by Rachel Woods
Spencer scowled at him, not surprised that he’d belittled Rae’s terror and heartbreak, reducing her sister’s anguish to the most sordid details.
“Following the investment banker’s death, she became involved with a man named Mr. Cephas, a disbarred lawyer who reinvented himself as a high-class fence,” Ben said. “The man’s friend informed him that Mr. Cephas often fenced expensive items for Desarae Bedard, who stole them from the rich men she went to dinner with and then drugged. Now, Mr. Cephas, in an act of hospitality, was rumored to have also extended his fencing expertise to Desarae Bedard’s younger sister, Spencer Edwards, the treacherous woman who stabbed the compassionate entrepreneur.”
“Who is this friend you told to check me out?” Spencer demanded. “How did he find out that stuff about me and Rae? Who told him?”
“I have no idea who told him,” Ben said. “I only wish he hadn’t told me. Finding out more about you made me understand your actions even less.”
She dropped her gaze to the omelet, the shame returning. Ben’s confusion mirrored hers. When she’d made the decision to “date” Ben, her reasons had made perfect sense. Now, she realized that what she’d thought was logical was actually lunacy.
“I guess I don’t understand how you had the guts to do it,” Ben said, bracing his hands against the edge of the island as he glared at her. “You weren’t scared of getting caught?”
Spencer considered his question, a query she wasn’t sure how to answer. When Ben had fallen asleep, she hadn’t been content about the idea of stealing from him. Convinced that “dating” him was her only option, she’d let misguided convictions lead her into the closet, where she’d found the Rolex watches and cash. Once the loot was in her Coach bag, her only concern was getting out of the house.
And she did get out. Eventually. But not before she’d encountered Ben holding a large gun and pointing it right in her face.
“I guess, sweet girl, I wonder, why me?” Ben asked. “How did you choose me as a target? You usually go for more mature gentlemen.”
Spencer didn’t know what to say. She hadn’t wanted to steal from Ben, but she felt she had no choice. At the time, she’d thought she was falling for him, and the easiest way to stop her descent into romantic madness was to never see Ben again. But she needed a good reason to walk away from him.
Her older sister’s “Dating Protocol” had given her the reason. According to Rae’s rules, you could only “date” a man once. After “dating” a guy, you weren’t supposed to have anything to do with him, just in case the GHB hadn’t been completely effective.
Spencer had reasoned that if she “dated” Ben, she couldn’t see him again. If she never saw him again, then she couldn’t fall in love with him. If she didn’t fall in love with him, then she wouldn’t become “that wife.” Slippery slope logic, she realized now.
“You know, sweet girl,” Ben said and then folded his arms. “I just realized that when I was recounting the compassionate entrepreneur’s sad tale of woe, I completely left out the most important part.”
“And what part was that?”
“I didn’t tell you why I went away to recuperate,” Ben said, then walked around the island, and stood beside her. “You remember I told you about the man who broke into my home that night?”
“The man with the green snake tattoo on his face?” She glanced up, giving him the side-eye.
Resting an arm on the back of her chair, Ben lowered his head until his mouth was inches from her ear. “I wanted to find out how the hell that man got into my home,” he said. “And so I decided to take a look and see.”
Puzzled, she turned her head a fraction and found his mouth merely a breath away. Ignoring the warm skittering feeling below her navel, she said, “Take a look and see what?”
“Come with me,” he said, whispering the words against her skin. “I’ll show you.”
Moments later, in the spacious living room, Ben picked up a remote control from a side table and then told Spencer to take a seat. Wary, she perched on the edge of the black, oversized leather couch, her hands clasped between her knees.
“This is the video from my interior surveillance cameras,” Ben said.
Her heart dropped as she stared at him. “Interior surveillance cameras?”
“I had them in every room of the townhouse,” he said, facing the seventy-inch television against the wall as he pointed the remote control at the screen.
“In every room?”
“Yes, sweet girl,” he said and then turned his head to give her a smile. “There was even a camera in the closet.”
