Flawless Danger (The Spencer & Sione Series Book 1) Page 12

“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.”

  chapter 29

  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.

  D.J. had plenty of photos of Ms. Edwards in which she appeared to have switched beach bags with both Karen Nelson and Carla Garcia. The truth was, they really didn’t know what had been inside those bags. Maybe he didn’t want to know. Maybe he didn’t want to believe Ms. Edwards was caught up in some white-collar crime.

  Sione lumbered down the hall and into his room. Ms. Edwards and his cousins were jumping, laughing, and squealing, using his bed as a trampoline.

  “No, no, NO!” Sione strode to the foot of the bed. “Keisha! Maggie! India! Get off the bed! Now!”

  He might as well have been speaking Latin for all the attention they were paying him, which was absolutely none as they continued to do cartwheels across the mattress.

  “Girls!” Sione shouted, in vain, he knew. They weren’t listening; they were busy having a pillow fight, which Ms. Edwards had instigated. “Stop jumping in my bed! Ms. Edwards!”

  “Come join us!” Ms. Edwards said, doing a few ballerina moves, which his second cousins tried to copy.

  “Ms. Edwards,” Sione said. “I think if you stop jumping, they’ll stop jumping.”

  “Oh, you’re no fun!” she said, sticking out her tongue at him.

  “You’re no fun, Sione!” the girls chorused. “You’re no fun!”

  Sione closed his eyes, counted to ten, and told himself it wouldn’t make sense to explode. As he tried to counter the frustration rising in his chest, he was aware of the bedsprings creaking and the headboard hitting the wall. If not for the laughter, it might be the sound of someone in his bed having wild, rigorous sex. He opened his eyes, and the first thing he noticed was that every time Ms. Edwards jumped, her dress lifted, exposing her thighs. Quickly, Sione looked away, not willing to get an erection in front of—

  A scream slashed through the air, carrying a hint of surprise. The girls shouted in alarm. Startled, Sione glanced toward the bed. Ms. Edwards was flying through the air.

  “Miss Spencer!” the girls cried out. “Don’t fall!”

  Sione rushed to the left side of the bed, catching Ms. Edwards before she bounced off the bed and ended up on the floor on her ass. Laughing, she placed her hands on his shoulders and wiggled out of his arms, sliding down the length of his body, staring at him with just enough restrained lust to send him over the edge, while the feel of her breasts, her intoxicating fragrance, and the heat from her flushed skin had him as hard as concrete.

  The girls giggled, whispering and pointing. Sione looked at them, confused. Ms. Edwards gasped, and seconds later, Sione realized why. That slow, sensuous trip along his body had caused her dress to ride up toward her stomach, exposing her black lace panties.

  “Well, ladies,” Ms. Edwards said, standing in front of him, blocking his current condition while she engaged in a furious attempt to smooth her dress down. “I think it might be time for me to leave.”

  chapter 30

  San Pedro, Belize

  Butterfly Boutique

  After a quick breakfast of toast and yogurt, most of which had gone uneaten, Spencer called the front desk to request a cab. She was tired and exhausted from lack of sleep. Last night, because of Ben Chang, she’d had to deal with a stark, paralyzing fear she hadn’t had to contend with in almost fifteen years.

  He’d called to give her instructions for the third and, supposedly, final, “side venture” he wanted her to do, and before ending the call, Ben had warned her again not to disappoint him.

  For some reason, the idea of disappointing him had taken her back to a time in her life she didn’t like to remember. Those sad, confusing times when her mother would say, I’m really disappointed in you, and Spencer could only guess it was because she’d done something stupid, something wrong, something to make her mother come to the conclusion that she wasn’t worth love and attention.

  Often, following the declaration of her mother’s disappointment in her, there would be slaps, screams, kicks, and shoves. Once her mother grew bored with beating her black and blue, she would order Spencer to go to her room and not come out until she was told to. And then, the front door would slam.

  Spencer hated Ben for making her feel like she was seven years old again, when she’d been left alone, too many times to count, in a dirty apartment with little food after her mother had abused her and then headed off to God only knew where.

  Bac
k then, she would be fine during the day and a little glad that she didn’t have to worry about being smacked across the face. Finding ways to entertain herself, Spencer would read books, color, and play games with the few stuffed animals she had, pretending they were her friends. She would scrounge and forage for food, usually finding peanut butter and saltines or dry cereal.

