by Rachel Woods
“Grab the wheel!” the woman shouted as she turned and maneuvered onto her knees on the seat, facing the back of the cart. Grabbing the seat rest for support, the woman aimed and fired the weapon.
Spencer grabbed the wheel and yanked it hard, trying to keep the cart from careening into the trees, but her actions caused the woman to pitch forward, and she dropped the gun. A shot went off. The woman yelled out a curse and then scrambled back to a sitting position, resuming control of the cart as it skidded off the shoulder and crashed.
42
Location Unknown
Jarred from the slam into the queen palm tree, Spencer looked to her right, stunned and confused. Next to her, the woman moaned, her body twisted at an odd angle, trapped between the golf cart’s front brush guard and the palm tree. Somewhere in her mind, it registered that the woman must have been thrown forward out of the cart, but she wasn’t sure.
The mercenaries steered the golf cart toward her, stopped a few feet away, and got out. Though she felt shattered and bruised, Spencer stumbled out of the woman’s cart. Crying and praying they wouldn’t kill her, she staggered toward the trees, desperate to escape.
“Not so fast…” a voice behind her ordered. Spencer froze, panic and fear slicing through her like a knife, and yet there was something gentle in the man’s command that confused her. “Are you hurt?”
Bewildered, Spencer turned and looked up at the man.
“It’s okay,” said the man, taking a cautious step toward her. “You’re going to be okay.”
Spencer shook her head, shivering despite the balmy atmosphere. “What? How?”
“Come on.” The man slipped an arm around her and guided her away from the cart where his partner was dealing with the woman, who, despite being banged up, was cursing and struggling to free herself from the choke hold he’d trapped her in.
As the mercenary walked Spencer to the other golf cart, three large black SUVs with black tinted windows sped down the road toward them, tires spraying gravel, and then parked in a row on the opposite shoulder. From the first SUV, three men emerged, each man dressed in a custom-tailored suit. The doors of the last SUV opened, and two men got out, dressed impeccably. One of the men from the first car walked to the second SUV and opened the passenger door.
Spencer saw a black boot descending beneath the door and then jumped when the boot slammed down against the gravel. The mercenaries stood at attention, waiting. Something strange and electric swirled in the air, something magnetic and reverent that unnerved and fascinated her. Whoever the man was, Spencer had a feeling that he was the boss. These mercenaries in their expensive suits were under his command, control, and direction. Whoever he was, he seemed to demand respect and deference.
Moments later, the man from the second SUV exited, and one of the mercenaries rushed to close the door behind him. Just like his team of assassins, the man was dressed in a tailored suit and wore dark sunglasses, but there was something slightly more sophisticated and elegant about him. He seemed more powerful, and more diabolical, like some sort of island dictator, Spencer thought, watching him stride across the road.
“No! No!” the woman screamed and struggled more violently as the mercenary boss stopped in the middle of the road and then nodded his head. It must have been some sort of signal, Spencer realized, because the man restraining the woman began to drag her, kicking and screaming, toward the mercenary boss.
Apprehensive, Spencer watched as the man restraining the woman stopped about a foot away from the boss. He removed his arm from around her neck but then held the woman’s arms behind her back so she couldn’t get away. No longer struggling, the woman whimpered and cried, her tone pleading. She was begging, imploring, but she was speaking a language Spencer couldn’t understand. It wasn’t European, Asian, or Middle Eastern. It sounded tribal.
The mercenary boss spoke to the woman in the strange language, and Spencer wondered if they knew each other. Or maybe they had heard of each other. The woman was, obviously, the kind of woman who dealt with criminals. Maybe the mercenary boss had a fearsome reputation in the criminal world, and the woman was well aware of it.
As the conversation between the woman and the mercenary boss continued, Spencer stared at the man, noting something familiar in his stature and commanding presence.
After another mournful scream, the woman began speaking more rapidly, her tone desperate.
