by Rachel Woods
“Numbers for what?”
“Numbers to access some numbered bank account somewhere,” Richard said, sounding slightly perturbed. “It’s the passcode, and there’s one hundred million dollars in the account.”
51
A’arotanga, South Pacific
Location Unknown
Outside the wall of French doors, the sun began its steady ascent, rising above the natural barrier of tropical vegetation.
Sione turned from the A’arotangan sunrise, questions crowding his mind. Why hadn’t Ben tied him up? Why had he just thrown him on the bed, leaving his hands and feet unbound? Maybe because it didn’t matter. Except for the mattress he’d been lying on when he woke up, the room was bare. Nothing could be used as a weapon. There was no other furniture in the room. No closet. No bathroom. A locked door led out of the room, and the locked French doors had thick, triple pane glass.
Touching his shoulder, Sione winced. It was still sore from the needle of the dart piercing his skin, delivering a dose of some sort of anesthesia. He had no idea how much time had passed since Ben had shot him. Damn tranquilizer gun had knocked him out for too damn long, but he was awake now, although still not fully alert. The strange thickness no longer swam in his head. When he’d regained consciousness, he’d been disoriented, staring at the blades of a ceiling fan, swirling lazily. Things were becoming clearer, and priorities were shifting.
He took a deep breath, fighting desperation and anger. Giving into dangerous emotions would hinder his ability to think logically, dashing any hopes of figuring out a way to escape his current confinement. Restless, he scanned the room again, searching for some way to breach the impenetrable security.
Sione knew why Ben was holding him captive. You are my leverage. Ben had drugged him and locked him in an empty room because Richard had ruined his plans. Your father has come to the rescue of that deceitful bitch you plan to marry. Ben was probably hoping Richard would find some way to get that damn envelope for him in exchange for Sione’s release. Talk about a fool’s bargain. Ben had to know he would end up on the business end of any deal he tried to make with Richard.
When Richard gets to the island, I have no doubt he plans to kill me. It would end that way, Sione was sure. Richard would betray Ben and then kill him. Not that Ben’s death mattered to Sione, because it didn’t.
He couldn’t be distracted from what was most important—escaping and finding Spencer. Any and all mental activity had to be centered around those specific tasks.
Sione rubbed his eyes. It was hard to focus on a seemingly impossible goal when success required the ability to outthink a murdering psychopath hell-bent on getting revenge. He had to get out of the room, somehow. Brute force was not the way out, he’d quickly learned. He’d already tried kicking the doors down and using his left shoulder as a battering ram, all to no avail. Pacing the room, he took deep breaths, trying to keep it together, trying to—
He heard a soft click and then metal moving against metal. Sione turned toward the door, saw the knob twisting, counterclockwise. His heart pounded.
Someone was opening the door…
52
A’arotanga, South Pacific
In the back of the cab, Spencer stared at the third finger on her left hand.
She struggled to fight the sullen sadness threatening to overtake her. There should have been a ring on her finger, and there wasn’t. So many things which should have been weren’t. She should have been a married woman. Should have been on her honeymoon with John, exploring the island with him as her unofficial tour guide.
As the cab sped along a winding two-lane road cut between lush scenery, Spencer tried to focus on her upcoming task, but her thoughts wandered as she gazed at sun-splashed palm trees passing by the window. When she and John had talked about honeymooning in A’arotanga, he’d promised to show her the beauty of the island, the hidden gems and lovely surprises only the locals knew and held dear, sacred, private places their ancestors had discovered centuries ago. She’d been looking forward to basking in the warm sun with him, hiking through the rainforest, and making love in the ocean.
She sighed, scolding herself. There was no time for reminiscing or feeling sorry for herself. She and John could still have their beautiful, magical honeymoon. And they would but only if she got herself together and played her part. Clutching her blue Birkin, Spencer recalled Richard’s instructions, based on the negotiations with Ben.
“At nine in the morning, you’ll take a car to the First National Bank of A’arotanga,” Richard had said. “At the bank, you will ask to speak to the bank’s vice president, Mr. Afoa. He is an associate of mine and will assist us in this endeavor, making sure things go smoothly. Mr. Afoa will escort you to the vault, where the safe deposit boxes are kept. He will be able to open the safe deposit box my son has there.”
“But safe deposit boxes need two keys to open them,” Spencer pointed out. “We don’t have John’s key.”
“Mr. Afoa will be able to open the box, trust me,” Richard said. “He will remove the contents and give them to you.”
“The contents?” Spencer stared at him. “You mean Ben’s envelope.”
Richard nodded. “After you get the envelope, you’ll take a car back to the hotel. Two men will be waiting to escort you to my suite. One of the men works for Ben, and the other works for me. This is necessary to ensure that you don’t do something stupid, like run off with the envelope.”
“Why would I do that?” Spencer snapped. “The envelope is the key to John’s freedom.”
“Yes, well, Ben thinks that I might try to convince you to go against the agreement and bring the envelope to me,” said Richard. “Naturally, I think that Ben might entice you into giving the envelope to him before he releases my son. So, we decided to each have one of our men shepherd you back to my suite.”
