Flawless Danger (The Spencer & Sione #1)

by Rachel Woods

“Sometimes plans don’t work out the way you think they will,” Sione said.

  Spencer didn’t need him to tell her that. She already knew plans could blow up in your face, like a hand grenade. She’d learned the hard way and had the scars to prove it. “I don’t plan on falling in love and getting my heart broken,” she said.

  He smiled a little. “But what if you do fall in love and end up with a broken heart?”

  “I won’t because I stay away from love and romance and all that crap,” Spencer said. “It never works out, and you just end up wasting your time and effort and devotion on someone who doesn’t give a damn about you after all.”

  “Are you speaking from experience?”

  “What?”

  “Did you end up wasting your time and effort and devotion on someone who didn’t give a damn about you after all?” Sione asked. “Is that why you don’t want love and romance?”

  She stared at him, thinking about his question, wondering how to answer it. “No, I just …” Flustered, she said, “Love just makes people too emotional, and I don’t want to work myself up into an emotional hissing fit for nothing.”

  “It’s hard not to get emotional when you love someone.”

  “And that’s another problem,” Spencer said, glancing at him. “This ridiculous way people have of over-emphasizing love. They make it much more important than it really is.”

  Sione looked at her, and she had the feeling he thought she was crazy, even though the corners of his mouth lifted. “You don’t think love is important?”

  “It is,” she allowed. “But not as much as people think. You can’t live on love, you can’t pay the mortgage with love, the light company is not going to waive your payment because the two of you love each other with such staggering and exceeding passion.”

  “Maybe you’re afraid,” Sione said.

  Scoffing, she looked at him. “Afraid of what?”

  “Of loving someone with staggering and exceeding passion.”

  Heart slamming, she looked at him, realizing she had no response, no counter to his observation, no way to prove him wrong. Sione stared at her, a challenge in his hazel gaze, and soon the silence became heavy, uncomfortable. Minutes that felt like weeks passed.

  Finally, Spencer said, “Well, um—”

  “Mr. Tuiali’i! Mr. Tuiali’i!” One of the hotel staff hurried toward him, a frantic look in her dark eyes. “I hate to bother you, but we need you.”

  Sighing, Sione told the staffer he was on his way.

  “Before you go,” Spencer said. “I wanted to ask you for an update about my missing manuals? Did you talk to your employees? Does anyone know who delivered the wrong box to me? Has my box been found?”

  “Unfortunately, no, not yet. But my secretary is still working on it,” he said, then stood, and stared at her, his eyes moving along her body from her feet and up her legs to her stomach and her breasts, where he paused long enough to cause the swirling between her legs to intensify, and finally, his gaze lifted to her face. “But hopefully we can get the manuals back to you ASAP. Enjoy the sunshine, Ms. Edwards.”

  As Sione walked away, Spencer let out a sigh of relief, feeling a little better about her ability to complete Step Two. Not only had he told her she was beautiful, but his long, lingering gaze gave her a bit more confidence, enough to decide that he might be interested in her.

  Maybe getting close to him wouldn’t be so difficult, after all. Maybe. Still, just because he’d called her beautiful didn’t mean he’d let her get close to him. Close, but not too close. Well, she didn’t plan to get too close to Sione. She didn’t care how good-looking and sexy he was. The resort owner wasn’t the kind of guy she would ever give her heart to. He would surely break it into a thousand razor-sharp pieces.

  And when he found out what kind of woman she was, how she’d drugged men to steal from them, he would want nothing to do with her. Spencer shook her head. Why the hell was she speculating about giving her heart to Sione? It was never going to happen because she wasn’t going to give her heart to a man. Her decision had nothing to do with any lingering “mommy” issues or any fear of loving someone with staggering passion or whatever the hell.

  Suddenly a bit irritated by the blue skies and sunshine and annoyed by all the love and romance talk, Spencer decided to pack up and go back to her casita. Standing, she grabbed her beach bag and then turned. The cab driver who’d called her a bitch was standing in front of her, leering as his gaze dropped to her breasts.

