Flawless Danger (The Spencer & Sione #1) (24 page)

“When was this?”

“About five or six months ago.”

“What happened when you went to see her?” Sione asked. “What did you talk about?”

Regaining a bit of his arrogant apathy, Peter put a bit more distance between himself and Sione and then said, “She needed my help.”

“With what?”

“She wanted me to get something for her,” Peter said. “An envelope.”

“She wanted you to get an envelope?”

“From some house in Jamaica,” Peter said. “She said she would write to me and give me all the details. The letter came about two weeks later. It had the address of this house in Montego Bay.”

“She wanted you to steal something from a house in Montego Bay?”

Peter shook his head. “I didn’t break in. She told me where to find the key in the letter. What she needed me to get would be in a safe in the bedroom. The combination to the safe was in the letter, too.”

“So, you went to the house in Montego Bay and got the envelope for her?”

Peter nodded. “Then I called her and told her I had the envelope.”

“What was in the envelope?”

Peter shrugged. “I didn’t open it. It was sealed, but …”

“But what?”

“The seal was like one of those round, red seals,” Peter said, struggling to explain himself. “You know like the kind that’s on a really old letter? You know how they used to seal letters like hundreds of years ago?”

“A wax seal?” Sione asked.

“Yeah, a wax seal,” Peter said, nodding. “The envelope was made of real fancy paper, too.”

“Okay, you call Moana and tell her you have the envelope she needs,” Sione said. “Then what?”

“She told me to hide it,” Peter said.
 

“And did you?”

His cousin gave him a defiant glare, but it didn’t last and was quickly replaced by shame as he said, “Yeah.”

“Where?”

“Look, I only hid it because she wanted me to,” Peter said. “I probably shouldn’t have, but she was always nice to me. We were friends.”

Exasperated, Sione said, “Peter, where the hell did you hide the damn envelope?”

“Promise you won’t kill me,” Peter demanded.

“Peter,” Sione warned, trying to temper the frustration and anger rising within him.

Worry in his light brown eyes, Peter said, “Moana told me to hide it in your casita.”

San Ignacio, Belize

Belizean Banyan Resort – Owner’s Casita

Strange, blaring chimes roused Spencer.

Disoriented and sluggish, she struggled to sit up and open her eyes. It took her a moment to realize she wasn’t dreaming. She was awake and in a bed, the sheets damp and twisted around her body. Staring straight ahead, left, and then right, it took her a few more minutes to reason she was in a bedroom. The furnishings didn’t look familiar. She wasn’t in her apartment. Filled with dread, her heart lurched. Where the hell was she?

Trying not to panic, she glanced around the room again. Dim, but not completely dark. Light spilled from a door opened just enough to spark a memory within her. It was a bathroom. She’d taken a shower, and then she’d stumbled to the bed, climbed under the covers, and crashed.

The strange chimes cut through the silence again, startling her. What was that? Her cell phone, the answer came to her. Her cell phone was ringing. Reluctantly, she slid out of bed. Where was her purse?

Spotting a lamp on the bedside table, she groped beneath the shade and turned it on. Hazy, golden light flooded the room, clearing away the temporary amnesia. She knew exactly where she was. John’s casita.

After the horror show at Maxine Porter’s condo, where she was nearly killed, John had insisted she come back to his casita and stay with him. He was worried Tommy Fong might come back to attack her again and the honeymoon casita would be the first place Fong would look.

Spencer had protested but not as vigorously as she could have. She’d told John she was okay, but the bloody severed hand had terrified her. Despite her brave posturing, Spencer really hadn’t wanted to be alone in the honeymoon casita.

Spotting the blue Birkin on a chair in the corner, Spencer hurried to it. She opened the purse, grabbed the cell phone, and then frowned. It wasn’t ringing, but she still heard the strange chimes. A second later, the source of the sound came to her. The burner phone. She had a text.

