For being in such a deserted spot, it didn’t take long for the first police car to respond to the scene. Of course, our insane driving had probably been reported long before we called 911. Sirens could be heard in the distance.

  Normally, Fab would be across the street with the guys, but the newest arrival curtailed her plans. She would want to steer away from the police investigation.

  Creole met the officer as he got out of the car. After exchanging a few words, they shook hands.

  “Have your identification handy. The cops may or may not ask,” Fab said, reaching into her purse and extracting hers. “I don’t suppose the chief is going to come to our rescue.”

  “The chief isn’t very happy with Creole right now. Not sure how he’ll feel once he hears what went down here tonight. In our defense, Santos shot first.”

  Two more officers showed up, along with two unmarked police cars—at least, I assumed they were, since they parked next to the patrol cars. One man got out of a truck reminiscent of Creole’s, except it was blue. He must have been top dog because he shot out a few orders and the men responded.

  He and one of the uniformed officers directed Creole off to one side. It made me happy that Fab and I were close enough to hear.

  After introductions, it turned out he was the Chief of the Marathon police department. He asked, “What happened?”

  “We were driving north on the Overseas. Fab—” he pointed, and the chief looked over and inclined his head, “—was driving. Some men pulled up next to us in a silver Mercedes and began shooting. In fear for our lives, I drew my department-issue pistol, and Didier and I fired to stop the threat and get to safety. Their car crashed.”

  “I’ll need to confiscate all the weapons,” the chief said. “I spoke briefly to your boss, and after we take everyone’s statements, you’re free to go home and rest. I’m asking that you come to my office voluntarily to give a detailed statement and answer questions.”

  “Name the time,” Creole said.

  “I’ll most likely have questions for all of you, and we can schedule those interviews for tomorrow.”

  Emergency services arrived on the scene and checked everyone over, giving us all the green light.

  Creole and the chief continued to talk, motioning for Didier to join them.

  An Expedition rolled up. Help got out.

  “Nice ride,” I said, an incredulous look on my face.

  “What did you expect?” he asked.

  “A Dodge Dart with the windows broken out.”

  He laughed. “I heard you needed a ride home.”

  After an officer had taken Fab’s and my statement, we left the guys at the scene. It was a quiet ride back to my house.

  Chapter Forty-Two

  As soon as Didier and Creole got home, he and I returned to the beach house in the old truck. The Hummer had been hauled to the police impound lot, where it would sit until the investigators were done with their reports. We slept in, getting up and going for a walk on the beach and coming back for lunch and a swim. It was quiet poolside without Fab and Didier, but they also needed alone time.

  I stood in the kitchen, stretching my body, and wondered if the others were feeling as achy as me. I wouldn’t ask, not wanting to sound whiney. I brought a cold beer and bottle of water back out to the pool, handing Creole his over his shoulder before moving around him and sitting on the chaise between his legs, facing him.

  He snapped the lid of my laptop closed, leaned forward, and kissed me.

  “The ‘accident’ made the news,” Creole said with a frown. “It’s big when the Overseas is closed for a few hours. After what happened, with Santos’s death now making headlines, I’m mostly certain that the department will spin it as a random traffic accident. They won’t want to jeopardize the rest of the case.”

  “I’ll need to tell Mother before she reads about it online or someone tells her. It would be better coming from me. Especially the part that you’re alive.”

  “I’ll go along with however you want to handle it.”

  “It’s better if she finds out you’re alive before she sees you, so it doesn’t come as a shock. But I’m afraid if I go to her condo to break the news, she’ll have me carted away.” I grimaced. “I’ll arrange to meet her at The Crab Shack. Westins are well-behaved in public. For the most part.”

  “Except when a certain sassy redhead tips a few back and wants to climb on the furniture.”

  “So ungentlemanly of you to bring that up. I’ve done that, what, once? Well, maybe a few times.”

