Flawless Danger (The Spencer & Sione #1)

by Rachel Woods

“What do you mean?”

  “Maybe she did make a delivery on the San Pedro trip,” D.J. said. “But maybe it didn’t involve switching bags this time. Maybe she took something out of her bag and left it somewhere, or passed it to someone, when you weren’t looking?”

  Shaking his head, Sione said, “I don’t think so.”

  He wasn’t really sure, though. When he and Ms. Edwards had traveled to San Pedro, he hadn’t been skeptical of her motives, wondering if she was planning another delivery. She’d looked so beautiful in the sun-drenched setting of powdery white sand, clear turquoise water, and swaying palm trees in the gentle breeze. He found himself enjoying her company. He hadn’t been looking for suspicious activity.

  “Well, here’s something you might find interesting,” D.J. said. “Yesterday morning, Ms. Edwards had breakfast at the Jaguar Café. About fifteen minutes after she was seated, she was joined by some guy. Sloppy dude, mid-forties, maybe. Soft around the middle, sweaty.”

  Sione sat forward. “That’s not the guy who broke into her casita.”

  “Guy wasn’t Asian,” D.J. confirmed. “And didn’t have a snake tattoo on his face.”

  “Who do you think the sloppy guy is?”

  “Not sure,” D.J. said. “Maybe her partner. Maybe a contact here in San Ignacio. He gave her a gift. A little box, like the kind you’d put jewelry in. Don’t think she liked what she got.”

  “Why not?”

  “Probably wasn’t enough carats.” His cousin smirked. “She probably doesn’t spread those legs for anything less than ten—”

  “David …”

  D.J. said, “When she opened the box, the look on her face was …”

  “Was what?”

  “Fear,” his cousin said. “She looked really afraid.”

  Worried, Sione asked, “Afraid that the guy was going to hurt her or something?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe. Anyway,” D.J. went on. “I followed the guy to a house in Bullet Tree Village. The place is owned by a company called The Leviathan Group. But I was able to find out that it’s being rented by William Bermudez. He’s got a record, but nothing dangerous. Arrested for trying to use a stolen credit card. Got probation. Nevertheless, I saw his mug shot and got confirmation that he’s the guy who had breakfast with Ms. Edwards. So maybe I’ll have a talk with him. Maybe he’ll rat her out.”

  “Assuming there’s something to rat on her about,” Sione said. “Because maybe there’s not. Maybe she’s innocent. Maybe there’s a logical explanation for why the passports and the money was delivered to her.”

  D.J. gave him a look.

  Sione frowned. “What?”

  “You like Ms. Edwards, don’t you?”

  “I like Ms. Edwards?” Sione bristled. “What the hell? Are we in the fourth grade? I like Ms. Edwards?”

  Shoulders shaking, D.J. chuckled and shook his head.

  “What the hell is so funny?”

  “Actually, it’s not funny,” D.J. said and then let out a deep sigh as his laughter subsided. “You remember I asked you if you’d have a problem dealing with the truth about Ms. Edwards?”

  “I guess.”

  “Reason I asked you is because I could tell you might catch feelings for this woman.”

  “Catch feelings?” Sione sat back, glaring at his cousin. “Be serious.”

  “I am serious,” D.J. said. “If I thought this was just one of those hit-it-and-forget-it situations, I wouldn’t say anything. But I can tell you don’t like the idea of this woman being a lying con artist.”

  “I don’t,” Sione said. “But not for whatever reason you’re thinking. I don’t want her pulling some scam at my resort.”

  “Dude, listen to me. You don’t want to get involved with this woman,” D.J. said. “I can already tell she’s flawless danger.”

  Confused, Sione stared at his cousin. “Flawless danger?”

  “Beautiful but deadly,” D.J. explained, dropping his voice to imitate the tone and exaggerated inflection of an action suspense movie trailer. “Her face is flawless but all she brings to your life is danger.”

  “Shut the hell up.” Sione grabbed a sheet of paper he didn’t need, balled it up, and then hurled it at D.J., who deftly blocked it with his wrist.

  Chuckling again, D.J. said, “I needed a good laugh.”

