Flawless Danger (The Spencer & Sione #1) (27 page)

Heart slamming, Spencer sank slowly into the leather chair, shuffling through the photos. She recognized the images of herself, even though she didn’t know they had been taken. She hadn’t realized she’d been the subject of someone’s camera lens. No, not someone. John.

Spencer examined the photos, a pictography of her excursion to Xunantunich. There were pictures of her walking with the tour group, looking bored and sullen; one where she was listening to the tour guide; another showed her taking a photo of that old Austrian couple; and several were of her climbing the ruins.

Taking a deep breath, Spencer shoved the photos into the blue file, then put it back into the drawer, and closed it. Trying to contain the fear racing through her was damn near impossible, but she had to. She had to think. She had to figure out what the hell was going on. Why did John have these pictures of her? What was he going to do with them?

Taking a deep breath, Spencer forced herself to focus. The situation was as crazy as it was confusing, and she didn’t really know what to think or how to feel. She didn’t know whether to be panicked or angry; she didn’t know if she should feel violent or violated.

There was one thing she did know. John couldn’t have taken the photos of her if he hadn’t followed her. So, the question was, why the hell had he tailed her to Xunantunich? There was really only one answer.

San Ignacio, Belize

Belizean Banyan Resort
 
- Owner’s Casita

“Good thing I came when I did,” D.J. said. “If I had shown up ten, maybe fifteen, minutes later, I might have seen the two of you screwing on the table.”

“We weren’t about to screw on the table,” Sione said.

“I know what I saw,” D.J. said. “Maybe you weren’t about to screw her, but you were definitely going to kiss her.”

“So what if I was? What the hell do you care?”

“Well, I don’t care to have my cousin involved with some lying, scheming bitch who could have murdered a woman and cut off her—”

“Ms. Edwards didn’t kill anybody,” Sione said. “She wouldn’t do something like that.”

“And how would you know? You don’t know jack crap about this woman, and I’m beginning to think you don’t want to know the truth about her. You just want to bend her over the table and—”

“You want some eggs?” Sione asked, sick of his cousin’s irritating innuendos about Ms. Edwards’ guilt when he still didn’t have any concrete proof of her involvement in anything criminal.

Sione could admit that, yes, Ms. Edwards could potentially be involved in something shady. She’d told a few lies, mostly about the contents of the banker’s box, which brought him to the money. Almost a million dollars and three passports had been delivered to her, hidden in boxes of anti-anxiety pills. The passports were probably fake, but there was no evidence the money was stolen or to be used in some other criminal dealings.

There seemed to be evidence of Ms. Edwards switching beach bags with two other tourists—a blonde woman with freckles and a dark-haired, olive-skinned woman who might have been Hispanic—both of whom looked exactly like the women in the thumbnail photos on the passports. Still, there was no proof that money and passports had been in those beach bags, which was why Sione still wasn’t convinced that Ms. Edwards was a criminal.

“Did you talk to Ms. Edwards?” D.J. asked, taking a seat at the island.

“Not yet,” Sione said.

“What do you mean, not yet?” D.J. gave Sione a skeptical look. “You told me you would find out why she really went to Maxine Porter’s condo. We both know the story about the driver’s license she left at the boutique is bull.”

“I’ll talk to her tomorrow,” Sione said.

D.J.’s glare turned dubious. “Why can’t you talk to her today?”

“She’s been through a lot,” Sione said. “She found a severed hand, and she was attacked and almost killed.”

“That was yesterday.”

“She’s still upset,” Sione said. “It was very traumatic and disturbing.”

D.J. gave him a look, and he could tell his cousin wasn’t convinced that Ms. Edwards had been terrorized.

Sione sighed. “So what happened after we left the condo?”

“I took care of the situation.”

“How did you take care of it?” Sione asked. “Did you call the cops?”

“I did,” D.J. said. “The San Pedro police department plans to investigate.”

“Do I have to make a statement?”

“Don’t worry about that,” D.J. said. “The cops don’t know you were there and what do you really know about the situation? Nothing that could help their investigation.”

“And what about Ms. Edwards?”

“The cops don’t know she was there either,” D.J. said. “I wanted the police to interrogate the hell out of her, but I figured she would bring your name into this mess, and you don’t need to be associated, in any way, even indirectly, with some murder investigation.”

