by Rachel Woods
“It’s not someone I’m interested in talking to right now.”
“An old girlfriend?”
“Something like that.”
“She just can’t get over you?”
“No, she’s over me,” he said. “She just …”
“What?”
“I told her I would help her with something,” he said. “But I didn’t do it, and she’s not going to let me forget that I let her down. She keeps reminding me that I broke my promise to her.”
“What were you going to help her with?” Ms. Edwards asked. “What was the promise you broke?”
“Ms. Edwards,” he said, anxious to get off the subject, embarrassed that he’d opened up to her about his ex. “I really need to deal with some administrative issues, so—”
“Forget the damn administrative issues. We need to solve this situation with my missing training manuals,” she said. “So, I was thinking—”
“I’ll talk to the rest of my staff,” he said. “They may know something about who delivered the box.”
“Are you going to talk to your staff today?”
“I’ll get back to you about that,” he said.
“When will you get back to me?”
“Soon,” he said. “Do you mind seeing yourself out?”
Glaring at him, she pivoted and strutted out of the kitchen.
What was that old saying? Hate to see you leave, but love to watch you go. Sione sighed, dragging a hand down his jaw. His ex had him so pissed, he could hardly think straight. It was probably good Ms. Edwards had left. He might have told her he hadn’t just opened the banker’s box, but he’d also looked inside those boxes of Xanax and was aware of their true contents.
If Ms. Edwards was lying about those manuals, then Sione didn’t want her to know what he’d discovered before his cousin, David “D.J.” Jones could do a bit of investigating. As the owner of a security firm that specialized in criminal investigation, D.J. was the best person to find out why Ms. Edwards was really in Belize. D.J. had been eager to help when Sione had called him and explained the situation. A little too eager, actually.
Sione wondered if his cousin had been anxious to come home because he missed the family or if he was anxious to get away from New York and the problems with his wife. Whatever the reason, Sione would be glad to see D.J. and get his professional assistance and advice.
His cousin would be landing in Belize City today, in the next three or four hours, and would be able to get started with the investigation almost immediately.
chapter 21
San Ignacio, Belize
Belizean Banyan Resort – Owner’s Casita
“You know the whole story,” Sione said. “What do you think is going on?” Anxious, Sione stared at D.J., waiting for his cousin’s assessment of the situation.
Reclining on one of the lounges in the large outdoor patio behind the owner’s casita, David Jones stared at the label on the longneck beer bottle.
D.J. had arrived three hours ago, as the sun was setting. After getting settled in one of the few vacant casitas, he’d joined Sione on the terrace of the owner’s casita for a beer and to find out more about the situation with the “Xanax” Sione had found in the box delivered to Spencer Edwards.
It was now almost ten o’clock, and in the past five hours, they hadn’t discussed the reason for D.J.’s impromptu trip to Belize from New York. Instead, they’d been catching up, reminiscing about the past. As much as Sione enjoyed their close camaraderie, he knew D.J. was in Belize to find out what the hell Spencer Edwards was up to.
After providing the backstory about Ms. Edwards’ arrival and the attack on her life, Sione had given him the details of the situation with the banker’s box. D.J. had listened intently, asking a few questions now and then, for clarity, but for the most part, D.J. had let him tell the story with minimal interruption. Now Sione wanted to hear his cousin’s speculations, but he wasn’t sure what he wanted D.J. to tell him. Did he want his own suspicions proved or discredited?
After his conversation earlier this afternoon with Ms. Edwards, Sione had come to some new conclusions. His deductions had veered into another direction, one he was more inclined to want to believe. A direction he hoped D.J. might share, or maybe at least consider.
But D.J. was the security expert, a private investigator whose military career had involved stints in special forces and several “black ops” assignments. Sione would trust D.J.’s judgment and opinions, even if he might not necessarily agree with them.
“I want to make sure I got the facts,” D.J. said. “You picked up one of the boxes of Xanax and it felt too heavy.”
