Flawless Danger (The Spencer & Sione #1) (14 page)

Spencer glanced at the blonde. “What really happened to Olivia?”

“Richard killed her. Then burned her body up to cover up what he’d done,” the tomboy said. “That’s what I think, anyway.”

“Did you tell the police?”

The blonde’s head jerked up and she scowled at Spencer. “Are you crazy? You think I have a death wish? You think I want to be shot in the head then burned to death?”

As the blonde tomboy grabbed stacks of the money and shoved them back into the Xanax box, Spencer shuddered despite the balmy atmosphere in the ladies room. She didn’t want to hear any more of the grisly story and regretted asking for details. Engaging the blonde in conversation had been a mistake, but she had to know why Ben was providing the woman with money and a fake passport.

She’d been too curious. Now she knew things she didn’t want to know, things she didn’t know how to deal with. Ben was more dangerous than she’d realized or could have ever imagined. Curiosity, she scoffed to herself. No wonder they said it killed the cat.

The tomboy tossed the gun into the green beach bag, hoisted it on her thin shoulder, then turned, and rushed to the door.

“Wait, before you go,” Spencer said. “Tell me your real name.”

The pale, freckle-faced girl turned to Spencer and frowned.

“My real name …” The tomboy faltered, her eyes bright and glassy as she bit her lip.

Spencer waited, holding her breath, anxious. She wasn’t sure why she wanted to know the tomboy’s name, but for some reason, it was important to her.

Shaking her head, the tomboy regarded her with guarded, suspicious eyes. “My name is Helen Johnson.”

San Ignacio, Belize

Belizean Banyan Resort – Honeymoon Casita

“How are you, sweet girl?”

Spencer rolled over onto her back, staring at the ceiling above the king-sized bed as she clutched the burner phone. She wasn’t in the mood to deal with Ben Chang, but it wouldn’t be a good idea to ignore the calls of a man who could have her arrested. She glanced at the clock on the bedside table. A few minutes after midnight.

When he hadn’t called earlier, she’d decided he would contact her tomorrow for a full report about the cave tour. Settling between the plush bed linens, she’d curled into a ball, letting her mind wander as she dozed and thought about the things the blonde tomboy had told her.

Ben wants me to go against Richard.

When Richard finds out what I’ve done, I’m going to be dead to him.

Ben is not really trying to save my ass. He’s trying to get back at Richard.

It was as if she had pieces to a puzzle, but she wasn’t sure how to fit the pieces together or if the pieces even belonged to the same puzzle.

After the tour bus dropped her off in front of the resort, Spencer had returned to the honeymoon casita, poured a glass of wine, and then called her sisters to update them on the day’s events. Two hours later, she, Shady, and Rae were confused by the blonde tomboy’s story, and they’d concluded there were too many unanswered questions.

Who the hell was Richard? Why did Ben want the tomboy to go against Richard? Why was Ben trying to get back at Richard?

Following the conversation with her sisters, questions about Ben and Richard faded, and thoughts of “Helen Johnson” plagued her.

Spencer had asked the freckle-faced girl how she could abandon who she really was and become someone she wasn’t. There had been blatant condemnation in her tone. How could she judge? Spencer had done the same thing when she’d agreed to start “dating.”

She’d willingly given up the person she really was to become some strange, alternate version of herself. A version she didn’t recognize. A version of herself she was ashamed of and hated. And for what? To pay the rent? To keep the lights on? To put food on the table?

“Dating” was supposed to have given her freedom.

So, how had she ended up trapped in this nightmare?

She’d been wondering if she would always have to pay for the stupid mistakes she’d made when the damn burner phone rang.

No rest for the weary or the wicked. And she was both.

“I’m tired,” she said, answering his question. “I’ve had a long, difficult day, and I just want to go to sleep. So, I know you’re calling to find out how the cave tour went.”

“And how was it?”

Sitting up, she arranged the pillows behind her. “Just as fun and exciting as the Mayan ruins.”

“No problems?”

Spencer hesitated, debating whether or not to tell him about the gun “Helen Johnson” had pointed at her but quickly decided he probably wouldn’t give a damn anyway.

“No problems,” she said. “Everything went fine.”

“Good job, sweet girl.”

