Flawless Danger (The Spencer & Sione Series Book 1)

by Rachel Woods

  Sione suspected she’d been forced to do another Xanax box delivery. Spencer had been summoned to this house because of Ben Chang. Sione wanted to kill the son of a bitch. He wanted to put his hands around Ben’s neck and squeeze until the bastard’s lungs exploded and he choked to death.

  “She didn’t say anything about who she was going to visit?”

  “She didn’t really say anything,” Raul said, shifting the shuttle to park. “Just thanked me for the ride.”

  “And you don’t have any idea who lives here?”

  Raul shook his head and then said, “I think it’s one of those vacation properties.”

  “I’m going to see if she’s still inside the house.” Sione opened the door and jumped out of the shuttle. Crossing the yard, he walked toward the house, his apprehension mounting as he approached the front door.

  With a deep breath, Sione grabbed the knob and twisted. Pushing the door open, he crossed the threshold. His eyes swept the room, taking in the lumpy sectional and behind that, a dining table and past that, the galley kitchen. At first glance, nothing seemed disturbed or out of order.

  He ventured farther in, passing a reclining chair and a large entertainment shelf. Nothing was broken. There was no glass on the floor and no upended furniture. He saw no signs of struggle or strife. No evidence that anything horrible had happened, or—

  He stopped, his eyes drawn to something on the floor behind the couch.

  Spencer’s purse.

  Apprehensive, he walked to the purse, then reached down, and picked it up. Staring at the expensive bright blue bag, he knew Spencer wouldn’t have dropped it. There was no way she would have left behind a twenty-thousand-dollar purse—unless there was some reason why she hadn’t been able to hold on to it.

  Had she been running from someone? Maybe the Asian man with the green snake tattoo? But that didn’t make sense. Spencer would never have come to this house if she knew that son of a bitch was here waiting for her.

  He didn’t want to think the worse, but it was hard not to imagine that something bad had happened to her.

  Pushing away the worrisome thoughts, Sione turned, his gaze sweeping the kitchen and—

  What was that?

  Sione walked to the kitchen table, his heart racing as he struggled to contend with two separate, but equally disturbing, discoveries.

  The kitchen door was slightly open.

  And a woman’s pink canvas deck shoe lay abandoned, on its side, next to one of the table legs.

  He stared at the shoe, knowing it was Spencer’s. Why the hell was it lying on the floor? Sione glanced at the back door again. Why was it open? Had Spencer run out of that door, desperate to escape someone? Or had she been chased outside?

  Crossing the kitchen to the door, he flung it all the way open and stepped out into the dark, humid night, calling out to Spencer. Over and over, he yelled her name, his voice growing louder until it was a hoarse, demanding plea, begging a response.

  But there was none.

  chapter 98

  San Ignacio, Belize

  Shawville Subdivision

  Sione opened the shuttle door. “You have a flashlight in here?”

  Raul nodded and asked, “Ms. Edwards wasn’t in there?”

  “No, she wasn’t, but I think …” Sione trailed off, remembering the purse and the shoe, trying to control the wave of fear washing over him, threatening to pull him under.

  “Mr. Tuiali’i?” Raul stared at him, wide-eyed, waiting.

  “Listen,” Sione took a breath, forcing himself to keep it together and concentrate. “I’m going to look behind the house. You drive around the block a few times and see if you see her walking down one of the side roads.”

  As the shuttle sped off, Sione headed back to the house, gripping the flashlight. With each step, his rage mounted, and by the time he’d burst through the front door, the anger had damn near consumed him.

  Heading out the back door, Sione splashed the flashlight from left to right, revealing a thin strip of neglected grass that gave way to sparse jungle.

  Worried, but determined, he headed through a slight gap in the bushes. Twigs and limbs cracked and snapped beneath his feet as he moved over the leaves and grass, the shaft of bluish light leading the way down the path stretching before him.

  It was a balmy night, the humidity smothering, suffocating, the breeze lost in the trees. Heart pounding, Sione shined the light down the path, a thin ribbon of dirt through thick trees.