  “What the hell do you want?” She took a step back, away from his rank smell and damp face.

  “Got a message from Mr. Chang for you,” he said, swiping a finger across his top lip.

  “What kind of message?” she asked, wary.

  “It’s time for Part Two of the side venture.”

  chapter 25

  San Ignacio, Belize

  Belizean Banyan Resort – Manager’s Office

  The door opened as Sione was ending a call with a vendor, and when D.J. poked his head into the office, he beckoned for his cousin to come in as he replaced the receiver on the base.

  “Got some more information about Kwik Kash,” D.J. said, taking a seat. “Remember I told you the place burned to the ground. Fire was suspicious. Well, initially it looked like an insurance scam. You know, the place isn’t doing well, so the owner burns it down to collect a check and start over. But then they found a body among the ashes and charred rubble.”

  “Someone was killed in the fire?”

  “Olivia Eastman was the victim’s name, and it was theorized that she stole the money from the Kwik Kash safe then torched the place to cover up her dirty deed but ended up trapping herself inside the building in some strange, freakish accident,” D.J. said. “But that’s just a theory. Seemed reasonable. Eastman also had a record, like Carla Garcia, and she supposedly owed money to some shylock in Jersey, so she might have been desperate.”

  “And what does this have to do with Ms. Edwards.”

  “I was hoping to find a connection between Ms. Edwards and Olivia Eastman, but no such luck,” D.J. said. “The connection is between Carla Garcia and Olivia Eastman. They worked at Kwik Kash together. Would have been nice to go to Jared with evidence that Ms. Edwards passed money and a fake passport to one of her former co-workers, but …”

  “Listen, I need to talk to you about something,” Sione started and then trailed off, not quite sure how to phrase his request.

  “What is it?” D.J. asked.

  Sione sighed, worried he might lose his nerve and convince himself to forget about asking his cousin for help.

  Since he’d learned of his ex-fiancée’s death two days ago, Sione had made a few decisions. If Richard had been involved with his ex-fiancée’s death, then he had to know. He figured the first thing to do was to find out if she’d been lying about Richard coming to visit her in prison.

  Yesterday, Sione had called her lawyer again, but Walter Perales had refused to give him the information. Frustrated, but not surprised by the attorney’s reluctance, Sione had eventually thought of D.J. With contacts all over the place, his cousin could possibly get him the information he needed, but he wasn’t sure he wanted to get D.J. involved in this mess with Richard and his ex-fiancée. Asking his cousin for help was risky. D.J. would have questions, and Sione didn’t want to lie. He didn’t want to disclose Richard’s possible involvement if he didn’t have to. If his ex had lied, as Sione figured she had, then there would be no need to give D.J. any additional details.

  “I need to find out who visited Moana while she was in prison,” Sione said. “Could you find that out?”

  “Why would you want to find out who visited her while she was in prison?” D.J. asked. “And wait a minute. Did you just say her name? I thought Moana was a curse from hell. Since when did you start saying her name?”

  “Since she died.”

  “What?” D.J. stared at him. “She died?”

  “Moana is dead.”

&n
bsp; “How did she die?” D.J. asked. “Was she sick?”

  “She was killed in a prison fight.”

  “A prison fight?”

  “There was some kind of riot,” Sione said. “And she was stabbed, but …”

  “But?”

  “But I’m not sure that’s true.” Sione sighed, rubbing his jaw. “I know this will sound crazy, but I think maybe the prison riot was arranged so that her death would look like an accident.”

  “Arranged? You mean like somebody had Moana killed?”

  Reluctant, Sione said, “Maybe.”

  “Why would you think that?”

  “You remember I told you she was calling me,” Sione said. “Well, she didn’t feel safe in prison. She said somebody had threatened to kill her.”

  “Who threatened her?” D.J. asked.

  “I’d rather not say,” Sione said, looking away from his cousin’s shrewd scrutiny. “So, do you think you could get the information for me?”

  “I’ll see what I can do,” D.J. said. “But …”

  Wary, Sione glanced at his cousin. “What?”