  He tapped the end of my nose and smiled, a second later turning serious. “Talked to Chief Harder this morning. I’ve been given a one-day reprieve before reporting to his office tomorrow promptly at nine. There will be agents from other agencies in attendance, and he told me that he expected me to stay after for a one-on-one with him. He ended with, ‘Do not be late.’”

  “He’s going to want to know what your plans are. Have you decided?”

  “From the tone of his voice, it won’t surprise me if he sacks me on the spot. It’s hard to know what to do when you don’t want to either stay or go. It’s not like I’ve got something waiting in the wings. That would make it easier.”

  “It’s not like you can go right back to work anyway—you’ve yet to get a medical release. That will buy you more time.”

  “And a psych evaluation.” Creole made a face.

  “Didier is the only one in our group that no one’s suggested see a shrink.”

  “Did you see Didier in action last night? I was impressed. He was cool and calm and deadly under pressure. So much for the pretty-boy jokes.”

  It rankled that I’d been the only one with nothing to contribute to last night’s showdown.

  “You okay?”

  I leaned forward and brushed a kiss against his lips. I didn’t know how the man did it, but he picked up on my every mood shift. I reached over and grabbed my phone off the side table. “While I have you here for added courage, I’m going to call Mother.”

  Mother answered on the second ring and said hesitantly, “Madison, how are you?”

  I hit the speaker button so Creole could listen in. “Good. I’m calling to ask you to an early dinner – if you can make it, meet at The Crab Shack? I have a few things I want to catch you up on.”

  “A better idea would be for you to come here. I can order takeout, and we’ll have privacy.”

  “My idea is better. I don’t feel comfortable coming to your house by myself, and I’d like it to be just the two of us.”

  “I admit,” she said, clearly hurt, “trying to force therapy on you wasn’t one of my best ideas. I’m just worried about you. It won’t happen again.”

  “I think getting together will allay a lot of your worries. Will you meet me? I’m thinking four-ish—it will be before the dinner rush and quiet at that time.”

  “Fine.” She disconnected.

  “Mother took that well, all things considered. At least I refrained from telling her ‘you brought it on yourself’ when I refused to come over.”

  Creole took my phone out of my hand, putting it back on the table, and wrapped me in his arms, hugging me. “Maybe before I slip into the restaurant undercover, I’ll text you and see if it’s safe to come inside. In the meantime, I’ll hang out in the bar. She’ll never recognize me in that beard you bought me.

  I laughed. “Fab picked it out.”

  * * *

  When I drove into The Crab Shack’s parking lot, my heart beating rapidly, I saw Mother’s car right off. I had hoped to beat her to the restaurant to secure a table. As usual, she was even earlier, and I knew I’d find her in her favorite spot on the outside deck. Since the dinner crowd hadn’t started to filter in yet, she’d have her choice.

  I’d taken care with my appearance. Fab had given my belted black tent dress and wedge sandals a thumbs up. The humidity demanded that I secure my hair in a clip.

  I spotted Mother first, waving when she caught sight of me, and walked through the bar to the table. She stood, and we hugged and kissed each other on the cheek.

  “You look good,” she said, checking me over.

  “So do you.” I smiled. “As always.” She had on a simple black A-line dress with low heels.

  We both sat. Mother had ordered her signature Jack Daniels on the rocks. A minute later, the bartender came over, setting down a margarita in front of me. We clinked glasses.

  “To getting back on track,” Mother toasted.

  “I have a lot to tell you.”

  “That’s what you said. Before I left the house, the news showed the remnants of a drag race. The surviving car looked like your Hummer—not many of those in the Keys. Since I’d talked to you, I wasn’t worried.” Mother scrutinized my face. “I hope that you’re not here to tell me you were caught up in the middle of that mess.”

  “Well…you’re correct that it was my car.” Or what’s left of it. “I assure you, there was no drag racing involved.”

  “Another job with Fab?” Mother snapped. “Are you two waiting until you’re both dead to get out of the business?”