The mercenary boss nodded again, and the man holding the woman released her and stepped back. The mercenary boss gave the woman a backhanded slap that sounded like a gunshot. Reverberating, the report made Spencer jump and leaves rustled as birds took flight.
Groaning, the woman dropped to the ground. The mercenary boss kicked her. Spencer gasped, horrified, as the woman flopped over onto her side. A silent protest rose within Spencer, but it stuck in her throat, and she realized, with sickening terror, that something awful and heinous was about to happen, something she would never be able to forget, something she might never recover from. Something…evil.
The mercenary boss spat words at the woman, reached into his custom-tailored jacket, and pulled out a gun. Crying, the woman writhed in the gravel, struggling to roll over. Something roared in Spencer’s head, rushing through her body, propelling her to move, to do something, to stop something.
“Easy,” said the man with his arm still around her, and from the pressure of his hold, Spencer knew he was not about to let her break free. There was nothing she could do to prevent what was about to happen, and the thought was both infuriating and irritating. Part of her didn’t want anything bad to happen to the woman, and yet another part wasn’t sure how to feel. The woman had kidnapped her and put a shock collar around her neck. She should hate the woman for destroying her wedding day. But the woman hadn’t really mistreated her. And when the mercenaries had attacked, the woman had protected her.
A gunshot burst through the still atmosphere. Spencer looked away and closed her eyes, jumping when another bullet was fired. The third shot startled her, and so did the fourth. But, the fifth shot was mind-numbing, and the sixth one didn’t seem to register with her. The final shot, the seventh bullet, was almost anticlimactic, or maybe she was too shocked to be hysterical and horrified anymore.
“Make sure this wicked whore of Babylon is really dead,” said the mercenary boss. One of the mercenary minions checked, taking a knee in the gravel next to the woman’s bullet-ridden lifeless body. He nodded at the boss and then stood.
“Now make sure no one finds her,” said the boss, speaking to no particular minion, and yet each one harkened to his words, nodding and paying close attention. “Make it as though she never existed. Understand? Because it would have been better if she had never been conceived.”
As the minions gathered around the woman, like vultures, talking among themselves in low tones, the mercenary boss walked toward Spencer. Worried, she glanced at the minion who’d helped her from the golf cart, but he was removing his arm from around her, and as the boss came closer, the minion walked away.
“How are you, dear?” the boss asked, his voice deep, his tone concerned. “I pray you were not violated, mistreated, or degraded by that evil bitch.”
Wary, Spencer stared at him.
He’d just put seven bullets into a woman, and he wanted to know how she was? She didn’t know how to answer. How was she? Somewhere between repulsed and relieved. She was terrified, and yet something about him comforted her, made her feel protected despite his brutality. It was a tender savagery, and for some reason, she knew he was not going to hurt her. She wouldn’t end up sprawled in the dirt, bleeding, dead from several bullets to the face.
“I am sorry you had to witness that, but evil must not be allowed to flourish or prosper. It must be eradicated.”
Spencer just stared, not sure what to do or say.
“One of my men will get that ridiculous thing off your neck,” said the boss, giving her a reassuring smile. “And then we can get going.”
/> “Where are you taking me?” Involuntarily, Spencer touched the collar. In all the chaos and confusion, she’d forgotten it was there. “Where are we going?
“We’re going to reunite you with my son,” he said. “Then the two of you can realize your dreams of becoming husband and wife.”
“Your son?” Spencer asked, struggling to catch her breath. “What are you talking about? Who is your son?”
“My son is your fiancé,” said the mercenary boss. “Sione Tuiali’i.”
“Sione is your…son?”
Nodding, the mercenary boss removed his dark glasses and stared at her.
Spencer almost collapsed. She was shocked by how much the mercenary boss looked like John. He was an older version of John—John in ten, maybe fifteen, years. They shared the same height, muscular build, and handsome features. And the same eyes, Spencer noticed. The mercenary boss and John had the same hazel eyes.