  “I’m glad you could have it at my expense,” Sione said, debating whether to ask his cousin why he needed a laugh.

  He decided he wouldn’t shake the tree. No telling what might fall down and knock him over the head. Besides, he had enough issues of his own. He would stay out of his cousin’s marital woes.

  “You know I’m right,” D.J. went on. “You like those girls, they look good, but they are bad for you. They always wind up in trouble, and then you always run to the rescue because you are Captain Save-A-Ho and that’s what you do.”

  “Are you finished?” Sione asked. “Because the way I see it, we still don’t know what’s going on with Ms. Edwards.”

  “Maybe we don’t,” D.J. conceded. “But there is something I do know.”

  “What’s that?” Sione asked, distracted by thoughts of his family’s perception of him. Captain Save-A-Ho. Might have been insulting if it was true, but it wasn’t.

  Sione was far from a hero. His family didn’t know he’d been raised to be the villain, and they never would.

  “I found out who came to see Moana before she was killed.”

  Sione’s pulse jumped, and he grabbed a stack of papers to straighten. He’d asked D.J. for a list of Moana’s visitors, but he realized he’d been hoping D.J. wouldn’t be able to find out anything. Now that his cousin had the answers, Sione wasn’t so sure he wanted to know.

  D.J. cleared his throat and then said, “Besides her attorney, some chick named Kelsey Thomas went to see her.”

  “Kelsey Thomas?” Sione stared at his cousin, not sure he’d heard him right. Kelsey Thomas had visited Moana? What the hell was that about? How did Kelsey Thomas know Moana?

  “You know her?” D.J. asked.

  “Don’t think so,” Sione lied, trying to get over the shock.

  D.J. said, “Well, another visitor is someone you won’t believe.”

  “Someone I won’t believe?”

  “Peter.”

  Sione frowned. “Peter? Wait, Peter Rios? Our cousin Peter? That Peter?”

  “That Peter,” D.J. confirmed.

  “Why the hell would Peter go to visit Moana?”

  “Maybe you should ask him.”

  Sitting back in his chair, Sione rubbed his jaw. Why would Peter go to visit Moana? They knew each other, and Peter had always had a quasi-crush on Moana, so it wasn’t out of the realm of possibility. But it was definitely out of the realm of probability.

  “She had another interesting visitor,” D.J. said.

  Sione glanced at D.J., trying to stay calm, trying to ignore the strange twitch he felt beneath the surface of his skin. “Who?”

  “Your father went to see Moana,” D.J. said.

  Sione leaned forward, resting his elbows on the desk, trying to come to terms with the truth. There was no more suspicion, no more speculation. Moana hadn’t lied to him, but Sione cautioned himself not to jump to the conclusions she’d tried to convince him to believe. Richard had visited her, and that was true. But had his father threatened her life when he’d gone to see her in prison?

  Moana had been a deceitful bitch, Sione had to remember that. She’d been desperate to get out of prison, and she wouldn’t have been above exploiting the issues between him and his father to her advantage. The conversation between Richard and Moana might have been very different from what she’d told him.

  “Do you know what that was about?” D.J. asked. “Why would Richard visit her? Thought he hated her? Thought he blamed her for the beef between you and Ben.”

  “He does hate her,” Sione said. “That’s why it makes no sense that he would visit her.”

  “Are you going to find out
why your father went to see her?”

  “He probably wouldn’t tell me the truth,” Sione said.

  He wasn’t sure if he wanted to know the truth. Had Richard threatened Moana? Had his father arranged to have his ex-fiancée killed? The answers to those questions would be a burden, and Sione wasn’t sure he wanted to bear it.

  chapter 37

  San Ignacio, Belize

  Belizean Banyan Resort – Honeymoon Casita

  Around eight the next morning, Spencer walked into the bathroom, stripping as she headed for the shower. In her head was a whimsical little tune, something John’s little cousins had been singing when they tried to show her how to do a samba. The trio of little sprites were so cute, and thinking about them made her think of herself at their age, around six or seven years old. When life was carefree and she didn’t have to worry about the consequences of her stupid decisions and foolish mistakes. Well, she supposed things weren’t exactly carefree when she was seven.