  He didn’t like the idea of Spencer running for her life through the forest. He didn’t like the idea of her running barefoot from whoever the hell had lured her to the small, dilapidated house. Cursing, Sione whipped the flashlight back and forth, peering through the leaves, desperate to find something, anything, to give him a lead or some hope that he would find her.

  Skirting around a group of trees, Sione bandied the flashlight like a sword, ignoring the bugs and gnats buzzing around his face. Spencer wouldn’t have had to run if she had told him what the hell was going on.

  Why didn’t she trust him? When she’d told him about the favor and her indirect connection to Ben Chang, he’d been understanding and supportive. He hadn’t judged her choices; he hadn’t condemned her actions. Didn’t she know he was on her side? Didn’t she realize he wouldn’t let anything bad happen to her? Why wasn’t she convinced? Did she still think he was trying to be a hero? Did she still believe he only wanted to help her so he could feel better about himself?

  He’d thought she’d given up resisting and refusing his efforts to be there for her. If Spencer wasn’t so determined to be independent, she wouldn’t have had to come to this house, scared and alone, thinking she had to face the consequences of her mistakes by herself.

  Sione jogged along the path, slapping away broad leaves, jungle vines, and outstretched branches scratching at his skin.

  He wanted to kill whoever had chased Spencer out into the dark jungle.

  He waited for the murderous thought to shame him, to condemn him for reverting to the sins of his father. The self-recrimination he expected didn’t come. Maybe right now, with Spencer’s life at stake, he needed to be more like Richard. Ruthless. Deadly. With no apology for what he might have to do to anyone who thought they could hurt Spencer and get away with it.

  Moments later, the light caught a flash of something to the right of him through the banana trees ahead. Crashing through bushes, he made his way to the tree and then focused the beam of light on the sliver of pink near the base of the trunk.

  Sione stopped in his tracks, his heart thudding as he reached down and picked up the object.

  Spencer’s other pink deck shoe.

  Galvanized by fears of Spencer alone in the jungle and barefoot, Sione splashed the light from left to right, illuminating trees, branches, and vines.

  Shouting her name, Sione pushed through the dense foliage. He promised himself he would find her. If it meant searching every inch of the Belizean jungle, he would do it. He wouldn’t rest until she was curled up in his arms again.

  chapter 99

  San Ignacio, Belize

  Location Unknown

  Something cold and wet hit Spencer’s face, sloppily slapping across her skin, invading her nostrils, and slipping into her slightly parted lips. Gasping, Spencer swallowed and then coughed as her eyes opened and she sat forward.

  Eyes flickering, she glanced up and then to the right, her head lolling as she struggled to raise it, struggled to figure out what the hell was wrong with her. Why couldn’t she lift her head? Was she drunk? Her chin dropped to her left shoulder, and she opened her eyes wide, forcing herself to concentrate.

  She tried to think but couldn’t remember how. There was nothing in her mind but confusion. Desperate, she tried to remember … something, anything. Her thoughts yielded nothing. Everything was a blank.

  Spencer forced herself to look around. As her gaze adjusted to the dim lighting, the apprehension increased until she trembled
, terrified and dazed. The room around her was small and warm. The air teemed with tropical humidity so thick it was almost tangible. She could feel it hovering over the layer of sweat coating her skin.

  Sparkling dust particles twirled in the rays floating through the window. It wasn’t large but seemed wide enough to crawl through. Instead of curtains, it was draped with spider webs, dotted with small insects and flies encased in gray cocoons to be enjoyed later by the arachnid. Flying insects buzzed and popped as they took off from one wall and landed across the room on the other.

  Beside the mattress, inside the small, hot room was a ten-speed bicycle missing a tire, several cans of paint, and an old-fashioned school desk, its spindly, corroded legs struggling to hold it up.

  She glanced down to her right. The floor was dirt, hard-packed earth, but she wasn’t sitting on the floor. Beneath her, she felt a springy lumpiness and realized she was on a thin mattress. The padded cover was torn and snagged, stained with dark splotches and splatters, reeking of urine, which might have been her own, judging from the dampness she felt between her legs.