Sione said, “So I opened it.”
“And inside the box of Xanax,” D.J. said, “was money and a passport.”
“Two hundred and fifty thousand dollars in one-hundred-dollar bills.”
“And you found the same thing in the other boxes,” D.J. said. “So, a total of seven hundred fifty thousand dollars and three fake passports.”
“Not sure the passports were fake.”
“Probably were,” D.J. said.
“I made copies of all three passports,” Sione said. “I don’t remember the names, but the passports were for three women.”
“Wait, you mean three different women?” D.J. asked. “These weren’t three passports with Spencer Edwards’ photo and different names?”
“Ms. Edwards’ picture wasn’t on any of the passports,” Sione said. “None of the women looked anything remotely like her. Two white women and a lady who looked Hispanic.”
“The passports were probably stolen,” D.J. said. “Spencer Edwards is probably going to remove the photos of the two white women and the Hispanic woman and replace them with photos of herself.”
“Not necessarily,” Sione said and wasn’t surprised when his cousin gave him a dubious look. “We don’t really know what’s going on with the money and the passports. I don’t think we need to jump to a negative conclusion without any facts to support it, that’s all.”
“You sure that’s all?”
Deciding to ignore his cousin’s insinuation, Sione said, “I’m not sure she knows that almost a million dollars was hidden in those boxes.”
D.J. took another swig from his beer and then asked, “What makes you think that?”
“She came to see me earlier to tell me the wrong box had been delivered to her. I really think she expected training manuals to be in that box. I think she was shocked when she saw the Xanax.”
“Maybe,” D.J. said and then shrugged. “Or maybe she was trying to throw you off her scent.”
When Sione had first opened the boxes of pills and seen those stacks of one-hundred-dollar bills, he’d thought Ms. Edwards was a thief or an extortionist. Maybe she was involved in some kind of white-collar crime. Now he wasn’t sure she knew about the money. And if she really hadn’t been expecting the cash, then it was possible the money had been delivered to her by accident, which meant the person who was supposed to have received the money would do whatever was necessary to find out what had happened to it. If that person somehow found out the boxes of Xanax had been mistakenly delivered to Ms. Edwards, she could be in a lot of trouble, which worried him.
“Now, about the Asian dude,” D.J. said.
“What about him?” Sione asked and grabbed a beer from the cooler.
“You sure she didn’t open the door and invite him inside?” D.J. asked.
Sione frowned. “I caught the son of a bitch trying to hogtie her.”
“That doesn’t sound like a robbery,” D.J. said. “Most burglars follow the path of least resistance. They grab and go. They don’t take time to tie up the victim. They don’t usually risk robbing a place when the victim is present.”
“She might have surprised the guy,” Sione reasoned.
“She might be working with him,” his cousin said. “Check your security surveillance. Find out if she let him in.”
“I did, but he was able to
evade the security cameras, and there’s no way to tell how he got in. I don’t think she’s working with the guy, though,” Sione said. “I’m not even sure she’s running a scam.”
D.J. reached for another beer from the small cooler on the ground between their chairs. “The woman had seven hundred fifty thousand dollars and three fake passports delivered to her.”
“But we don’t know why,” Sione pointed out. “We don’t know anything for sure. We don’t even know if the passports are fake.”
“Are you serious?”
“Could be a legitimate reason why she had the money and passports shipped to her,” Sione said, aware of how ridiculous he sounded. “Not necessarily something illegal.”
“You hope there’s a rational reason,” D.J. said. “I’m sure you don’t want her to be running a scam.”
“Of course, I don’t want her to be a con artist,” Sione agreed, but he was pissed at D.J.’s pointed, accusing tone and upset that he might have to defend his reasons for simply wanting to give Ms. Edwards the benefit of the doubt. “I don’t like the idea of criminals at my resort.”
“That’s the only reason?” D.J. asked, a bit of amusement beneath the innuendo.
“What other reason would there be?”
