Deborah Brown - Madison Westin 07 - Kidnapped in Paradise by Deborah Brown

“Offer her a ride to her son ’ s mansion, so we can get back home.”
    “Why me?” I asked, reaching out and gently touching Mrs. Ricci ’ s shoulder.
    I looked down at her. Carlotta Ricci scored in the gene pool. An attractive, silver-haired woman, she looked a lot younger than her age and was in excellent shape. No ugly shift dresses for this woman, either. She had on jade-colored silk pants, and a very expensive pair of ivory satin pumps lay on the floor to match her top.
    Startled, she clutched her chest.
    “Who in the hell are you?” She sat up, flinging her legs onto the floor and blinking sleep from her eyes.
    “I ’ m Madison and this is Fab. Carmine would like you to come back to his house and stay. He ’ s working with his lawyers on a deal that doesn’t include jail time. He ’ s terribly worried about you.” I didn’t know that to be true, but it sounded good.
    She retrieved a silver monogrammed cigarette case from the glass coffee table. She took one out and jammed it between her lips, biting down hard on the end.
    “No, thanks. Now get out of here before I scream.”
    “And who do you think is going to show up?” Fab snorted. “Even if someone could hear you. Now you listen to me. This morning has sucked. I ’ m tired and cranky. Can’t you just hop your bony ass in the car and go drive your son crazy?”
    Mrs. Ricci put her glasses on and ran her eyes over Fab in a clinical way.
    “You looking for a sugar daddy, Honey? I could get big money for you. Especially if you ’ ll relocate to Europe.”
    “What about me?” I sulked.
    She gave me a cursory glance.
    “I could get you local work,” she said, her dollar-sign eyes already back on Fab.
    “Come on, Grandma,” Fab said and motioned. “You ’ re out of business for a while, and if you want to stay out of jail, you'd best stay out of trouble. Take it from me—you’ll hate everything about jail. No silk anything on your skin and ugly, uncomfortable shoes. And the food is awful.”
    “Who in the hell do you think you are? Barging into my house doing the bidding of that snot-nosed son of mine.” Carlotta cracked a smile and, in one swift move, slid a gun from under the sofa cushion. “Sit down, right over there.” She pointed to two chairs in front of the window.
    “Toss me your keys,” she demanded and cocked the gun. “I ’ m leaving, all right––but not with either one of you.”
    I blew out a frustrated breath.
    “Think this through. Once you flee, the authorities will track you down, bring you back, and perp-walk the runaway madam before the cameras. Then, no deal and no bail. You’ll stay in jail until your sentence is served. I’ve been to your son ’ s house; you can snap your fingers for whatever you desire. Are you ready for life on the run? Cheap motels and burger stands?”
    “You sound like you speak from experience,” she sneered. “Now shut up. Just be happy I don’t want to shoot you unless you force me.”
    It made me squirm to watch her wave the gun around, knowing that with the slightest twitch of her finger, it could go off and there was no telling where the bullet would end up.
    “You ’ re stupid.” Fab tossed her the keys. “Take the SUV and go; we don’t care. We ’ ll find our way home and you’ll never see our faces again.”
    “Do you have a valid license?” I asked. “More importantly, do you know how to drive? I got a really good deal on that auto and would like it back in one piece. No eating or sex, if you don’t mind.”
    “You young people are revolting. I've never screwed in a car in my life,” she sniffed.
    “Can’t we just take you home before you do something stupid?” I asked.
    “Stand up, both of you. Hands in the air. Start walking toward the kitchen. Now!” she yelled.
    I felt pretty confident she had no plans to shoot us. I looked at Fab and grimaced.
    “ Quadruple, ” she mouthed.
    We walked through the dining hall into a kitchen that would rival most