  There had been times when she didn’t have to worry, mostly during the summer months, when she was shipped off to live with her grandparents. Back then, every day was spent with her favorite cousins, Rusty and Jennifer, getting into “devilment,” as her grandfather called their playful mischief, making mud pies, “playing school,” and just being wild and happy and free.

  Of course, at the end of summer, there were always bitter tears. She’d sobbed because she had to go back home, back to her mother, back to staying as quiet as possible, back to wondering if she would go to bed hungry, and back to the fear of being kicked and scratched and then left alone to fend for herself—just her and her tears and the pain of wounds, both emotional and physical, that never seemed to heal.

  Standing beneath the showerhead, Spencer allowed the hot water to wash away the sadness of her childhood, and as she lathered the honey-and-lavender soap over her skin, she forced herself to remember the fun she’d had with John’s little second cousins. All the laughter and the games had made her feel content, settled, and she’d enjoyed it.

  With no children of her own, Spencer had always figured she wouldn’t know what to do with herself around kids. She always thought she’d be uncomfortable and stiff. She actually liked playing with the girls. They were a surprising amusement. And yet, it was bittersweet. She’d started to wonder what it might be like to have a family of her own and children to love and spoil, ridiculous fantasies she couldn’t afford to indulge in.

  Spencer turned the water off, stepped out of the shower, and grabbed a towel. Back in the bedroom, she opened the top dresser drawer and pulled out a bra and panties. Laughing a little, she smiled to herself and remembered how the little girls had left John exhausted. She put on the bra and underwear.

  John would probably make a good father to three little fairies of his own one day. The thought made her pause and gave her conflicting emotions she didn’t want to acknowledge or deal with. It would mean he’d found someone to be Mrs. Tuiali’i.

  Some very lucky woman who wouldn’t be her. The thought bothered her, though it shouldn’t have. Spencer didn’t even want to get married. If there was ever a man who could turn her into “that wife,”, it was probably Sione “John” Tuiali’i. She could imagine herself very submissive in his presence, following all of his dictates, no matter how degrading or debilitating.

  The phone rang. Confused by the ringing, it took Spencer a few moments to realize it wasn’t her cell phone and it wasn’t—thank God—the burner phone Ben had given her. It was the casita phone on the bed table.

  Spencer went to answer it, wondering who the hell could be calling. The front desk, maybe? Probably the idiot desk assistant, Analee, calling to deliver a wake-up call Spencer hadn’t requested.

  “Hello?”

  “Spencer?” A terse, tense female voice said. “It’s Maxine Porter.”

  Puzzled, Spencer sat on the edge of the bed. “Maxine Porter?”

  “You delivered the prescription medication to me a few days ago?”

  “Oh, yeah, right,” Spencer said, her stomach twisting with a twinge of dread. “Hi, how are you?”

  “I need to see you,” Maxine said. “Today. This morning. It’s really important.”

  “Why do you need to see me?”

  “We have a problem,” Maxine said.

  “What kind of problem?”

  “Not over the phone,” Maxine said, her tone clipped and curt. “I need to see you in person.”

  Annoyed, Spencer said, “Listen, I don’t have time to—”

  “No, you listen,” Maxine said. “If you want to leave Belize alive, then you need to meet me.”

  Pulse racing, Spencer sank down on the bed, not sure how to respond. The woman was being melodramatic, probably trying to scare her. Spencer wanted to tell her to go to hell and then slam the phone down. Maybe that wasn’t a good idea, though. Maybe she needed to find out about this problem because she absolutely wanted to leave Belize alive.

  Finally, Spencer said, “Okay, fine. Where do you want me to meet you? At the boutique?”

  “I’m not working today,” Maxine said. “You can come to my place.”

  “Your place?” Dozens of clanging warning bells went off within Spencer. “Why can’t we meet in public?”

  “We can’t talk about this in public,” Maxine said.