“What makes you think somebody is dead?” Sione stared at D.J. “Just because a hand was cut off doesn’t mean anybody was killed.”

“I’m pretty sure that hand was chopped off a dead body,” D.J. said.

Sione was sure of it too, but he didn’t say anything. He couldn’t. Not until he was absolutely sure of his suspicions about the severed hand.

“And I’m sure the hand was from a female,” D.J. said. “I took a closer look at the hand before I called the cops. Soft skin, thin fingers. Nails painted. Which doesn’t necessarily denote femininity, but I think the hand was chopped off a woman’s wrist.”

“And you think that woman was Maxine Porter?”

“Ms. Edwards thought so too,” D.J. reminded him. “Don’t you wonder how she’s so sure that hand was chopped off Maxine’s wrist and left on the floor?”

“I think she figured since it was Maxine’s condo, then Maxine must have been killed,” Sione said. “I don’t think Spencer killed Maxine Porter.”

“I actually don’t either,” D.J. confessed. “But she might have had something to do with her death. Or maybe she knows who chopped Maxine’s hand off.”

Sione shook his head. “Don’t think so.”

“Well, anyway,” D.J. started. “So, when I was taking care of the situation, I searched Maxine Porter’s condo and found a few interesting items. A burner phone, which I left for the cops to find. But I copied all the numbers from the phone log so I can check them out later. There was one number I deleted because I recognized it. That number was to your resort. Maxine Porter made several calls from that burner phone to the Belizean Banyan.”

“And?”

“And I don’t think she was calling to reserve a room,” D.J. said. “She was calling Ms. Edwards.”

“Well, that backs up Ms. Edwards’ story,” Sione said. “She said Maxine Porter called to tell her she’d found her driver’s license at the boutique.”

“I don’t think their conversation was about the driver’s license.”

“Why do you say that?”

“Because when I searched Maxine Porter’s condo, there was something else I found,” D.J. said. “The box of Xanax.”

San Ignacio, Belize

Belizean Banyan Resort - Honeymoon Casita

Spencer pressed two fingers into the center of her forehead as she paced from the foot of the bed to the mahogany wardrobe and back again.

The last three hours of her life had been spent updating her sisters about everything that had happened in San Pedro yesterday. Spencer had begun with the early morning call from Maxine Porter, demanding to see her because of some supposed problem with the medicine delivery. Then she’d told them about finding the severed hand on the floor in Maxine’s closet right before that bastard Tommy Fong attacked her. Again.

She’d wrapped up her bizarre tale of horror and confusion with the most puzzling aspect of the story, recounting how John had shown up to rescue her from Fong. Saving the worst for last, Spencer had divulged about the photos John had secretly taken of her.

They’d discussed everything, in painstaking detail, and had speculated and deduced and extrapolated the hell out of the situation from every conceivable angle, even those which made no sense. Then they’d discussed everything again, coming to basically the same conclusion. Spencer had to get the favor done for Ben.

If she wanted to return to Texas without the fear of spending the best years of her life in an orange jumpsuit, then she had to find the envelope, or she would never get her hands on the video evidence Ben was blackmailing her with.

Dropping onto the settee at the foot of the bed, Spencer rubbed away the tears she’d tried not to shed since finding evidence of John’s suspicions in that damn blue folder. Along with heart-stopping panic, a host of other dizzying emotions had besieged Spencer when she’d opened the file. Fear. Disappointment. Apprehension. Even anger and outrage.

Torn between confronting John for pretty much stalking her and fleeing the casita, Spencer chose the latter. Without bothering to say goodbye, she’d hastily donned her clothes, grabbed her purse from the guest bedroom, and slipped out of the casita.

Sprinting down the gravel path, Spencer had charged into the honeymoon casita and slammed the door behind her. She’d scanned the living room, trying to catch her breath, remembering John’s fear about Tommy Fong returning to attack her again. His apprehension had been intense, prompting him to insist she stay with him last night—in his bed.

Lying next to John had felt perfect, as though she belonged in his arms. Cuddled next to him, she felt as though she was in a dream. A dream she’d been too afraid to indulge in, because she knew it would never come true for her. And it hadn’t. What she’d thought was a dream had really been a nightmare.