  “Fab’s taking her business in a new direction. She should be the one to tell you.” I sighed. “We’d been out to dinner. On the way home, we certainly didn’t think we’d get in the middle of what turned out to be a chase—mostly us trying to get away from them—but it happened.”

  “Us? Didier, I assume? I’m surprised he went back to Fab after complaining about her lifestyle. He could find someone a little less exciting without a lot of effort.”

  I did my best not to roll my eyes. “Nobody thought you and Spoon were a good couple, and look how that’s turned out.”

  Mother humphed. “The rest of the story.” She downed her drink.

  I was ready to follow suit but restrained myself and just took a large gulp. “We’re all fine, by the way,” I said in exasperation.

  Mother frowned and waved her glass at the server.

  “Sometimes you can’t control life’s events.” I took a few more sips of liquid courage. “There’s something I need to tell you that’s rather shocking. I want you to stay calm and hear me out.” The words “Creole’s alive” stuck in my throat.

  “Just spit it out,” Mother ordered, her exasperation matching mine. “I’m tough, I can take whatever it is.”

  “I love you.”

  “This must be a doozy.”

  I grasped her hand, holding on. “Creole’s alive,” I said. “He was severely hurt, and after coming to in the hospital, he was taken into protective custody. It was decided, for the safety of the officers still undercover, to keep it secret.”

  “He’s what?” The server had just set a new glass in front of her. She picked it up and drained half of it, ordering another before he could leave the table.

  I tapped the top of my glass and smiled at the server. I’d take a cab home.

  “Have you actually seen him?” Mother asked in disbelief. At my nod, she asked, “How long have you known?” Anger tinged her words.

  I started with Creole’s reappearance, stressing the need for secrecy, and ended with the accident, omitting any part about drug dealers and bullets from that part, since she didn’t seem to know. Thankfully, the local news had left that out of the story and made no mention that our lives had been on the line.

  Mother slammed her glass down on the table. “So Creole waltzes back into your life, knowing full well you could end up dead. And I thought he loved you.”

  My eyes filled with tears. “He does,” I whispered. “And I love him.”

  “Was this dead driver a disgruntled client of Fab’s or some felon acquaintance of Creole’s who wanted to get even?”

  “We’ll find out everything once we read the police report.”

  Mother knew a dodge when she heard one and jumped to her own conclusions. “Now what?” she demanded. “Everything goes along swimmingly until the next criminal shows up at your door?”

  “I thought you’d be happy to know Creole’s alive.”

  “I am, but not at your expense.”

  My phone pinged, and instead of looking at the screen, I scanned the bar area. Partially hidden by a pole holding up the tiki bar sat Creole, sans disguise. I waved him over.

  Mother turned. She watched as Creole crossed the room with his long-legged stride, an incredulous look on her face despite what I’d told her. She stood, and he scooped her into his arms in a long hug, kissing her on the cheek.

  “It’s good to see you,” Mother said. “You look good for a man who’s been what you’ve been through.” Her tone relayed that she wasn’t clear exactly what that was.

  Creole picked up immediately on the tension. He sat down between Mother and me and relayed the events in broad strokes, starting from when he was shot. He answered her questions. Not a mention of last night, as he didn’t know that she knew.

  The menus sat on the table, ignored. No one seemed to have an appetite.

  “You know you could’ve trusted me,” Mother said. “I suppose Fab and Didier were in on everything from the beginning. And Brad?”

  “Brad doesn’t know. You can tell him.” I smiled weakly, not addressing the issue of Fab and Didier and who knew what when. This get-together was already filled with enough half-truths that might come back to trip me up. Not to mention the mental energy it would take to keep my stories straight.

  “The family needs to know so they won’t be blindsided if they should run into you somewhere. The sooner the better.” Mother paused to give her plotting some thought. “I’m going to throw a dinner party, and we’ll celebrate your return.”

  “I’m sorry this couldn’t have been handled better. There was no easy way to tell you,” I said.

