Hurricane in Paradise
By Deborah Brown
Genre: Mystery Romance
Available Now on Kindle Unlimited
Set against the
steamy backdrop of Tarpon Cove's sun-kissed, tropical waters, sexy sleuths and
best friends Madison and Fab are at it again dealing with the occasional dead
body. Hidden just below the surface of the small town lies an underworld, one
steeped in deceit, corruption, and deadly secrets. It's only a matter of
time before Madison and Fab find themselves on a collision course with the
police, who consider them likely suspects in a murder.
Ride along on
their adventures when the duo realizes that a family member is missing and pull
themselves away from all jobs to track him down. Theories: walked away, freak
accident, kidnapped? If so, then why no ransom demand?
Hurricane in
Paradise is book ten in the thrilling and humorous provocative Paradise series,
which finds the two waist-deep in mystery and romance. It is a smart,
adventurous read that delivers heart-thumping, non-stop action. Join Madison
and Fab as they solve the most twisted of cases, through unconventional – and
highly entertaining – measures… sometimes in flip-flops.
Chapter One
A gust of wind
blew the front door open, sending it ricocheting off the wall. Creole stumbled
into the entry, his black hair whipping around his face. A crack of thunder
boomed behind him, announcing the fury of the rapidly approaching storm.
“Madison Westin,” he barked, sounding like an angry dog. “What in the hell are
you still doing at home?”
Dropping a small bag at the bottom of the
stairs, I watched as my boyfriend veered left, going into the kitchen, dripping
wet from the sheets of rain slamming the house in all of Mother Nature’s
ferocity. The wind’s howling sounded like someone screaming at times.
Luc Baptiste was his birth name, Creole the
undercover moniker he used in his employment as a Miami detective, but only a
handful of people actually knew that little fact. He stood over six feet, his
muscles accentuated by his soaked t-shirt. At the moment, he had a two-day
scruff of beard and his eyes were an irate blue; when they turned a deep
cobalt, I knew he was more than mildly annoyed.
Another bolt of lightning flashed through the
garden window. I counted under my breath and listened until thunder rocked in
the distance, the eye of the storm getting closer. It was just beginning to
make its presence known.
“You need an
umbrella.” I watched as he shook the water off like a wet animal. “The news
said the hurricane won’t make landfall until tonight.”
He scowled, looming over me, his brows pulled
together. “You promised you’d be going with Fab and Didier to Miami.” He tugged
on a tendril of red hair that had escaped my hair clip.
When I first moved to the Florida Keys, living
by myself got old––fast. So, when Fabiana Merceau showed up one day with her
suitcases, she caught me off guard, but I was happy to have her move in and had
never been sorry that she became a permanent fixture. Not long after, Fab met
her supermodel boyfriend, Didier, and decided, without a word to the man, to go
to the hotel where he was staying, pack up his belongings, and unpack
everything into the closet upstairs. Didier was a quick fit as a friend and
family member. And nice to look at over morning coffee, or any other time. It
made life easier that we had erratic schedules and were rarely all in the house
at the same time.
“I didn’t make any promises.” I tried not to
flinch at the weaselly tone in my voice. “No one asked my opinion, or I
would’ve told all of you that I didn’t want to go anywhere.” I tossed him a
towel from a stack that was going into the Hummer if I got scared enough to
change my mind and leave. “The news always over-dramatizes the weather reports.
It’s only forecast to make landfall as a category two. If it turns out to be a
‘rain event,’ they’ll still close the roads and take their time in reopening
them, leaving us hanging out for several days since there’s no way to sneak
back home with only one road in and out of the Keys.” I tried not to roll my
eyes when, upon hearing the word “sneak,” his dark scowl returned.
“You’ve lived here long enough to know the back
side of the storm can bring the most damage.”
I ignored his
lecturing tone. I didn’t think now was the time to tell Creole that I wasn’t
aware there was a difference. I’d ridden out a few hurricanes, often in the
dark, the electricity not able to handle the onslaught, and when the sun came
out again, the only damage left in their wake were piles of leaves and tree
branches. I’d thankfully never experienced one of the more destructive ones.
Tarpon Cove sat at the top of the Florida Keys.
The last damaging hurricane to roll through happened before my arrival. The old
timers liked to say, “It’s been a damn long time since we had a direct hit.”