Spencer closed her eyes for a moment and pressed a hand against her abdomen. Her stomach had been in knots since yesterday, and last night, she hadn’t been able to sleep. So much was at stake, and there were so many risks, for her, John, and the baby. Their lives and their happiness, their happily ever after, together forever, depended on her now, and she couldn’t blow it.
Last night, as she’d tossed and turned, praying for courage and strength, she’d entertained fantasies of stabbing both Ben and Richard in the back. Betrayal was the least those murderous, vengeful bastards deserved. More than anything, she wanted to destroy the envelope and make sure both men ended up in jail. Or better yet, dead. There had to be a way to make them turn on each other and destroy one another while she and John rode off into the sunset.
She wasn’t stupid though.
She didn’t want to be doused with gasoline and set on fire or shot seven times. Ben and Richard were not to be messed with. She would not risk their collective wrath in some misguided attempt at revenge. She couldn’t give in to anger and frustration. She had to concentrate on John and the baby and the life they would be free to lead once Ben had his damn envelope and John was released.
“Don’t worry, little one,” Spencer whispered, staring at the growing bump. “Mama is not going to mess up. You, me, and daddy will be together again soon. I promise.”
53
A’arotanga, South Pacific
Location Unknown
Staring at the twisting door knob, several options flashed through Sione’s mind. One, press himself against the wall next to the door, and when whoever the hell came into the room, he could grab the son of a bitch from behind, wrestle him to the ground, grapple, and then disarm. Or two, go back to the bed and pretend he was still knocked out. Let the person get close and then attack. With a stealth quickness, Sione returned to the mattress, lay down on his back and closed his eyes just before the door opened.
He forced himself to go limp and stay still. Ignoring his pounding heart, he fought the instinct to jump up and fight and cautioned himself to wait, to determine if he could find out more about the situation, before h
e made his move. If nothing else, he needed to determine if more than one person had entered the room. His entire plan of attack would have to change if two or three people had been assigned to watch him.
Footsteps shuffled across the hardwood floor, light and quick. A small, thin opponent, maybe.
Something hard and smooth pressed against his cheek and then his chin a few times. Seconds later, he felt three quick taps against his jaw followed by a slight pressure on his left eyelid before it was forced open. An Asian man peered at him, black eyes intense. He had a heavily lined, leathery, weather-beaten face.
The man was trying to determine if he was conscious, Sione realized, attempting not to stare back at the man, still unsure of his next move and yet knowing he had to attack. There was no other option. He would have to fight his way out of the room, and once out of the room, he’d have to fight to get out of the house.
He had to be prepared, smart, and cunning to make sure he survived the battle before he could wage war. He couldn’t hesitate and ruin what might be his only chance to escape. Neither could he be too hasty and make the wrong move at the wrong time. The last thing he wanted was to end up chained to the bed with a concussion.
Grunting, the man released Sione’s eyelid and stood. Before Sione allowed the lid to lower, he saw the man turn from him. His heart kicked, knowing it was time to act. “Chen Shu…” said the man, voice loud and raspy, launching into Chinese.
Sione opened his eyes and raised his head from the mattress a fraction. The man had his back to Sione with a cellphone pressed to his ear. Thin and wiry, the guy reminded Sione of Tommy Fong. Probably a disgraced Triad enforcer on Ben’s payroll. Most likely proficient in martial arts, subtle and quick, and able to get the best of an opponent twice his size.
Not today, Sione thought, and then rolled onto his side as he pushed himself toward the bottom of the mattress. With his right leg leading, he slammed his foot into the man’s ankle. The man cried out, a mix of pain and shock, as he fell to his knees, dropping the cell phone.
In an instant, Sione scrambled to his feet and lunged at the man, slipping an arm around the man’s neck, trapping him in a rear choke hold. “You speak English?” Sione demanded, giving the bastard just enough slack to speak. “Where is Ben?”
Sputtering, the man cowered, feeble in his pointless attempts to free himself.
Cursing, frustrated, Sione tightened his hold. Squeeze until there is no more life left within the enemy. His father’s voice, deep and sinister, was strangely soothing. Letting those decade-old instructions guide him, Sione squeezed harder as the man gasped and gurgled, hands desperately trying to remove Sione’s arm, but it was no use. The man stopped fighting and went limp. Sione removed his arm, letting the man drop to the floor.
Breathing heavily, Sione took a knee next to the unmoving form and checked for a pulse. The man was still alive. He wouldn’t be unconscious for long, though. Quickly, Sione patted the guy down, looking for a weapon, hoping to find—
A shocked exhale followed by several Chinese phrases made Sione look up. Another Chinese man stood in the doorway, tall and wiry, dressed in black fatigues. The man lunged, throwing a right punch. Sione stepped toward the man, blocking the blow with his left forearm, and hit the man in the throat. After picking the man up and slamming him to the ground, Sione searched him for a weapon. Finding a gun, he pressed the barrel under the man’s chin.
“Where is Ben Chang?” Sione asked. “Where am I? What the hell is going on?”
Cowering and sweating, the man trembled, whispering Chinese.
Sione jerked the man to a sitting position and slammed the pistol across his face. Blood spurted from the man’s nose as he cried out in shock and pain.