  Trying to ignore the internal warnings, Spencer said, “Fine. Give me your address.”

  chapter 38

  San Ignacio, Belize

  Belizean Banyan Resort – Manager’s Office

  Sitting in his office, Sione stared at the employment applications he’d received for the Pool Assistant position. He’d planned to spend the morning reviewing resumes, but he couldn’t focus. For the past few days, he hadn’t been able to stop thinking about Moana’s death and the role his father might have played in it. The situation with Ms. Edwards consumed his thoughts as well. Sione wasn’t convinced she was running a scam, but he wasn’t sure she was clueless and innocent either.

  Feeling the need to make some sort of judgment on the situation, Sione wanted to clarify his position. But he wasn’t sure of the best way to do that. Should his opinion be based on gut instinct or logic? A rational approach would be best, he decided, based on facts, not wild speculation.

  Abandoning the employment applications, Sione opened the pencil drawer, looking for the blue folder D.J. had given him. The file contained the printed version of the PowerPoint presentation including all the photos his cousin had snapped of Ms. Edwards. Photographic evidence of … Sione wasn’t sure what. Not necessarily a crime being committed, but definitely something suspicious.

  After a few minutes, he gave up the search, remembering that the blue folder was in his casita office. Sione leaned back in his chair, a bit disappointed. The photos would jog his memory and help nail down the facts, but that wasn’t the only reason he’d wanted to look at them. He’d really just wanted a legitimate excuse to enjoy several photos of a good-looking woman. Because the photos had been taken without her consent, Sione felt a little weird looking at them simply for personal enjoyment.

  Even without the pictures, he was aware of the facts. But from those facts, what could be deduced? Nothing definitive. Only speculation.

  He wasn’t even sure what had been inside those beach bags Ms. Edwards had taken on her excursions to the Mayan ruins and the cave tour. He couldn’t assume she’d stuffed the bags with the Xanax boxes filled with fake passports and money. There was no proof to support D.J.’s assumptions she was involved in something criminal.

  Marie buzzed. “D.J. is on two.”

  Sione grabbed the phone. “What’s going on?”

  “Ms. Edwards is leaving the resort,” D.J. said. “I have it on good authority—said authority being Analee, who agreed to give me a heads-up about Ms. Edwards’ comings and goings—that she called for a cab and asked about a ferry to San Pedro.”

  “You going to follow her?”

  “That’s why I called you,” D.
J. said and then exhaled. “I have a call I have to take, so I was hoping you could get things started, and I’ll pick up the slack as soon as I can.”

  Sione gripped the phone. “You think she’s going to make another delivery?”

  “Maybe. I’m not sure,” D.J. said. “But, if so, one of us needs to be there. So don’t lose her. And do not let her catch you following her.”

  chapter 39

  San Pedro, Belize

  Ambergris Caye

  Clutching her stomach, Spencer swallowed, praying she wouldn’t get sick as the water taxi sped through the Caribbean, hitting waves and jostling her up and down and side to side. The motor was a buzzing roar, making it nearly impossible to think.

  Impossible to figure out what Maxine had meant when she’d said we have a problem. What the hell kind of problem? With the money, maybe? Maybe Maxine Porter hadn’t received the correct amount of money she’d been promised.

  Spencer thought back to the freckle-faced tomboy who’d held a gun on her.

  Had Maxine counted her money and realized she’d been shorted?

  Salty sea spray came into the open-air boat, teaming with the wind to make a mess of the chignon she’d barely been able to twist her hair into. Shivering, Spencer reached into her purse and grabbed the slip of paper she’d written Maxine Porter’s address on.

  Estrella Estates. #309. A condo on the far northern end of Ambergris Caye, the woman had told her.

  Staring at the foamy wake of the boat, Spencer wondered if maybe there was a problem with the passport. Or maybe the problem was with Ben? Or maybe it was something worse than she could imagine.

  If you want to leave Belize alive.

  Clasping her hands together, Spencer looked down at the canvas shoes she’d chosen to wear, along with khaki shorts and a camouflage print tank. She had a habit of dressing for her audience, which tended to be men, old jackasses who liked curves and lots of unabashed cleavage. Meeting a woman she hardly knew to deal with a situation she hardly understood didn’t require her usual clingy dresses and heels.