Lightning skated across the sky in non-stop
action, the wind shrieked, and the lights flickered.
“Let’s go.” He reached for my wrist and pulled
me into his arms, lifting me slightly, just enough to draw me against his
chest.
My fingers curled into his thick, dark hair,
and I traced a line over his lips and ran my hand over his jaw, feeling the
scratch of rough stubble. He tilted his head and kissed me, then gave a low
growl and deepened the kiss.
“What about the
cats?” I took a moment to appreciate the muscled chest resting under my
fingertips. “Fab texted an address on Ocean Boulevard, which makes it a
good bet that it’s a five-star hotel. Good luck sneaking Jazz and Snow in. I
don’t know what kind of traveler Snow is, but Jazz will meow loudly enough to
make his presence known. I’m not leaving them behind. I don’t understand people
who do that.”
Snow, my
long-haired white cat, had been pregnant when I first rescued her from life
with fifty other unrelated felines. Thankfully, she’d only had two kittens—a
boy and a girl. Neither looked remotely related. They had both been adopted by
my friend and employee, Mac, who was eager to become a new cat mom. My only
condition was that they be spayed or neutered; all three went to the vet on a
discount plan.
Jazz, my
hundred-year-old, long-haired black cat, had adjusted quickly to getting a
trophy girlfriend in his old age. A few sniffs, a handful of hisses, and they
were sleeping together.
“One of Didier’s designer friends offered up
his beach-front digs.” Creole made a face, which usually made me laugh;
instead, I returned a half-hearted smile.
Creole shook his head; he’d made up his mind
that we were leaving, and he was not letting me talk him out of it. He crossed
the kitchen and retrieved the cat carrier sitting on the floor by the island.
He scooped up Snow and stuck her in first, followed by Jazz. Since they had
both been rudely woken from sleep, it took him less than a minute, neither
meowing, even when the door banged closed.
Our eyes flew to the garden window over the
kitchen sink, where the pelting rain had picked up speed, sounding like gravel
was being thrown at the glass. The winds ramped up to a yowl that steadily grew
in intensity.
“We should stay.” I avoided eye contact,
knowing he’d veto the idea, but I had to suggest it.
“We are not going to be one of those couples
that makes the news because we had to be plucked off the roof. How would I
explain being so stupid to my boss? Remember him? Chief Harder? And in the next
breath, I’d have to justify the squandering of county funds on my rescue.”
“Take off your clothes.” I stared up into his
deep-blue eyes and winked. “I’ll toss them in the dryer. Unless you want to
drive to Miami in wet clothes?”
He peeled off his shirt, followed by his jeans.
I openly stared while he undressed. “I know what you’re up to.” He shook his
finger at me. “It’s not going to work. I’ve got a change of clothes upstairs.”
He turned out of the kitchen and took the stairs two at a time.
The wind continued to grow, the storm beating
the sides of the two-story Key West-style house that I had inherited from my
Aunt Elizabeth. A sizzle of lightning strikes followed by an ear-splitting
crash had me running to the French doors that led to the pool area. Flicking on
the outside lights, I peeked out, and immediately noticed that the palm that
had stood in the far corner since before my aunt bought the house now lay on
its side, a row of flower pots crushed under its weight where it had landed
perilously close to the pool.
“That could have been worse,” I muttered to
myself. I didn’t like leaving the house to fend for itself any better than
leaving the cats to do the same. I crossed my fingers, certain I had nothing to
worry about; the house had withstood many pounding storms, never sustaining
more than minor damage.
“Ready?” Creole called from the bottom
stairstep, my suitcase in one hand.
“Am I following you?”
“Nice try.” He laughed. “You and the cats are
riding in my truck; that way, I can keep an eye on you.”
Happy not to be driving in the pouring rain, I
gave in and crossed the room, picking up the small tote lying on the floor next
to the banister.
Redhead. Long
legs. There's nothing like a strawberry-lemonade in summer. Favorite activity:
Filling my pockets with seashells. An avid rule follower when eating Animal
Cookies: Broken ones get eaten first, match up the rest, duplicates next, line
them up favorite to not, least favorite go first. South Florida is my home,
with my ungrateful rescue cats, and where Mother Nature takes out her bad
attitude in the form of hurricanes.
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