Reluctantly, she took the burner phone from the Birkin and sat on the edge of the bed. Checking the time on the phone, she was shocked she’d slept for so long—more than six hours. Stress and fear had wiped her out, mentally and physically. She supposed lapsing into a near comatose state was her body’s way of responding to the terror of discovering a severed body part and being slapped around and shot at. Deciding to get it over with, since she knew who the text was from, she accessed it.

call me right now

Her heart slammed. Trembling, Spencer eased down on the edge of the bed and called Ben. When he answered on the second ring, disappointment seeped into her, spreading like poison. Spencer almost hung up the phone. Instead, she said, “Ben, I need to tell you something that happened today. Maxine Porter called me this morning, saying she wanted to see me, and when I went to her condo—”

“Sweet girl, I don’t have a lot of time,” Ben cut her off, his tone curt, tense. “So, listen very carefully—”

“Wait a minute,” she tried to stop him. “I need to tell you—”

“Right now, we need to talk about
Step Three
.”

“
Step Three
?” she echoed in disbelief. “Ben, listen to me! I think something bad happened to—”

“Are you in Sione Tuiali’i’s casita right now?”

“What?”

“Are you in his casita right now?” Ben repeated.

“How do you know that?” she asked, terrified and perplexed.
 

“Well, I didn’t find out because you told me,” he said, a menacing edge to his tone. “Which was what you were supposed to do.”

“I’m sorry, okay,” she said. “I’m sorry, but I’m not at his casita because he invited me to dinner, I’m here because—”

“I need you to look for something,” Ben said.

“You need me to …
what
?”

“An envelope made of lambskin. Sealed with a wax stamp that has a dragon symbol.”

“Wait a minute,” she said, confused and flustered. “You want me to look for an envelope? Are you serious? Is that really
Step Three
?”

Ben’s short exhale told her that she was trying his patience.

“Do you know how damn big this casita is?” she asked, unable to believe he actually wanted her to search for an envelope sealed with wax. “Where do I even begin to look for this envelope?”

“It’s hidden somewhere in that casita,” Ben said. “I need you to find it.”

“Why?” she asked. “What’s in that envelope that you need so bad?”

“Hold on, hold on,” he interrupted, and she heard other voices in the background, speaking a language she couldn’t make out at first. A few minutes later, she heard Ben’s reply, a frustrated command, and she realized he was speaking Jamaican patois.

“Sweet girl, listen,” he said, his voice loud and frustrated as he spoke above the din of competing voices. “Let me know—”

“Ben, where are you?”

“—when you get
Step Three
done,” he said. “I have to go.”

“Wait, don’t hang up,” she said. “I need to tell you about—”

A string of rapid-fire patois burst forth, wild and angry, making her pulse jump, making her wonder where Ben was, what was going on, and if he was okay.

“Ben …” she said, her heart thudding as she waited for his reply. “Ben … are you still there?”

She heard more boisterous patois, and then the line went dead.

Puzzled, Spencer wondered if Ben was all right.

If something happened to Ben, how would she get her passport back? She’d have to deal with the hassle of getting new identification. And who would pay for the honeymoon casita? Who would pay for her plane ticket back to Houston?

She hadn’t understood all the loud, belligerent patois, but it scared her. Was Ben caught up in some dangerous situation he might not get out of alive? Despite herself, she was concerned about him. Not that he deserved her nervous hand wringing or her prayers. Ben Chang could take care of himself. Sighing, Spencer clutched the burner phone, trying to make sense of
Step Three
.

A lambskin envelope with a wax seal featuring some kind of dragon motif? What the hell? What was in the envelope? And how did Ben know it was in John’s casita? How did he know—

“Ms. Edwards …”

Gasping, Spencer shuddered and turned. The resort owner stood in the doorway, staring at her.

“Oh my God!” Spencer pressed a hand against her stomach, afraid it might leap up out of her throat. “Are you trying to scare me to death?”

Wearing nothing but one of those sarongs tied around his waist, John was shirtless, showing off all his muscles, giving her thoughts she didn’t have time to deal with right now, thoughts she couldn’t reconcile. Lust intruded on the irritation and frustration of
Step Three
.

I need you to look for something … it’s hidden somewhere in that casita.

“I’m sorry.” John walked toward her. “I didn’t mean to scare you. I thought—”

“What do you want?”