Spencer took the phone from her ear and then gave it the finger. Ben hadn’t seen her obscene gesture, but flipping him off was cathartic and had accomplished what three glasses of wine, a two-hour conversation with her sisters, and a long, hot bath hadn’t been able to. She finally felt some of the tension coiled within her begin to unwind.

“Only one more side venture to do,” Ben said. “I’ll be in touch with your instructions. Until then, you can focus your efforts on
Step Two
. Get the dinner invitation.”

“I understand what I have to do,” she said. “Now, are we finished with this conversation? Because it’s past my bed time.”

“I hope you do understand what I expect from you, sweet girl,” Ben said. “I hope you don’t disappoint me.”

San Ignacio, Belize

Belizean Banyan Resort – Owner’s Casita

“Who’re the cupcakes for?” Ms. Edwards asked.

“My cousin’s little girls.” Sione made a few uneven, haphazard swirls around the circumference of the chocolate cupcake he’d been half-ass frosting when Spencer Edwards knocked on the door of his casita a few minutes ago, claiming she needed to talk to him.

“They look good.”

“You want one?”

“Not really,” Ms. Edwards said, walking over toward the table before pivoting gracefully and heading back toward the island.

“Okay then, what can I help you with?” he asked, staring at her.

She looked so beautiful, he had to force himself to remember he still wasn’t sure if she was involved in some sort of crime or not. For the past few days, he’d been thinking about the situation with Spencer Edwards from the day she arrived, complaining about the honeymoon casita, to the report D.J. had given him about her last excursion, when she’d taken a cave exploring tour.

D.J. had called it another interesting day. His cousin had narrated Ms. Edwards’ cave tour trip, and as Sione stared at the accompanying photos, he found himself, once again, entranced by her beauty. There were no bad pictures. Each frame showcased her delicate, flawless features.

When the tour was over, Ms. Edwards had gone into the restroom. D.J. had called his attention to Ms. Edwards’ Kelly green beach bag. A few minutes later, a thin woman with blonde hair pulled back into a ponytail entered the facilities. She was also carrying a beach bag, though hers was moss green.

About fifteen minutes later, the blonde woman exited the restroom carrying the Kelly green bag Spencer had been carrying. Then Spencer Edwards came out of the bathroom, and on her shoulder was the moss green beach bag the blonde woman had been carrying when she’d entered the restroom.

Ms. Edwards and the blonde woman had switched bags, obviously. Sione didn’t want to believe it and didn’t know what to think.

D.J. had followed the blonde woman back to her hotel. In addition to finding out her name—Karen Nelson—he’d also managed to take a few close-up shots of her. Karen Nelson’s freckled image on the picture D.J. had taken was the same thumbnail photo on one of the passports Sione had made a copy of—the passport with the name “Helen Johnson.”

Karen Nelson had arrived in Belize a week ago from San Diego, California, D.J. had learned, and she had an interesting employment history. A few weeks ago, Karen Nelson had been a senior teller at a small, family-owned bank. Before that, she’d worked at Kwik Kash with Carla Garcia—the woman who’d gotten off the tour bus with Ms. Edwards’ pink beach bag.

“And Ms. Nelson had a record, too,” D.J. had said. “Busted for writing hot checks.”

Because Carla Garcia and Karen Nelson had been co-workers at Kwik Kash, D.J. believed the women were involved in some sort of financial scheme. Whatever the crime, his cousin was convinced Ms. Edwards was right in the thick of it. She wasn’t some clueless girl who didn’t know what she was transporting but a willing participant in the malfeasance with informed consent.

Staring at Ms. Edwards, Sione was inclined to believe she was more than just a pretty girl involved in some scam. She was complicated, frustrating, and maybe too alluring, too enticing, for him to ignore or resist. But he had to resist her. Getting involved with a woman like Spencer Edwards would cause him more harm than good, he was sure of that.

“What can you help me with? Did you really just ask me that? You can help me by finding my damn manuals!”

“I am working on that,” Sione said, forcing himself to focus on decorating the cupcakes and not on how good she looked in the black dress she wore, particularly the top part which had a plunging neckline that struggled to contain her breasts.

“Still working on it? I don’t understand. How hard is it to find the idiot who delivered the wrong box?”

He looked up from the cupcakes to stare at her. “Ms. Edwards, I assure you, I will take care of this situation.”