  “Did she tell her lawyer about these threats?” D.J. asked. “Or the warden?”

  “I don’t know,” Sione said. “I don’t think so.”

  “Why did she tell you?” his cousin asked, leaning forward. “What did she think you could do?”

  You have to tell Richard not to hurt me.

  “She wanted me to talk to the person who threatened her.”

  “So, the person is someone you know?”

  “Yeah,” Sione admitted. “That’s why I want to see who visited her. I want to see if this person came to see her and threatened her.”

  “Does this someone have a name?”

  Exhaling, Sione rubbed his eyes, already regretting his decision to get D.J. involved.

  “Is it Ben Chang?”

  Staring at his cousin, Sione said, “Why would you think it was Ben?”

  “I know what went down between them,” D.J. said, sitting back. “I know you think he set her up, left her holding the bag in that situation they had with the boutique in Jamaica. Maybe she’s been making noise about ratting him out to get herself a new trial, or something. And maybe he paid her a visit to tell her that snitching on him would be a bad idea.”

  Sione leaned forward and rested his elbows on the desk. The idea of letting D.J. think Ben had threatened his ex-fiancée was tempting and not farfetched. Ben and Moana had a tumultuous history. It wouldn’t be surprising for Ben to issue a threat to Moana if he thought she was trying to set him up.

  Still, Sione didn’t want to lie to his cousin. He couldn’t tell D.J. the truth though. Not now. And maybe he wouldn’t have to, if it turned out that Richard hadn’t visited Moana.

  “Let me ask you this,” D.J. said. “If your suspicions about Ben are true, then what are you going to do?”

  “I’m not sure,” Sione said. “Before I do anything, I need to find out who visited her in prison.”

  Ask your father.

  Ben’s taunt floated in his head, but Sione prayed it wouldn’t get to that point. If at all possible, he wanted to avoid any face-to-face contact with Richard.

  chapter 26

  San Ignacio, Belize

  Angie’s Eco-Adventure’s Cave-O-Rama

  Disgruntled and leery, her nerves on edge, Spencer swatted at a mosquito flying near her nose and tried to concentrate as the guide gave an overview of the tour.

  Under the bright and hot early morning sun, fourteen tourists from five different hotels gathered in a haphazard circle in front of the tour bus, a large sixty-plus-passenger vehicle painted bright green with colorful caricatures of smiling jungle animals surrounded by rainforest.

  They’d just gotten off the bus after a forty-five-minute drive from the heart of San Ignacio and were now being thanked for choosing Angie’s Eco-Adventure’s Cave-O-Rama, which promised the exploration of four different caves in about eight hours with scheduled stops for refreshment and lunch.

  Behind her dark Prada sunglasses, Spencer rolled her eyes. She was absolutely not in the mood for cave exploration, but she hadn’t chosen this damn tour.

  Just like the tour a few days ago to the Mayan ruins, the cave tour had been the bright idea of Ben, who expected her to use the excursion as a cover for another Xanax box delivery. But unlike the trip to Xunantunich, when she’d been told to leave the pink beach bag on the bus so some strange woman could take it, the plan for the cave tour was slightly different. Sighing, Spencer swatted another mosquito and forced herself to listen to the tour guide. Enthusiastic and agile, the guide engaged the group warmly, introducing herself and giving them a bit of information about her experiences as a tour guide in Belize, a job she’d been doing for more than ten years.

  As the guide went over the safety instructions and made sure everyone was properly clothed—long, loose-fitting pants and shirts, hiking shoes—Spencer’s mind raced. Thoughts scattered, she fixated on one thing, then became obsessed with another, and then dwelled on yet another thing.

  Her stomach jumped, thinking about what she had to do, wondering if she would be able to pull it off. Part One of the side venture had gone fine, but her success didn’t give her confidence. If anything, she worried her luck would run out. What would happen if she made a stupid mistake? Ben’s instructions had come via the cab driver, and who knew if the sweaty, smarmy fool had relayed them correctly? Just like when she’d been on the Mayan tour, Spencer felt paranoid and figured she was being watched.