D.J. shrugged.
Sione asked, “How do you think the situation with Ms. Edwards should be handled?”
“Simple surveillance,” D.J. said. “Starting tomorrow.”
“You’re just going to spy on her?” Sione asked.
“Works every time,” D.J. said, smiling.
“You think you’ll be able to find out what she’s up to?” Sione asked, not convinced spying would produce the results he needed.
“I’ll find out what kind of scam Ms. Edwards has going on,” D.J. said. “But when I do, will you be able to accept the truth about her?”
“Yeah,” Sione said, but he wasn’t sure if he was ready to believe Ms. Edwards was some kind of con artist.
“I guess we’ll see,” his cousin mumbled, loud enough for him to hear.
“We’ll see what?”
“We’ll see if you can accept the truth that she’s a scam artist.”
“You think I won’t be able to accept the truth?”
“You had a hard time accepting the truth about—”
“Don’t say her name.”
“Sorry,” D.J. said. “Forgot.”
“You’ll conjure her up,” Sione said, leaning back against the chair, looking up at the expansive, star-filled night sky. “And I’ve already had enough of her.”
“What do you mean?”
“She’s been calling me recently,” Sione said, then finished the beer, and sat the bottle on the ground.
D.J. frowned at him. “And you’ve been answering her calls?”
“Well, it’s my own damn fault that she’s calling,” Sione said. “I told her I would help her.”
“That’s what I don’t understand,” D.J. said. “Why the hell would you agree to help her after what she did to you?”
Sione hesitated and said, “At the time, I thought it was the right thing to do, but now …”
Now the obligation he’d felt two years ago was long gone. He wasn’t sure he could explain what had driven his decisions back then. His motives weren’t clear, even to himself. Initially, his ex’s desperation had compelled him to help her.
Sione suspected his offer to help had been nothing more than a chance to prove to himself that his uncle’s influence had prevailed over the violent dictates of his father’s instruction. He couldn’t explain that to D.J., or to anyone for that matter, without exposing his past. Revealing the depths of Richard’s terrorism was something Sione wasn’t willing to do.
His maternal relatives believed Richard was a shady businessman with a talent for circumventing the law when it suited him. As far as Sione was concerned, they would never know anything more. He was never going to tell them the truth about his father. No one would know he’d been raised to be just like Richard.
“The right thing to do is to forget about her,” D.J. said. “She wasn’t the right woman for you. You need to find somebody who really cares about you. Somebody who means what they say. You don’t need somebody who will lie and pretend they want to work things out when they really have moved on and don’t want to be in the relationship.”
“You speaking from experience?”
D.J. glared at him.
“Sorry,” Sione said.
Clearing his throat, D.J. said, “So, what does your ex want you to help her with?”
You have to help me … Richard wants me dead.
“I don’t want to get into it right now,” Sione said, trying to forget her desperation. “I don’t want to think about my ex-fiancée.”
chapter 22
San Ignacio, Belize
Belizean Banyan Resort – Owner’s Casita
“Well, Ms. Edwards had a very interesting day,” D.J. said, taking a seat at the island in the kitchen. After opening his laptop, he began typing, fingers flying over the keys.
Anxious to learn what his cousin had found out, Sione grabbed two beers from the refrigerator, opened them and pushed one across the counter toward his cousin. “What did she do?”
“I have a presentation.” His cousin opened the beer and took a swig from the bottle. “PowerPoint.”
Sione raised his beer in salute. “Impressive.”
“I thought you would appreciate it.” D.J. turned the laptop at an angle where he could access the keyboard and Sione could see the screen.
A few feet away, standing next to one of the empty chairs, Sione waited for his cousin to get started. He was curious but worried. Was Ms. Edwards a con artist? Did D.J. have proof of her committing some sort of criminal act? If so, what was he going to do about the situation? Confront Ms. Edwards and tell her to leave the resort?