“I know you can speak English,” Sione said. “Where is Ben? What is going on?”
“Do not kill me,” the man pleaded, his dark eyes wary. “Please.”
“You want to live?” Sione pressed the barrel against the man’s cheek. “You tell me what I want to know.”
“I will tell you.” The man nodded. “Please do not kill me. I will tell you.”
54
A’arotanga, South Pacific
Seconds after she got into the cab, Spencer reached into the blue Birkin bag for her cell phone.
Her fingers brushed the envelope, and she flinched, snatching her hand away. Opening the purse wider, Spencer stared at Ben’s envelope, nestled between a compact mirror and her iPhone. She was shocked by how smoothly everything had happened with Mr. Afoa, a slight, dour man who’d been expecting her. As he led her into the vault, he barely spoke two words, and after he’d opened John’s safe deposit box and handed her the envelope, he simply bowed his head and wished her a pleasant day.
Her next instructions, according to the negotiations between Ben and Richard, were to call both men, a three-way conversation, and tell them she had the envelope.
Spencer’s thumb hovered over the key pad on the screen, trying to remember the phone numbers to the burner phones both Ben and Richard would be using to take her call. Trembling, she took a deep breath. This was no time for pregnancy brain. What was the number Richard had given her? Panicked, she tried to force the chaotic thoughts and fears from her mind. Ben had given her his number, as well. No, wait. The numbers had been programmed into her phone, hadn’t they? Her heart thudding, she checked the phone’s stored contacts, looking for—
The driver’s door sprang open. The driver gave a short, strangled cry as someone yanked him from the cab. Heart slamming, Spencer leaned between the front seats. What the hell was happening? She sat back and scooted to the passenger’s door, panicked and desperate, staring out of the window. The thud of flesh smacking into flesh combined with a blur of an arm swinging sent terror racing through her body. She had to get out of the car. She didn’t know what was happening, or why, but this wasn’t part of the plan Richard and Ben had agreed upon. Something was wrong. Fighting hysteria, Spencer grabbed the inside door handle.
A body slammed against the back door. Spencer screamed and scooted away from the door, paralyzed, not sure what to do. Feeling trapped, realizing the car was slowly inching forward, she struggled to decide if she should climb into the front seat and drive away or—
Someone jumped into the driver’s seat and slammed the door, and the car shot forward. Holding on to the headrest for dear life, Spencer glanced over her shoulder. Through the back window, she saw the cab driver sprawled in the middle of the road. Fresh panic exploded within her.
The cab veered toward the shoulder and then shuddered to a halting stop.
“Spencer…”
Panic gave way to dizzying confusion and then elation and then disbelief. She had to be dreaming. Hallucinating. Shaking, fearing her mind was playing tricks on her, Spencer turned her head.
Gasping, she stared at the hazel eyes gazing back at her. “John?” she whispered, leaning forward and inching her hand toward his face, desperately wanting to believe he was really there. As he twisted in the seat to face her, his hand closed around her fingers, and he pulled her hand to his mouth, kissing her palm. Crying, she angled her body between the two front seats, placed her free hand against the stubble on his cheek, and kissed him. John released her hand and wrapped his arm around her as she wound her arms around his neck, reluctant to let him go.
“John, oh my God! I don’t understand…what happened?” she whispered against his mouth. “I thought…how did you get away from Ben? How did you know—”
“Sweetheart, are you okay?” he asked, pulling away and cradling her face in his hands. “Is the baby okay?”
“John, I’m fine. The baby is fine,” she said as John kissed away her tears. “What about you? Are you okay? Why did Ben kidnap you?”
“The same reason he took you,” John said, rubbing his eyes. “Because of that damn envelope. After you gave Ben the envelope, I stole it from him.”
“I don’t understand,” Spencer said. “Why would you do that?”
&
nbsp; “I still don’t know.” He exhaled, shaking his head. “Or maybe I do. I was kind of out of my mind that night…”
“Because that was the night you found out the truth about me,” Spencer said. “You found out that I had lied to you about everything.”
“Not everything,” John disputed. “You didn’t lie about how you felt about me. You told the truth about loving me, and maybe if I had believed you, none of this would have happened.”
“You can’t blame yourself,” Spencer said. “If anyone is to blame, it’s me. I should have told you the truth from the beginning, when I first met you. I should have trusted that you would protect me from Ben.”
“But you were kidnapped because I took that stupid envelope,” John said. “If I hadn’t done that, we’d be married right now. We’d be on this island for our honeymoon, not because I made a deal with Ben to get you back.”
“You were supposed to give him the envelope, and he would let me go,” Spencer said.
“That didn’t happen,” John said. “Everything went to hell. Ben found out Richard had rescued you, so he drugged me and locked me in a room at some beach house on the west side of the island. When I woke up, one of the guys Ben had guarding me came into the room. I forced the guy to tell me what the hell was going on. That’s how I found out about the deal between Ben and Richard for my freedom. But Ben was going to betray Richard. He never planned on letting you go.”
“I knew it!” Spencer said. “He was going to betray both of us. He was going to keep us apart. He was never going to leave us alone and let us be together!”