“Will you take me to…Sione?” Spencer asked, tears spilling down her cheeks. “Please, will you take me back to him?”
43
Somewhere over the Pacific Ocean
The plane glided through billowy clouds at cruising altitude.
Sione took a deep breath and tried to relax, but he was anxious and fidgety, knowing he’d have to endure ten more hours before the aircraft arrived in A’arotanga. Ten hours was too long and not long enough. Too much time to think of the worst, to worry about everything that could go wrong when the plane landed.
He was exhausted but couldn’t sleep. The last twenty hours had been a hellish blur, disconcerting and disorganized, hard to believe, hard to wrap his mind around. One minute, he’d been at the house in Third Ward, and the next morning, he’d arrived at Hooks Airport at seven a.m. to board the Gulfstream Ben had chartered for their transoceanic trip. Eight hours later, they touched down in Oahu at eleven a.m. for a fuel stop and some breakfast. Six hours later, wheels up at five p.m., and now they were back in the air.
Yesterday, during the first leg of the trip, the spacious, luxurious cabin had been silent except for the gentle hum of the jet engines. Both he and Ben had been distracted by respective internal musings. The peaceful atmosphere had lulled Sione into a strange sense of security, where he allowed himself to doze every now and then. The silence provided opportunities to think about Spencer and the baby. He found himself creating fantasy scenarios of what their life would be like. He imagined the moment when he would hold his child in his arms for the first time.
His little boy. The sonogram had confirmed what Spencer had surmised from the blue elephant. They were having a boy. Sione had been overjoyed when viewing the ultrasound image. Hearing the fetal heartbeat had been his undoing. It had been pure unspeakable, indescribable joy, knowing his son was alive and thriving. And in five months, he would meet his precious little boy. He imagined rocking his son to sleep, bathing him, changing his diapers, and soothing him with lullabies when he cried. He envisioned first steps and first words.
Today, he was worried, tense, apprehensive, and anxious. He couldn’t stop worrying about Spencer. What if she was already dead? He couldn’t trust Ben to tell him the truth. The video Ben had showed him could have been faked—filmed when Spencer was alive. Spencer couldn’t be dead. If Spencer was dead, then the baby…no, he wouldn’t think it, he couldn’t. If anything bad happened to the baby, Sione wouldn’t want to live anymore. What would be the point? How could he exist in a world where Spencer and the baby were gone?
Sione took a few deep breaths, trying to remain calm. He had to think logically. Spencer wasn’t dead. Ben wanted the envelope, and the bastard knew he wouldn’t get it if anything happened to Spencer. Still, Sione couldn’t shake his apprehension. He had a feeling Ben was plotting some type of double cross, devising a scheme to get the envelope and get back at Spencer. She will be punished for her betrayal. Sione couldn’t take Ben’s threats lightly, couldn’t dismiss them. Ben was dedicated when it came to revenge. He had plans to make Spencer pay, and he wouldn’t be satisfied with ruining Spencer’s life. Ben wanted to kill her.
“Where is Spencer?” Sione asked, though he didn’t really expect Ben to tell him—not yet, anyway. If he could get the bastard talking about the kidnapping, maybe Ben would let some crucial detail slip, some clue as to where he was keeping Spencer. A long shot, Sione knew, but he had to try. Ben had promised to do things Sione’s way, but that was bullshit. Ben’s word meant nothing. Sione had to figure out where Spencer was before the plane landed. Once on the island, he would find a way to contact his cousin Roy, a local detective, and pass the information to him.
“Somewhere safe,” Ben said, reclined in his seat across the aisle.
“How do I know that for sure?”
“You saw the live feed,” Ben said.
“I saw what you said was a live feed, but how do I know you were telling the truth?”
“You have to trust me, old friend.”
“Trust you?” Sione glared at him. “Are you out of your mind?”
Ben said nothing.
