a call when you learn something?”

“I didn’t mean it that way.”

“I’ll talk to you later.” I hung up and tossed the phone on the console.

“Thanks for understanding.” Fab gripped the wheel, her knuckles white, holding our speed at just above the limit, not wanting to attract attention.

I flashed her deranged smile at her.

She cocked her head. “Is that my smile? I like it!”

Chapter 44

Hibiscus Island was manmade, and had been dredged up and completed almost a hundred years ago. History had it that these small islands were developed for gangsters and celebrities, who built large mansions with views of the Intracoastal Waterway to have a place to party with their friends. Now some of the priciest real estate in Miami Beach, it held the distinction of being one of the first places to be evacuated in advance of a hurricane.

A Mercedes SUV had pulled up to the security gate ahead of us. The gates opened on its approach, and we followed right behind. If we’d been in a beat-up sedan, I imagine the driver would have called security, but so far, it seemed he hadn’t.

“We looking for a cat?” I asked. “Balcazar has never met me and hopefully I look better than my driver’s license photo. I can keep them distracted at the front while you sneak around the back.”

“I thought we’d try a more subtle approach—I’ll kick the door in.”

“You mean after you shoot the locks off and set off the security alarm?” I gave her a lopsided smile.

“Answer your phone,” Fab said as it began ringing.

Picking it up, I noticed several missed calls from Brad. Mother had most likely roped him in to shovel more guilt on, and I knew he’d be worried.

“You two okay?” Phil asked. “I’ve got an update.”

I hit the speaker button. “We’re on Hibiscus now. The rich really know how to live. If something happens to either of us or we disappear, you make sure Balcazar doesn’t get away with it.”

The first house was a modern monstrosity, all chrome and glass, set back on two lots. Each successive house was bigger than the last.

“My money’s on you two. Dirtball has to be desperate; the state attorney general is finally looking into his business practices. His office could no longer ignore the complaints—too many of them, no matter who Balcazar knows. Any support he had in the past has gone silent. No one’s willing to speak up or offer help and end up implicated in something that would put their neck on the chopping block,” Phil said.

“Do you think Lauren was offed by one of his associates as a warning or by someone wanting payback?” Fab asked.

“According to Didier, he didn’t leave his jacket in her condo, so how did it get there?” Phil asked. “Did he happen to mention where he last saw the jacket? If we’re believing Didier’s version, which I assume we are, then someone deliberately framed him. Anyone with a grudge that you know about?”

“Everyone likes Didier.” Fab snorted. “Men, women, and it’s genuine too, from what I can tell. He’s one of those men that just fits in, no matter who he talks to. Unlike you-know-who,” she said, pointing to herself. “He doesn’t seem to mind that people find me off-putting and that I don’t give a damn.”

“You need to have a friendly chat with Balcazar. A gun to the face works effectively for getting someone to talk,” Phil suggested. “Course, you can never be sure if it’s a pack of lies to save their skin. Where are you now?”

“Driving by a garish, yellow Mediterranean monstrosity. U-shaped, two three-car garages on each side of the driveway, a call box at the gate. The front has more windows than I care to clean.” I wrinkled my nose.

“County records show the property as just shy of twelve thousand square feet. How much
staff
would it take to run that place? Remember, Balcazar’s probably not going to be home alone.”

“If you stand at one end of the house and scream, can you hear it on the other end?” I asked.

“There’s something wrong with you,” Fab said, pulling into the lot of a community park. We didn’t dare pull over to the curb; that would garner unwanted attention.

“If anything goes wrong, call or text and I’ll call the police,” Phil offered.

“That’s a good idea,” Fab nodded.

We got out of the SUV for a quick look around. The fish pond in the middle of the park was the focal point, surrounded by lush green grass. Not being a connoisseur, I could only say that the pond appeared occupied by oversized goldfish of different varieties. A white bridge linked the two parts of the walking path that wandered into an overgrowth of trees. It didn’t appear that the park ever got used, and why would it, when every home had its own manicured lawn?