“So, here we go,” D.J. said. “Slide one. Ms. Edwards’ day begins early. Around seven o’clock. She leaves the casita.”
D.J. had captured her mid-stride, walking down the porch steps. She was wearing shorts and a white shirt beneath a denim jacket and a frown on her face—maybe from frustration, consternation, or concentration. Maybe she wasn’t a morning person. Nevertheless, she looked damn good.
“I wonder if she wakes up looking like that,” D.J. mused. “Beautiful girl.”
Sione shrugged, but he was rattled by Ms. Edwards’ good looks, more than he thought he should be.
“Slide two. Ms. Edwards visits the resort gift shop.” D.J. tapped the ENTER key and the photo changed. “She bought three beach bags.”
“I wonder why three bags?”
“Maybe to put three Xanax boxes in.”
Sione stared at the photo, trying to ignore the apprehension he felt. There was a proverbial saying about bad things happening in threes. Had Ms. Edwards bought the beach bags because she needed them to do some bad things? He warned himself to wait until D.J. was finished with the presentation before he jumped to conclusions.
The photo changed to Ms. Edwards leaving the gift shop.
“She went back to the honeymoon casita,” D.J. said. “Then maybe fifteen, twenty minutes later, she left again and headed down to the main building, and then …” D.J. hit ENTER.
On the screen, Ms. Edwards stood in front of the resort. To her outfit, she’d added sunglasses and one of the beach bags she’d bought, the pink one.
“So, about ten minutes later, a tour bus shows up. Angie’s Eco-Adventures.”
Ms. Edwards got on the bus.
“The Belizean Banyan has its own guided tours,” Sione said. “Why would she book with some independent company?”
“Your tours are exclusive for your guests only, right?”
Sione nodded.
“Well …” D.J. trailed off and then said, “Wait. You’ll see.”
The next photo was the tour bus in the parking lot at Xunantunich.
“So, she went to visit Mayan ruins.”
“That’s what the next few shots are,” D.J. said, reconfiguring the settings to slideshow mode.
Sione kept his eyes on the screen, though he was wary, waiting for some photographic evidence of Ms. Edwards’ malfeasance. At the same time, he hoped the photos would turn out to be much ado about nothing, just a pictorial of a lovely woman out for a day of sightseeing.
The photos changed every three seconds. Ms. Edwards walking with the group of tourists. Ms. Edwards listening to the tour guide. Ms. Edwards climbing steps of Xunantunich. Ms. Edwards taking a photo of a couple.
The photos continued, each frame a composition of crumbling, sun-bleached stone structures stacked into pyramidal shapes against the backdrop of lush, verdant rainforest. As he watched the slideshow, Sione realized there wasn’t one bad picture of Ms. Edwards. She was stunningly beautiful in each photo.
“She never once took any pictures herself,” D.J. remarked. “Who goes to Xunantunich without a camera?”
“Maybe she forgot it.”
“Or maybe she didn’t go there to sightsee.”
“Then why go?” Sione asked, but he knew what his cousin was suggesting.
Whatever Ms. Edwards’ scam was, it was about to go down at the ruins.
“Now, the tour is over.” D.J. ended the slideshow, went back to manual mode, and hit ENTER. Sione stared at a photo of Ms. Edwards getting back on the large passenger bus.
“An hour later, the bus pulls up in front of the Belizean Banyan,” D.J. said, narrating the next set of photos. “Ms. Edwards gets off the bus. And she’s missing something.”
Sione leaned closer to the laptop, peering at the photo of Ms. Edwards entering the resort. “The pink beach bag,” Sione realized. “Where is it? Did she accidentally leave it on the bus?”
“Not quite,” D.J. said. “Nothing she does is by accident.”
The next photo showed a group of five people getting off the bus at a neighboring resort.
“Take a look at the girl in the sun visor.”
“What about her?” Sione asked, focusing on a woman in khaki shorts and a white T-shirt with a yellow visor pulled down low, obscuring her eyes.