“Where the hell is somewhere safe? Who is she with?”
“She’s with someone who has been told to take good care of her,” Ben said. “Someone who has been told to make sure that she is fed and—”
“Who is it?” Sione asked. “One of your triad friends?”
“Actually,” Ben said. “It is an old mutual friend of ours.”
“We don’t have any mutual friends,” Sione said.
“Forgive me, I should have said, a woman we were both involved with at one time.”
“What the hell are you talking about?” Sione stared at Ben, his heart racing. Besides Spencer, there was only one other woman they had a relationship with, but it couldn’t possibly be the woman he was thinking about because that woman was dead.
“Correction, a woman we were involved with at the same time,” Ben said. “Moana.”
Sione closed his eyes as a painful dizziness rendered him speechless, unable to think or move.
“You know, old friend,” Ben said, chuckling softly. “The next time you kill someone, make sure they’re really dead.”
“I don’t understand,” Sione whispered, finding his voice.
“Makes perfect sense to me,” Ben said. “As I’ve told you before, time and again, you don’t have the guts to take a life. You never have and you never will. You’re probably relieved to find out that you didn’t kill her, aren’t you?”
“How did you…” Sione took a quick breath, trying to focus. “How did she…”
“It’s an interesting story,” Ben said. “And since we have some time…”
44
An island off the coast of Belize
The large SUV rumbled over the gravel road.
Jostled side to side from potholes and rough terrain, Spencer clutched the seatbelt across her body. Confused, still unable to believe the horrible things that had happened moments ago, she stared out of the window, focused on the blur of trees, trying to reorient herself. How the hell was she supposed to recover from what she’d experienced? An attack on the house where she’d been held captive had ended with the brutal murder of the woman who had taken her hostage. How could she ever get past the calm savagery of the man sitting next to her on the plush leather bench seat, separated by an armrest?
“Sione’s mother tells me that congratulations are in order,” said the mercenary boss.
Startled, Spencer glanced at him. “Congratulations?
“You and my son are expecting, is that right?”
Wary of confirming the news, Spencer hesitated. The thought of this man as her little boy’s grandfather was strange and terrifying. Her baby’s grandfather was a murderer. A cold-blooded killer with an army of well-dressed mercenaries at his disposal, eager to do his diabolical bidding.
Eventually, when she realized he was waiting for a response, she nodded and said, “Yes, Sione and I are having a baby.”
“What a wonderful blessing,” he said,
beaming. “Do you know if it will be a boy or a girl?”
Again, she was reluctant to share any details about the baby but said, “We’re having a boy.”
“My son is going to have a son,” he said. “My grandson.”
Spencer tried to smile but couldn’t force the corners of her mouth to lift.
“Have you and my son thought of any names?”
“Actually, not really,” Spencer said. “It was something we planned to do after the wedding, while we were on our honeymoon, but...”
He reached across the armrest and took her hand. Spencer cautioned herself not to flinch. The strong fingers wrapped around hers had squeezed the trigger of a gun, putting seven bullets into the woman who had kidnapped her.
“What do you think about calling him Richard?”
“Richard?” Spencer snatched her hand away. “I would never name my baby Richard.”
“You have a problem with the name Richard?”
“I have more than a problem with that name,” Spencer spat. “A man named Richard...”
“What, dear? A man named Richard did what?”
“He made my life hell,” Spencer said.
“How did he do that?”
“I was kidnapped before,” Spencer said.
“That’s terrible.”
“The person who had me kidnapped was a man named Richard, a man I don’t even know,” she said. “Richard told a man named Tommy Fong to hold me hostage in a shack in the jungle. It was so horrible, it was the worst...I thought I was going to die there, and no one would ever know what had happened to me.”
“I am sorry about that,” he said. “But, before we go on, I must tell you something.”
“What is it?”
“My name is Richard Tuiali’i,” he said. “I’m the man who told Tommy Fong to kidnap you.”