  Where the hell was she? And how had she gotten here? How long had she been there? How long had she been knocked out?

  Trying not to choke, Spencer coughed again and tried to breathe as water slid down her forehead, traveling over her cheeks and dripping from her chin onto her wrists. Water trailed into her eye, and she blinked rapidly as her eye began to sting. Vaguely, she was aware that she wanted to rub her eye.

  She started to move her left hand and winced, giving a short, startled cry as pain shot across her left wrist and then surrounded it. What was wrong? Why was there pain in her wrist? Had she broken it? Worried, Spencer glanced down at her left hand.

  Panic joined the confusion. Her left wrist was crossed over her right wrist. Both were tied together, bound too many times to count with thin, braided rope, the straw-like fibers smudged with dirt and possibly grease.

  Staring at her hands, she felt her stomach pitch, and she swallowed hard, praying she wouldn’t get sick from the horror and confusion swirling in her mind, making her dizzy and nauseous.

  Her hands were tied.

  Something scratched her right ankle. Wary, her gaze traveled from the tips of her fingers to her lap, where the fabric of her dress was torn and stained, and then to her bare knees, scraped and scratched, and finally to her ankles. Rope surrounded them.

  Tears threatened, but she pressed her lips together. She couldn’t cry. Now was not the time for tears. She had to figure out what had happened to her. She had to find out why she was tied up. Who had bound her hands and feet? Why—

  The memories came back, abrupt and brutal, like bullets slamming into her brain. She’d been tricked.

  Come see me, sweet girl.

  She’d followed the instructions on the note. She’d been anxious to see Ben, anxious to give him the envelope. His note sent a surge of relief flowing through her. All she wanted to do was give him the envelope so she could get the video he’d used to blackmail her.

  It would be a simple exchange. Then she could go on with her life. Without the evidence of her mistakes hanging over her head, she was free to start her life over. Without the fear of going to prison, she could revisit herself. She was hoping to be the person she’d been before all the mistakes. She wanted to be the woman she’d once been before all the bad decisions.

  After getting out of the shuttle, she’d hurried across the gravel driveway to the house. Ben hadn’t been at the door. An image of the green snake tattoo appeared before her, vivid, standing in relief against tight, sallow skin, and she had the feeling if she stared at it long enough, the green snake would move. Slithering, it would hiss at her, coiling its body and—

  Hands clapped, loud and harsh. “You wake, bitch?”

  Jostled, her heart slamming, Spencer’s eyes widened. Crouched at the end of the mattress, sitting on his heels, Tommy Fong glared at her.

  Spencer screamed.

  chapter 100

  San Ignacio, Belize

  Belizean Banyan Resort - Owner’s Office

  “You wanted to see me.” D.J. walked into Sione’s office and then frowned at him. “What the hell happened to you?”

  Sione exhaled, not surprised by his cousin’s reaction to his appearance.

  He looked like he’d been running through the jungle all night. There were scratches on his face and arms. He hadn’t showered and he was still wearing the same clothes he had on yesterday, the t-shirt and jeans now stained and torn.

  “I was out all night because—”

  “Out all night?” D.J. gaped. “Where? In the middle of the damn jungle?”

  Sighing, Sione said, “Actually, yeah.”

  D.J. looked confused. “What?”

  “I don’t have a lot of time to explain,” Sione said. “Spencer is missing. I need to find her, and I need you to help—”

  “Wait, what?” D.J. interrupted. “Did you just say Spencer is missing?”

  Sione glared at D.J. “Did I stutter? Do you no longer understand English? Spencer is missing, and I need to find her. So I need the information you found on the guy who was eating breakfast with Spencer a few weeks ago. You said he gave her a gift. What was his name?”

  “Why do you think Spencer is missing?” D.J. asked, crossing his arms.

  “Yesterday, she told me she was going to an art show,” Sione said. “But that wasn’t true.”