  Creole reached across the table and covered my hand with his.

  “The time to tell me was in the beginning,” she snapped.

  I nodded, not wanting to argue. Mother was entitled to her hurt feelings.

  Mother had Creole and I leave the restaurant before Spoon arrived so she could be the one to update him. I thought we should wait, but Mother had other plans. Creole put his arm across my shoulders, leading me out of the restaurant.

  Chapter Forty-Three

  It had been almost forty-eight hours since I’d talked to Mother and I wasn’t anxious to make the call myself, but I wanted to know what she was planning to mark Creole’s return. I tried tricks and pleading with Fab to get her to call, but she ignored me, taking a book out by the pool.

  Creole’s meeting with the higher-ups had been delayed by two days with no explanation offered. But today was the day. Didier had left the house that morning with Creole, driving with him to Miami so Creole could bring his own truck home.

  I hung over the kitchen sink, looking out the garden window. I wanted to know the minute Creole arrived. So far, it had been boring, with almost non-existent traffic, but I continued my watch.

  When Fab came up behind me, I jumped and squealed.

  “Creole’s not going to arrive any faster just because you stand guard,” she said. She ignored my annoyance and asked, “What’s for dinner?”

  “Let’s hope you’re not cooking.”

  “That was mean.”

  I flashed a devilish smile. “Made me feel a little better.” I inclined my head toward the patio. “You need to get the boyfriend in here to cook us something edible…or there’s always takeout.”

  “I assume you’re talking about me.” Didier appeared in the kitchen, having just come down the stairs. He strode over and tugged me away from the window, pulling out a stool. “Sit. Relax.” He smiled. “I ordered pizza—it’ll be here shortly.”

  “Where’s Creole?” I asked in a whiny tone. “I had no idea his meeting would take all day, and I bet he didn’t either.”

  “He just pulled up across the street.” Didier had taken my place, keeping an eye on the window.

  Fab’s and Didier’s cars were in the driveway. I’d contacted my insurance company about the Hummer, and they’d be letting me know the verdict once their adjustor filed his paperwork.

  I jumped off the stool and raced to the front door, opening it as Creole came up the driveway. I planned to sedately meet him halfway…until he opened his arms. I ran and launched myself at him, and he held on tight, stopping us from tipping over.

  “How was your day, honey?” I asked.

  “It blew.”

  I clasped his hand in mine. “Let’s go inside.” I led the way. “I’ll get you something to drink. Dinner’s on the way. And then a swim.”

  We walked into the kitchen, and Didier handed him a cold beer. “How did it go with the chief?” he asked.

  I helped myself to a bottle of water and stood next to Fab.

  “Ice-cold for the most part. Thawed a tad by the time I left.” Creole took a long swig off his bottle. “I’m officially still on medical leave. To come back, I have to get signed off by a medical doctor and a psychiatrist.”

  “You decided to stay on the force?” I asked, more than a bit surprised.

  “What do you think of the idea?” Creole asked, looking at each of us.

  I spoke up first. “I want you to do what makes you happy.” I wasn’t thrilled because of the danger, but I knew about that when I got involved. It was his decision to make, and I’d support it.

  “If it’s what you want, go for it,” Fab said.

  Didier clapped him on the back.

  “It isn’t set in stone. By the time I hop through all the required hoops, I’ll know if it’s the right decision.”

  The doorbell rang. Didier headed for the door.

  Creole quirked an eyebrow in question.

  “Pizza delivery.”

  He gave me a thumbs up.

  * * *

  Once we’d finished dinner and cleared the table, we dragged the deck chairs poolside to enjoy the cool evening air.

  Didier refilled my and Fab’s wine glasses while Creole grabbed two cold beers.

  “Most of Santos’s crew is dead,” Creole said, looking relieved. He handed off a beer to Didier. “No worries about any more episodes like the other night. As far as the media is concerned, it was nothing more than a traffic accident caused by a speeding driver.”

 

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