  As morning gave way to afternoon and afternoon yielded to dusk, her panic increased and fear stalked her until darkness came. In the inky blackness, terror claimed her, holding her in its grip until the wispy streaks of dawn stretched across the floor and flooded the room with warmth and light. Only then would she allow herself to relax, to unclench her fists and go limp, her jaw slackening as sleep took her into a dreamless unconsciousness.

  This morning, Spencer had woken up angry, frustrated, and more than a little sad, thinking about her seven-year-old-self. But there was no time for tears. She couldn’t disappoint Ben. She had to do the side venture for him.

  Sighing, Spencer checked her watch. Where the hell was that damn cab? Hadn’t she called twenty minutes ago? Frustrated, Spencer grabbed a white oversized beach bag with the Belizean Banyan logo and checked the contents. Wallet. Sunglasses. Sun screen. Lip gloss. Burner phone. And the box of anti-anxiety meds, which contained five bundles of money and a fake passport, the items to deliver while she was in San Pedro.

  A few minutes later, Spencer left the casita and made her way to the hotel lobby. Stomping to the front desk, she rolled her eyes when she saw Analee, the idiot desk assistant.

  “Where the hell is the taxi I called for an hour ago?” Spencer demanded.

  Of course, the idiot desk assistant gave her a blank stare before stammering some lame excuse.

  “I’m not in the mood for apologies,” Spencer snapped. “Just get me a damn taxi, now.”

  While Spencer was complaining to Analee about her deplorable incompetence, Sione Tuiali’i walked over, butting in where he had no damn business. Spencer suspected the desk assistant had alerted him, somehow, maybe pushed a “panic” button beneath her keyboard.

  As usual, the resort owner was irritatingly tall, handsome, and muscular, and even though he was wearing a tan short-sleeved polo, she couldn’t help but remember how he’d looked with his shirt off. Despite his mesmerizing good looks, Spencer felt conflicted when she saw him. His presence reminded her of the “favor” Ben wanted her to do.

  Step Two. Sweet girl gets close to the resort owner.

  Sione was willing and eager to help with the misunderstanding. Spencer felt spiteful and wanted to tell him she didn’t need his assistance, but she knew the more encounters she had with him, the greater her chances of successfully completing Step Two.

  After telling Analee he would take care of the situation, Sione steered Spencer toward a small alcove, away from the other guests. “Explain to me what happened.”

  “Your desk assistant was supposed to call a cab for me,” Spencer said. “But she didn’t, and because of her incompetence, I have been waiting for almost two hours!”

  “I’m sorry about that.”

  Spencer rolled her eyes. “I doubt that very seriously.”

  “Ms. Edwards,” he said. “It’s very important to me that my guests have everything they need to have a pleasant stay here at the resort.”

  “That’s what you keep saying.”

  “And that’s what I mean,” he said. “Which is why I am going to take you wherever it is that you need to go.”

  “You are?” She stared up at him, shocked. “I mean, you would be willing to do that? Because I’m going to San Pedro to buy souvenirs.”

  “I don’t mind at all,” Sione said. “I would be happy to take you to San Pedro.”

  Spencer was a bit suspicious of his offer, but the damn sincerity in his hazel eyes was too intense. And, of course, time alone with him might help her complete Step Two. She couldn’t turn him down.

  An hour later, they were headed to Ambergris Caye, the largest island on Belize, a trip over land and sea from the resort to the pier downtown, where they took an island ferry to San Pedro.

  As the ferry sped closer to the island, the turquoise Caribbean gave way to powdery white sand stretching toward a row of buildings in creamy pastel colors. Hundreds of tourists milled about, mixing with vendors and business owners hawking their various and sundry wares beneath a cloudless blue sky and a warm, brilliant sun.

  In the town of San Pedro, Spencer and the tall handsome resort owner walked parallel to the beach, strolling past a variety of restaurants and shops, making small talk and looking at souvenirs.

  Fifteen minutes later, she told him she wanted to go to a boutique she’d read about on the Internet. He knew about the shop and was able to steer her toward a small, quaint place with inviting pale yellow walls and hardwood floors. It was a boutique designed for tourists with dozens of racks of resort wear—flirty sundresses, bikinis, T-shirts, shorts, and sarongs—all in a variety of appealing prints and colors.

  After picking out a few sarongs and sundresses, Spencer went into the dressing room. When an attendant came by to offer help, Spencer said, “Oh, thank you, but Maxine was helping me. Can you please tell her I need some assistance?”