Standing out in the open here didn’t seem like a good idea, and I turned to tell Fab that.

A hand shot around me from behind, clamping over my mouth. I screamed, the sound muffled, and went into fight mode, struggling and kicking, determined not to be dragged from the park to who-knew-where.

“Oww, that hurt,” a male voice growled in my ear. “Calm down before I strangle you.”

I turned my head and lifted my eyes to see Creole’s angry face. “You scared me,” I whimpered, wanting to kick Fab’s butt for not warning me. She stood a few feet away, arms crossed, enjoying the show.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing? This—” he swept his arm out, “does not look like your neighborhood.”

“Such bad language.” I scrunched up my nose, taking small breaths to control my pounding heart.

He jerked me to his chest and gave me a hard hug before pushing me back. “What are you doing here?”

“Looking for my lost cat.” I tried to make it sound like a great idea, but his face turned almost purple, and I knew I’d failed.

He shook my shoulders. “It’s bad enough you used that lame excuse once, but you trot it out over and over.”

“I never said we’d go home.”

Fab laughed, which elevated his coloring a notch. “Hey Neanderthal, we’re here and not going anywhere. You got a plan? If not, I’ll make one up while scaling the wall to that ugly-ass house. Oh excuse me, mansion.”

“We’ve already wasted enough time having to wait on you two, knowing that you never do what you’re told and then we have to do damage control,” Creole seethed.

“We?” I looked at Fab as a familiar figure stepped out of the bushes.

“Nice to see you again.” The man winked, putting his arm around Fab’s shoulders.

Fab turned and elbowed him with a half-sneer; she didn’t get the allure that was Help.

My heart had gradually slowed back to its normal pace. “We’re here. We can be useful. You’ll never keep Fab out of whatever you have planned, so you might as well figure out a way to include her.”

“Found Didier’s car,” Help said.

Fab jumped. “Where is it? What about Didier?”

“Quiet.” Creole pointed his finger first at me, then Fab. “The only reason you’re still standing here and not back in the SUV is that I know damn well that, once out of sight, you’d double back around.”

I made a key-locking gesture in front of my lips.

“If only…” He cleared his throat. “This job hasn’t been sanctioned by the boss, so we have to make sure there’s no unnecessary carnage.”

Help spoke up, “Didier’s car is in the garage, along with three others. He’s inside the house, tied to a dining room chair, a maid, judging by the uniform, pacing around the room. Balcazar is with an unidentified gun-toting woman, and she appears to be calling at least some of the shots.”

“Balcazar armed?” Creole asked.

“Balcazar’s armed but doesn’t appear to have the stomach for what’s going down. He’s up and down, nervous and jumpy; cracking under the stress, perhaps. The maid tried to get a call out, but the woman caught her, tossed her phone on the floor, and riddled it with bullets.” Help flashed a frigid smile.

Creole’s phone buzzed. He withdrew it from his pocket and read the screen. “The boss says we’re on our own. We better have the goods; Balcazar’s got well-placed friends.” He turned to me. “Can I trust you to stay here until we get back?”

Help laughed in a gravelly tone. It sounded as though he didn’t do it often. “Have Fab ring the bell, ask some asinine question, and create a diversion while we go over the wall. Oh, and girlie,” he directed the remark towards me. “Don’t step outside this park.”

“Fab can’t! Balcazar sent some low-life to kidnap them. Too bad for Les Nado that Fab caught up to him first. Balcazar’s waiting for the delivery of these two, and Nado’s trussed up, waiting for us to give him a ride into Miami,” Creole related. “I told Spoon to get as much detail out of him as he could without leaving marks.”

“Fab doesn’t do asinine. I’ll do it,” I said.

“Absolutely not. You might get shot on sight when they realize you’re free.” Creole tightened his hold.

“I need to breathe.” I squirmed. “You forget I’m an excellent shot, almost as good as you, and I never leave home without my Glock. Not anymore, anyway.” I lifted my top to show my holster.

