Title: Hurricane in Paradise
Author: Deborah Brown
Genre: Mystery Romance
Release Date: 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 on
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 on
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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