A moment later, the screen flickered and then came to life.
“What we are going to view is raw footage,” he said. “The video feed from the interior surveillance camera in my closet which I copied onto a DVD.”
Sick at the stomach, Spencer grabbed the edge of the couch seat, trying to brace herself. Nothing could have prepared her for the black-and-white images on the screen in front of her. Rigid, nails digging into the leather, she watched herself in the video, trying to deal with the disconnected feeling of seeing herself doing things she still couldn’t believe she’d done; the woman on screen, removing the watches and money, seemed like someone else, and yet it was her.
“So, that’s how you knew I stole from you.”
“That’s how I knew.”
“Now what? You going to show that video to the cops? You gonna have me arrested?”
“I thought about it,” Ben said. “It’s what you deserve. Five to ten behind bars. But then I thought, maybe I can use this video for good and not evil. Maybe I can use it to teach you a lesson, one that you won’t forget. Maybe I can use this video to make you suffer, the way I suffered that night after you stabbed me and left me to die. Maybe you need to see how it feels to wonder if your next breath will be your last … I managed to call nine-one-one, and then I passed out. Woke up in a hospital. I don’t know how many days had passed. I hardly knew who the hell I was. Took me several days to remember what had happened to me. And then, one day, the memories came rushing in like a flood, damn near drowning me. And then, I couldn’t get what you had done to me out of my head, even though I wanted to. I wanted to forget. I even wanted to forgive. But I couldn’t. There were days when it was almost like I could feel that knife plunging into my gut. I told myself I had to find you. I couldn’t let you get away with what you’d done. And that is why, sweet girl, you owe me this favor.”
Trembling, she stared up at him. “What is this damn favor about?”
“I told you last night.” He sat on the coffee table, facing her. “I want you to go to Belize, and once you are there, I will let you know what to do next.”
chapter 3
Belize City, Belize
Goldson International Airport
Spencer ducked her head as she climbed into the taxi and slid across the stained, careworn bench seat, announcing her destination to the man behind the wheel. “Belizean Banyan Resort.”
Nodding, the driver shifted gears and pulled away from the curb, leaving the airport.
It was a lovely day, with an expansive blue sky, brilliant white clouds, and a shimmering sun. Spencer hardly noticed. She was unable to concentrate on the lush, tropical scenery. Collapsing against the seat, she took a deep breath, and tried to calm down.
The two-hour flight from Houston had been hell. Despite four glasses of wine, she hadn’t been able to relax. Every other minute, panic had assailed her, flooding her mind with thoughts of the night she and Ben had made love for the very first time. The night she’d made a mistake so horrible, it was almost perfect.
An absolutely flawless mistake that had taken her to hell and back. Except she wasn’t back—not yet. She wouldn’t be back until she completed the favor for Ben.
The cab turned from the main highway and onto a side road cut through what seemed to be a small village of clapboard houses. Spencer stared out the window at the yards littered with junked cars, dil
apidated furniture, and clothes swinging in the breeze on thin lines stretched between trees.
As the cab driver followed the curving road, Spencer couldn’t stop worrying, wondering what Ben wanted her to do. He’d said it would be a favor, but it hadn’t taken him long to let her know that he wasn’t really asking for her help.
You owe me, sweet girl.
She’d stolen from him. Now she had a debt to pay.
Consequences for your mistakes.
Spencer stared out at the countryside, taking in the wide fields of grass dotted with bunches of low bushes and vibrant wildflowers.
Farther inland, scrub brush clung to the ground, spreading in and around various shrubs and saplings. Beyond the trees, clumps of vegetation climbed up the slope of a verdant mountain that loomed toward the sky.
She’d never been to the small Central American country before but had heard others rave about the beauty of its coral reefs and jungles and its cultural significance as the site of various Mayan ruins.