John hadn’t wanted her close to him because he might actually be interested in her. He didn’t trust her. He’d pulled her into his arms because it was easier to watch her if she was only inches away from him. And now, despite everything that had happened to her, what scared her the most was realizing how disappointed she was that John wasn’t interested.

She’d been so stupid, thinking the resort owner could possibly want someone like her, a woman he obviously believed was involved in something criminal. When she thought about the horrible childhood memory she’d shared with him, she cringed. Why the hell had she told him about something that still made her feel depressed and abandoned?

The destruction of her favorite doll, one of the few toys she had, for reasons she still didn’t understand, was something even her sisters didn’t know. And yet, she’d told John. Why? She wasn’t sure. Maybe because she’d felt so comfortable in his arms, it was easy to be uninhibited.

“I know this might sound crazy,” Rae said. “But maybe you should call Ben’s bluff.”

“Call his bluff? Are you serious?”

Shady said, “That sounds absolutely crazy.”

“Hear me out,” Rae said. “As crazy as it sounds, I think you should tell Ben to call the police and give them the evidence he’s got on you.”

“Well, I might as well just turn myself in,” Spencer said. “If I do that, then I’m definitely going to jail!”

“Not necessarily,” Rae said. “I really think you’d have a better chance with the Texas criminal justice system than with Ben Chang.”

“And why the hell do you think that?”

Rae said, “I was talking to Mr. Cephas about it—”

“Why were you talking to him about me?”

“Mr. Cephas asked about you, and I told him about the crack you got your ass in.”

“Wait, what?” Spencer was confused. “You told Mr. Cephas? Why would you do that?”

“Because I’m worried about you and I don’t trust Ben Chang. If you think these side ventures and favors are going to stop once you find the envelope, then you’re crazy.”

“Ben promised me that he would give me the video and that he didn’t make any more copies.”

“Somebody call Lady Elaine Fairchild because this bitch is living in the land of make believe!”

“Desarae,” Shady warned.

Spencer walked toward the French doors. “You can think I’m crazy, but I have to believe Ben is telling me the truth.”

“Look, Mr. Cephas can get you a good lawyer,” Rae said. “He’s got a guy in mind. And this guy gets drug smugglers off, okay? Mr. Cephas is sure the guy can get the evidence against you thrown out as inadmissible. Or, if not, this lawyer will get you probation. Either way, you ain’t going to jail.”

“I don’t know,” Spencer said. “I think hoping and praying some lawyer will be able to get my case thrown out is too risky. I have to take my chances and believe that Ben will keep his word to me.”

“Okay, then,” Rae said. “If you insist on hoping and praying that Ben is gonna keep his word, then you need some insurance. Because I can guarantee you, he’s lying to you.”

“Insurance?” Shady asked.

“Spencer needs protection,” Rae said. “Just in case Ben decides to come back asking for more favors, which he’s gonna be able to do because, well whatdaya know, he has another copy of that video.”

“What kind of insurance?” Spencer asked.
 

“You know that envelope Ben wants so bad,” Rae said. “When you find it, you need to open it, and whatever is inside, you need to make a few copies of your own.”

“Yeah, that’s a great idea,” Spencer said. “But what if I don’t find the damn envelope.”

“You will find it,” Shady said.

“You don’t know that, Shady,” Spencer said. “And now that I know John is suspicious of me, I might never get another chance to get inside of his casita to look for the damn envelope!”

“Well, if you don’t,” Rae said. “It’s your own damn fault.”

Pissed, Spencer stared at her reflection in the glass panes of the French doors. “Excuse me?”

“After all that crazy shit went down in San Pedro,” Rae said. “Sione damn near forced you to stay with him. Ben had told you to get a dinner date with Sione, and you told us that Sione offered to make you dinner yesterday. That was the perfect opportunity to slip a little GHB in his wine and—”

“I’m not using that damn GHB!” Spencer said. “Drugging men is the reason I’m in this mess right now!”

“No, you’re in this mess because you didn’t use the GHB!” Rae hollered back at her. “If you had drugged Ben, then he wouldn’t have caught you—”