“If you take care of the situation with my missing manuals the way you took care of the man who attacked me,” she said, frowning in a way he found much too tempting, “then I’m sure I’ll never see those manuals again.”

“What the hell do your missing manuals have to do with the man who attacked you?”

“You’re going to let that idiot delivery guy get away with delivering the wrong box just like you let that Asian guy get away with attacking me!”

Confused, he looked at her. “Ms. Edwards, I stopped him from attacking you.”

“And then you let him escape!” Ms. Edwards said. “You beat the crap out of him for nothing!”

Sione didn’t want to think about what he’d done to the Asian guy. He regretted his violence and was ashamed of how satisfied and satiated he’d felt when the guy was crumpled in a heap on the ground.

“I never should have come to this damn resort,” she said. “You can count on me giving you a scathing negative review.”

Sighing, he looked at her. “Ms. Edwards, I don’t think I can adequately express to you how sorry I am that someone broke into your casita and about this mishap with your manuals, but I really want to make things right and—”

“Do you really?” she asked, an odd dare in her tone.
 

Wary of the slight predatory gleam in her gaze, he said, “Of course, I do. As I told you, it’s very important that all my guests have the most relaxing, pleasant experience during their stay at the Belizean Banyan.”

“If you mean what you say,” she said, “then I think we can find a way to rectify the situation. But I don’t have time to talk right now—I’m going snorkeling—so, maybe we can—”

A riot of giggles floated through the kitchen, carefree and effervescent, followed by a loud Sssshhhh and then more giggles.

Sione scanned the kitchen, focusing on the huge, round table, noticing movement beneath it, small figures scrambling, scurrying.
 

“What the hell,” Sione said under his breath, walking around the island and heading toward the table.

Squealing and giggling, the figures emerged from beneath the table. Ms. Edwards gasped as three little girls scrambled across the kitchen, waving and making teasing kissing noises and laughing.

“Keisha, India, Maggie!” Sione shouted. “Come back here!”

“Are those ...” Spencer Edwards looked at him. “Your little girls?”

“They’re my cousin’s kids,” Sione sighed. “I’m babysitting. Listen, I need to find them before they tear up the casita.”

San Ignacio, Belize

Belizean Banyan Resort – Owner’s Casita

“Hey, you know what we should do?” Ms. Edwards said, her tone conspiratorial as she motioned to his little cousins to join her on the couch, which they happily did, squealing and giggling, still in the throes of a sugar high after all the cupcakes they’d had. “We should go jump in Sione’s bed!”

From his position on the floor, where he’d crashed in a heap after a particularly vigorous game of hide-and-seek with Ms. Edwards and his energetic little cousins, Sione struggled to sit up. “Huh?”

“Yeah!” the girls shouted, clapping their hands. “Let’s jump in Sione’s bed!”

Groggy, Sione fought to clear his head.
Let’s jump in Sione’s bed?
What the hell? “Wait, wait,” Sione protested. “No, jumping in Sione’s bed is not—”

“Last one to the bed is a rotten plantain!” Ms. Edwards declared.

When Sione had run out of the kitchen earlier, chasing after his mischievous second cousins, Ms. Edwards had done something strange and unexpected. She’d followed him, heading out of the kitchen behind him, announcing her plans to come with him and join in the search. Sione hadn’t rebuffed her offer. Actually, he’d been intrigued and excited by her willingness to tag along.

Staggering to his feet, Sione ran a hand down the back of his head. Would the girls ever fall asleep? Why weren’t they tired? Why wasn’t Ms. Edwards tired? The hide-and-seek, the charades, the piggyback rides, and the musical chairs had just about wiped him out, plus his head was pounding and his stomach was grumbling.

But Ms. Edwards was still empowered with the same endless energy that had his cousin’s daughters bouncing off the walls. And yet, it was interesting, a bit exciting, to see a silly, playful side of Ms. Edwards.

Up until today, he’d only witnessed her deliberate abrasiveness, but as he’d watched her interactions with the girls, it was hard to reconcile the fierce badass with the vibrant, lovely woman who’d laughed as the girls tried to teach her how to do the samba.

Still, he couldn’t ignore the money and fake passports and the excursions she’d taken to possibly deliver that money and those passports to women who formerly worked at Kwik Kash. There was the suspicion of some kind of white-collar shenanigans but still no concrete proof.