  The boutique attendant hurried off to find Maxine.

  Moments later, Spencer was trying on a strapless turquoise sundress when she heard, “You need some help?”

  Startled for a moment, Spencer took a breath and pulled the curtain back.

  “Maxine Porter,” the woman said, extending a hand.

  “Hi,” Spencer said, giving Maxine a quick handshake, wondering why the woman was acting as though they were business associates at some convention and not two stupid women forced to do the bidding of Ben Chang. “Spencer Edwards.”

  “So, Spencer, do you have meds for me?”

  “Yes, I do,” Spencer said, trying to sound cheerful as she reached down and grabbed the Belizean Banyan beach bag.

  “That’s where you’re staying?” Maxine asked. “The Belizean Banyan?”

  Spencer nodded, noting the grudging admiration and jealousy crossing the woman’s features.

  “Nice.” Maxine took the Xanax. “You must be really special to Ben. He usually doesn’t put a girl up in such an expensive place unless he really likes her.”

  Nonplussed, Spencer stared at Maxine, not sure what to think. She was special to Ben? Spencer rolled her eyes and grabbed a cotton-candy-colored sarong to try on. Yeah, right. There was no way she was special to Ben. Not the way he treated her. If she were so damn special to him, he wouldn’t be forcing her to do these damn favors.

  “Used for the relief of anxiety,” Maxine said, reading the box. “I have been pretty anxious these days.”

  “What is all this about?” Spencer asked.

  “It’s about staying alive,” Maxine Porter said, looking away. “Ben is trying to save my life.”

  “Trying to save your life?” Spencer stared at the woman. “I don’t understand. Are you in danger or something?”

  “Or something.”

  “Or something?” Spencer prompted, anxious for real answers, not just vague, guarded responses. “Please, tell me what is going on?”

  “The devil wants me dead,” Maxine said, smirking.

  Spencer shrank back, disturbed. “What?”

  Maxine gave Spencer a wink before she turned.

  “Wait,” Spencer grabbed the woman’s elbow.

  Maxine looked back, her gaze dropping to Spencer’s hand, gripping her arm. “What do you want?”

  Spencer drew her hand back and said, “You said that the devil wants you dead.”

  Maxine stared at her, suspicion in her dark eyes.

  Remembering the tomboy’s words, Spencer asked, “Were you talking about Richard?”

  “You know Richard?”

  Shaking her head, Spencer said, “I’m just trying to figure out what’s going on. I delivered some medicine to a blonde girl a few days ago, and she told me that Ben wa
nted her to go against Richard. She said Ben wanted to get back at Richard, and that was why Ben had given her the money and passport. But she didn’t say why Ben wanted to get back at Richard.”

  “And you want me to tell you?”

  Spencer sighed and said, “I just want to understand what’s going on.”

  “Why? What does it matter to you?” Maxine asked.

  “It matters because the blonde girl told me that Richard killed some woman and then—”

  “Olivia.” Maxine cut in. “She worked with us at Kwik Kash. It was the four of us. Me, Karen—the blonde you delivered to on the cave tour—and Carla, who you delivered to on that Mayan tour.”

  “And Ben gave y’all money and a fake passport because …” Spencer hoped Maxine would take up the conversation and explain what the hell was going on, so she could understand how and why she was tangled up in this beef between Ben and Richard.

  Rolling her eyes, Maxine shook her head. “You know, Ben gave you a specific job to do. He didn’t tell you to ask questions about things that don’t concern you.”

  “But it does concern me,” Spencer said. “Ben put me in the middle of all this mess when he forced me to be his delivery girl.”

  “Forced you?”

  Spencer glanced down for a moment, pissed at her slip, and then back at Maxine. “I’m not a willing participant. And I don’t think you, Karen, and Carla are, either.”

  Maxine let out a long exhale full of weariness and frustration and then said, “Actually, we were willing participants.”

  “Willing participants in what?”

  “About a year ago, Kwik Kash was investigated by the Feds,” Maxine said. “Suspicion of money laundering.”

  “Money laundering?”

  “You seem surprised,” Maxine said. “You know that’s what Ben does, right? He launders money.”

  “I knew he wasn’t a legitimate businessman,” Spencer said, feeling stupid and naïve, not knowing the truth about Ben. How could she have been so dumb? How could she have not had a damn clue?