Looking away from the lush scenery, Spencer crossed her arms, feeling both defiant and forlorn. Her fellow travelers had been an eclectic mix of nationalities and socio-economic types, all of them excited about their Belizean adventure, reading guidebooks and discussing plans for excursions.
But there would be no zip-lining through the jungle for her.
Spencer’s next move was to check into the Belizean Banyan Resort in San Ignacio, part of Step One, Ben had explained. The favor was comprised of several steps. After she completed a step, Ben would tell her the next step. This pattern would continue until the last step, which would be the satisfaction of the debt she owed.
An hour or so later, the driver turned into the town of San Ignacio. As he navigated the narrow, dusty streets, they passed various stores and businesses, most of them in states of disrepair, giving the place a sheen of squalor that Spencer found both deplorable and charming.
Along the crumbling, concrete road, listless dogs meandered aimlessly, while locals loitered in the doorways of restaurants and bars that had seen better days.
After coming much too close to a group of backpacking tourists hiking down the shoulder, the driver turned the cab onto a side road and sped along the ribbon of gravel cut through large trees with broad leaves.
The road ended, and the resort came into view.
Beyond a large clearing of manicured grass, dotted with short Sego palms, was a palatial building in the style of a Caribbean colonial mansion. Peach-colored with white shuttered windows and white trim, it was surrounded by tropical jungle vegetation and highlighted by golden sunshine.
The driver headed toward the circular cobblestone driveway, then stopped under the portico near the entrance, and shifted into PARK, allowing the cab to idle.
“We’re here, ma’am.”
“Miss,” Spencer snapped, correcting his mistake.
“What?”
“I’m not a ma’am.” She rolled her eyes, opening her purse to get her wallet, already deciding she wasn’t giving him a tip. “I’m only twenty-three years old, which means you are to call me miss.”
“Sorry about that.”
“I doubt very seriously that you’re truly sorry, but whatever.” She gave him a dismissive wave. “How much do I owe you?”
“You don’t owe me nothing,” he said and then added, “Bitch.”
Startled and confused, Spencer jerked her head up. Glaring at the driver, a middle-aged man with sagging, copper-colored skin, dark bushy hair, and a mole on the tip of his nose, she asked, “What the hell did you just say?”
“Cab was paid for in advance, and this is for you.” He turned and tossed something at her. “On behalf of Ben Chang, welcome to Belize.”
Cursing, she fumbled the small black, hard object as it fell into her lap. A cell phone. She grabbed the cell phone, stared at it, and then looked at him. “What is this?”
“Burner phone,” he grunted. “Can’t be traced. And here’s the charger.”
Another small black object sailed over the seat, this one with an electrical cord extending from the bottom of it.
“Ben Chang told you to give this to me?” she asked, heart punching as she shoved the charger into her purse. “You know Ben?”
“I work for Mr. Chang,” the driver said. “He’s gonna call you on that phone. Make sure it stays on. Keep it charged.”
“Do you know anything about this favor he wants me to do?”
“Don’t know and don’t care,” he grumbled. “Give me your passport.”
“Give you my passport?” She glowered at him. “Are you crazy? What do you want my passport for?”
“I don’t want your damn passport,” he said. “Mr. Chang wants your passport.”
“I’m not giving you my passport.”
Cursing, the cab driver reached over the seat. Confused, Spencer shrank away from his arm, revolted by the excessive hair covering the short, stubby limb. With a snarling grunt, he grabbed the bright blue Hermes Birkin bag given to her by Rae—who’d lifted three from the closet of a “date” whose wife had about ten or twelve—and then swung it over the seat and onto his lap.
Spencer gaped at him, his audacity delaying her response for a moment before she sputtered, “What the hell are you doing?”
“I’m getting your passport.”
Rising up, Spencer leaned over the seat, desperate to get the Birkin back. “Get out of my damn purse! Crazy asshole!”
The cab driver pushed her off him. She fell against the backseat, horrified as he shoved a grimy hand into the Birkin. Rooting around in her purse, he took out her passport and then threw the purse over the seat at her. The Birkin hit her in the face.