“You’re not going to be bait,” Creole growled.

“Boss.” Help motioned to Creole.

“You two stay right here. Move and I’ll tie you both to the same tree,” Creole threatened.

“Okay,” I muttered, hanging my head.

Fab moved to my side and patted my back.

“You made her cry?” Help sounded shocked.

“No I didn’t.” Creole snorted. “She’s laughing at me. Laugh now, sweetheart,” he said into my ear, “there’s always later.”

“You make having a girlfriend look fun, Boss.”

Creole and Help conferred off to one side, both watching us to make sure we didn’t disappear.

I grabbed Fab’s hand and squeezed, making sure I had a good grip. “Don’t you think you should hear their plan before running off? This situation is bad enough; I couldn’t bear it if you got hurt.”

She jerked out of my hold. “I’m out of patience,” she said, then announced, “I gotta pee; I’m using that bush over there.” She pointed to a row of hedges.

Before I could recover from the thought of Fab squatting in the bushes of a ritzy neighborhood, she was halfway there.

“Get back here,” Creole yelled to her retreating back.

“She’ll be right back; she’s using the bush for a bathroom,” I said.

Help chuckled. “I love a woman who’s resourceful.”

“Damn her.” Creole pointed after Fab, who was running across the street, already disappearing from view down the side of the house.

“I’m on it.” Help took off in a sprint.

“Are you going to do exactly what I tell you?” Creole squashed me to his chest. “No ad libbing?” He looked down into my face. “I don’t trust you enough to leave you behind. No telling where you’ll show up.”

His lack of trust burned my heart. If I thought about it too much, I might cry. I focused on his instructions, repeating them a couple of times when he asked me to.

Chapter 45

Once the text “Now” popped up from Creole, I knew Help had located Fab and they were in place and ready to go. I edged the Hummer up to the gates, noting the video surveillance sign. I was to be the decoy at the gate, but once they opened, I wasn’t to set one foot on the property.

The silence that followed after ringing the bell was nerve-racking. It was impossible to know if the button even worked. “This isn’t the time for manners,” I said to myself. I pushed it several more times. If it did work, the incessant ringing would be hard to ignore. Someone would answer, if out of nothing more than curiosity.

Finally, a woman’s voice came over the loudspeaker. “How can I help you?”

Instead of answering, I rang the bell again; hopefully, she’d think she couldn’t be heard. An older woman peered out of one of the floor-to-ceiling windows that framed the massive front door. I guessed her to be the maid. The gates rolled open, and she opened the door, shaking her head, making a shooing motion with the back of her hand.

“Is Balcazar home?” I got out, and yelled, standing on the front driver’s side of the car.

He appeared in the doorway, disheveled like he’d been on a drug bender, his clothes wrinkled and looking slept-in. He danced down the wrap-around steps in my direction, a gun appearing from behind his back, and motioned me forward with the hand that held it.

I threw myself to the ground, rolled, and came back up with my Glock in hand.

Balcazar suddenly lost interest in me, his attention drawn to the side of the property where I’d last seen Creole. He leveled his gun with two hands, finger on the trigger, steady for a second, but then the muzzle of the gun began to wave erratically, as if he was trying to follow a moving target.

I shot first. Balcazar whirled and returned fire, his shot going wild, shattering a flowerpot. The gun clattered to the ground along with him. He held his right shoulder, rolling back and forth and screaming, “I’m dying!”

Everything happened at once. Two more shots rang out from inside the house, and an assortment of dark sedans pulled around the corner, lights flashing.

I gauged my chances of being able to sneak into the house, wrestling momentarily between wanting to help, wanting to keep my promise to Creole, and the clincher,
not
wanting to take a bullet from law enforcement. I slowly walked to the back of the SUV, Glock in one hand, bent down, and laid it on the ground. I stood back up, palms out shoulder-high, thinking that now wasn’t the time to make any sudden moves and happy that I hadn’t done anything stupid.