  “Everybody ready?” the guide said, smiling. “C’mon, let’s go!”

  Hot and humid, the sun was too bright, and Spencer was too damn pissed and terrified to care about the series of caves she was about to visit on this particular excursion. She faked as much enthusiasm as she could and headed off with the group into the first cave.

  An hour later, Spencer had already had quite enough of stalagmites and stalactites. But the tour was called Cave-O-Rama, and so after a respite of water and a protein bar, they were herded back on the bus and quickly got back on the road.

  At the second cave, Spencer followed the guide, who led them on a steep downward slope. Struggling to keep her footing over the uneven cave floor and loose rocks, she felt as though they were headed down into the bowels of the earth. As the light from the opening began to fade and darkness converged, flashlights winked to life, their beams splaying across the cave walls, illuminating what the tour guide said were crystalline formations.

  At the third cave, the guide led them along the cave floor, a long, wide stretch of uneven, broken stone formations. Spencer stared up at the stalactites hanging from the ceiling as the guide explained that the cave had been used by the Mayans as a burial site.

  As the day wore on, Spencer found herself forgetting her fears and troubles. Her eyes began to adjust more quickly to the gloom. The no-see-ums became less annoying. The tour guide’s overexcitement lost some of its irritation, and she allowed herself to be entertained and informed.

  The fourth cave featured vaulted openings, which allowed light to stream in. Spencer cut her flashlight off and kept pace with a group of energetic geriatrics as they crossed a footbridge to the exit. By the time the tour was over, she realized she’d enjoyed it and was looking forward to calling Shady to give her the details.

  After the last cave, the bright, colorful tour bus pulled off the road and turned into a rest area. It was a large park operated and maintained by some government tourism association. Gravel pathways snaked between the manicured lawns. There were lots of trees, several corrugated buildings, an information center, a gift shop, and washroom facilities.

  Two dozen tourists got off the bus, stretching their legs. Famished and fatigued, they clustered around the tour guide, who corralled everyone toward a large, wide tent under which there were several picnic tables.

  The sun was directly overhead, beaming down like a hot, glaring spotlight, but Spencer was glad for the heat and brigh
tness after the shadowy, dark dampness of the caves.

  Crowding beneath the welcomed shade, the tourists grabbed paper plates and began to partake of the cold sandwiches, fruit, chips, cookies, and water that were spread out, buffet style, on one of the tables. Spencer’s stomach grumbled.

  According to the website, lunch would be provided at the end of the tour, which was when the cab driver had told her to make the delivery. Separating herself from the group, she hurried along the gravel path toward the restroom. In her mind, she rehearsed the instructions.

  Go to the restroom. Go to the handicapped stall. An OUT OF ORDER sign will be on the door. Go inside the handicapped stall. There should be a green beach bag on the hook on the door. Take that green bag. Leave your green bag with the money and passports on the hook. Then leave.

  Spencer didn’t like the plan. Too many things could go wrong. What about other tourists coming into the restroom? The group was comprised mainly of the very old and the very young. Historically, little kids and geezers had weak bladders and were always rushing to pee. What if someone asked a worker to fix the broken toilet? What if somebody stole the green bag? What if she was spotted going into or coming out of the broken toilet stall?

  Spencer slipped behind the door marked LADIES. Inside, it was cool, well lit, and surprisingly clean. More sanitary than she’d expected. Four stalls. Three separate pedestal basins, each with a mirror above it.

  After checking to make sure the restroom was empty, she walked to the handicapped stall, saw the “Out of Order” sign, and pushed the door open. Spencer went into the stall, closed the door behind her, locked it, and turned. She stared at the hook.

  No green beach bag. Damn! Spencer was pissed but not surprised. Hadn’t she known something would go wrong? What the hell was she going to do? She had to think of something. But why should she? Ben didn’t want her to think. He just wanted her to look pretty and do his bidding. She would call him, she decided. Tell him the bag hadn’t been in the handicapped stall and ask him what he wanted her to do.