Shrieking, Spencer tried to grab the purse as it bounced across the backseat. Grabbing the Birkin before it fell to the dirty, mud-caked floor mat, Spencer held it close to her, cradling it. “You son of a bitch! This is a fifteen-thousand-dollar purse and you pawed it with your filthy, disgusting hands!”
“Get the hell out of my cab,” he said, turning away, facing the windshield.
Spencer wanted to take the Birkin and bash him over the head with it, but she didn’t want to insult the purse. She forced herself to bury the anger and irritation churning within her. Why waste her rage on this jerk? Wouldn’t it be better to wait and let all her ire build so she could unleash it on the person who deserved it most—Ben Chang?
Who the hell did Ben think he was? Why would he have this jackass steal her passport? Without it, she was pretty much trapped in the country. And, she supposed Ben had planned it that way. Ben wasn’t going to let her leave Belize until he was good and damn ready for her to go.
Glaring at the cab driver, Spencer got out of the cab, yanking her purse and her two Louis Vuitton suitcases behind her. She had barely closed the sliding door before the man sped off, tires screeching, leaving a noxious cloud of thick, black exhaust billowing up around her. Trembling with anger, Spencer coughed, waving her hand in front of her face.
Straightening the bun she’d pulled her hair back into this morning, Spencer turned and headed into the resort, ready to get on with Step One.
chapter 4
San Ignacio, Belize
Belizean Banyan Resort – Manager’s Office
Sitting in his office, Sione Tuiali’i rubbed his jaw and stared at the stack of invoices he still needed to approve. He couldn’t seem to concentrate on the invoices today. He’d been unfocused yesterday, too. The day before that, it had taken him all day to finish signing the payroll checks, a mundane task that usually took about an hour.
For too long, Sione had been ill at ease and jittery, and as much as he hated to admit it, he was wary because of the night he’d spent with a beautiful random hookup. He wasn’t proud of ending up in bed with another anonymous stranger. But he didn’t want to overanalyze.
Critical self-inspection usually forced him to confront truths he didn’t want to acknowledge. Specifically, that he was using sex as a coping mechanis
m for his relationship woes.
He hadn’t been looking for sex with a random girl when he’d gone out drinking with his cousins several weeks ago. That night, he’d met a girl named Kelsey Thomas who had blatantly let him know she was down for whatever, and so he’d indulged.
Another night of sex with no consequences.
Except there had been consequences.
A specific consequence named Benjamin Chang. The random hookup hadn’t been random at all. The hot chick who’d come on strong had been instructed by Ben to get close to him.
Sione still didn’t know why.
His attempts to get answers from Ben had ended in a violent confrontation. Whenever he was around Ben, which was rare, a lot of crazy stuff was in his head. Disgust, hatred, apprehension, and even a strange, worrisome regret.
Despite everything, Ben was like a brother to him. His uncle had once told him that he and Ben were like Cain and Abel. But who was Cain? And who was Abel? Whose blood would end up crying out from the ground?
The night he’d confronted Ben about Kelsey Thomas, Ben hadn’t given him answers, but he had told him where to find them.
Ask your father.
Sione wasn’t really surprised Richard Tuiali’i was behind the curtain, pulling the strings. Apparently, his father was looking for something, and that something was in Sione’s casita.
Ask your father.
Sione didn’t want to. Any contact with Richard was always risky.
Since their knockdown drag out weeks ago, Sione hadn’t heard from Ben. Kelsey’s botched attempt to find whatever Richard was looking for might have forced Ben and his father to retreat. But retreat was not a concession of defeat. Sione knew better than that. Richard was relentless when he wanted something.
And what his father wanted had to be important because Richard was never indirect or subtle. His father was all about getting what he wanted through violence and intimidation—a knife to the throat or the barrel of a revolver shoved into the mouth. The fact that his father would order Ben to find some pawn to do his dirty work was proof Richard was searching for something significant, which worried Sione.