“I came to check on you,” he said. “I heard you talking. Were you on the phone?”

“What?” she asked and then remembered the burner phone in her hand. Clutching it tighter, she said, “I was trying to call my sister, but I had to leave a message.”

“Are you okay?”

“Not really.” She looked at the floor. “But I will be.”

“I was going to make a little dinner,” he said. “Are you hungry?”

Spencer looked up, shocked to find he’d stepped closer to her—too close, into her personal space. She should step back, she knew. She wasn’t supposed to get too close. “No, I’m all right,” she said. “I just want to try to rest again.”

“Okay, well,” he said, “I’ll be in the kitchen if you need anything.”

When he left, Spencer hurried to the door and locked it. Staring at the door, she struggled to shift her thoughts away from the resort owner and how good it felt being closer to him than she should have been. She had to forget about John right now. She had to focus on the favor she needed to do for Ben. She hadn’t realized she’d completed
Step Two
. Now, Ben expected her to accomplish
Step Three
?

I need you to look for something.

She had to find a damn envelope, which could be anywhere—even in the very room she was standing in.

San Ignacio, Belize

Belizean Banyan Resort – Owner’s Casita

Sitting on the edge of the bed, Spencer checked the time on the burner phone again. Nearly a quarter after midnight. Standing, she paced the length of the room, trying to come up with a game plan for her search.

Moments ago, she’d slipped out of the guest room and crept around the casita, trying to come up with a mental blueprint. Casing the joint, she supposed it was called. The place was massive, but she discovered the maze of rooms was manageable.

She could probably start with the bedrooms tonight. She’d already searched the bedroom she was staying in and had come up with nothing, despite searching every corner and crevice. Spencer rubbed her left temple. There were two more bedrooms on this wing. Around the corner to her right was another wing where the remaining three bedrooms were.

Tomorrow, Spencer planned to see if she might be able to stick around while John went to his office at the administration building. If so, she could check the rest of the house—living room, den, dining room, John’s office, and the master suite, which seemed to be in its own separate wing.

Opening the door to her guest suite, Spencer peeked out into the long, wide hallway, looking left and then right. It was dark, but wall sconces provided just enough light to keep her from tripping over herself. Hurrying across the hall, she went into the second bedroom and quickly searched it, checking the bedside tables, the dresser, and the chest. She opened every drawer and each one was empty. Finally, she checked the closet, but there was nothing but a few empty hangers.

Fighting panic, Spencer went to the third bedroom and followed the same routine. She went through the two nightstands, the dresser, and the bureau drawers. There was a bookshelf in the room, and she searched it, pulling down all the books and flipping through the pages, praying the envelope had been slipped between a copy of
Love in the Time of Cholera
or
The Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde
or the leather-bound
King James Bible
. The bookshelf was a bust.

Spencer went into the closet. More empty hangers and a seven-drawer chest at the back of the closet. She hurried to the bureau. The damn thing was almost as tall as she was. Or, almost as short, she supposed, opening the top drawer. Standing on her toes, she glanced inside. Empty. She closed it and pulled out the next drawer. Nothing. Exhaling in frustration, she pulled out the third drawer, figuring there would be nothing—

She gasped, her heart slamming. There were a dozen or so dolls inside the drawer. Barbie dolls. Some were clothed. Others were nude. A few were half-dressed. And they were all nationalities. White. Asian. Hispanic. Black.

Not so fast, Black Barbie.

The freckle-faced tomboy’s warning faded and was replaced by another memory.

Did you hear me? I told you to cut the light off and go to bed! Why don’t you ever do what I tell you to do! Give me that damn doll!

Trembling, Spencer inched her hand toward the dolls.

San Ignacio, Belize

Belizean Banyan Resort – Owner’s Casita

Sione walked out of his bedroom and into the hallway.

It was well after midnight, and he was tired as hell, but he couldn’t sleep. He couldn’t relax and couldn’t force the events of the day out of his head. The bloody hand in San Pedro battled with Peter’s story about an envelope Moana had told him to hide in his casita. But Ms. Edwards caused the most apprehension.