  “So, she lied to you. Shocking.”

  Sione took a breath, trying to control his emotions. “I’m not jumping to conclusions. Yesterday, Spencer had one of the shuttle drivers drop her off at a house in Shawville. I went to look for her at that house. She wasn’t there, but I found her purse and one of her shoes. The back door was open, and I went outside. I found the other shoe in the jungle behind the house. Somebody had chased her out of the house and into the jungle. I looked for her all night, and I couldn’t find her. Whoever chased her must have taken her. And that is how I know she’s missing.”

  “Maybe that’s not the only explanation,” D.J. said, his skeptical glance just shy of outright disbelief.

  “What other explanation could there be?” Sione said, angry and defensive.

  “Maybe she left on her own.”

  “She wouldn’t do that,” Sione said.

  “Maybe she left because her job here in Belize is done,” D.J. said. “She made her Xanax deliveries—which turned out to be for nothing since all three women she delivered to are dead now.”

  “She didn’t have anything to do with the deaths of those women,” Sione said.

  “But she knows something,” D.J. insisted.

  “Maybe she does,” Sione conceded. “But I can’t focus on that right now. I need to find her. Somebody chased her through the jungle and they caught her. Somebody took her, and I don’t expect you to understand why I want to find her, because you think she’s a lying bitch who’s getting what she deserves because—”

  “Wait, stop. Listen to me,” D.J. said. “Don’t tell me I don’t understand, okay? I know how you feel about her. I don’t like it, but I understand it. You care about her, I get that.”

  Sione pressed a thumb against the center of his forehead, trying to rub out the numbing ache that was starting to throb beneath his skull, an ache spurred by the fear and anger growing inside him.

  “You got any ideas about who took her?”

  “Ben Chang,” Sione said.

  Taking a seat, D.J. said, “You think Chang took her?”

  “He had somebody do it,” Sione said. “Maybe the Asian man with the green snake tattoo or the guy she had coffee with.”

  “William Bermudez.”

  “I have no leads on the Asian guy, but you said you found out where Bermudez was staying,” Sione said. “I need his address. I need to talk to him.”

  “You think Ben told Bermudez to kidnap Spencer?”

  “I think he knows about the kidnapping,” Sione said. “And that son of a bitch
is going to tell me what he knows.”

  chapter 101

  San Ignacio, Belize

  Bullet Tree Village

  Sione jerked the wheel of the Mercedes to the left, turning the German sedan into the driveway of William Bermudez’s rental house.

  Riding shotgun, D.J. grabbed the dashboard, cursing as Sione gunned the engine and sped up the narrow strip of gravel toward the front entrance. Ignoring his cousin’s demands to slow down, Sione braked hard, shifted gears, and then cut the engine. Before D.J. could get his seatbelt off, Sione was out of the car and running to the front door.

  Wrapping his hands around the iron bars barring the door, Sione yanked and pulled, knowing it was no use. He wasn’t getting into the house through the front door or the front windows either. They were barred too.

  “Don’t think he’s around,” D.J. said, stopping next to him. “Come on, let’s go.”

  “Go where?” Sione glared at D.J., pissed that his cousin had refused to give him Bermudez’s address unless Sione agreed to let him tag along.

  “Bermudez is not here,” D.J. said.

  “Just because he didn’t answer the door doesn’t mean he’s not home,” Sione said and, despite D.J.’s protests, he ran around the side of the house, heading down the length of the one-story dwelling toward the backyard. He jumped the chain-link gate and walked across ankle-high grass to a back door. No security bars.

  Stepping back from the door a few feet, he raised his leg and kicked the door. Then he turned sideways and rammed his shoulder into the door. He kicked again. The door groaned and flew backward into the house, banging against a wall. Barreling into the house, Sione yelled out to Bermudez. Then he called Spencer’s name, praying she would answer.

  He heard nothing except his own frustrated curses as he stalked from room to room, searching, hoping to find Bermudez cowering in a corner or maybe knocked out cold because Spencer had hit him over the head and found her way out. There was no sign of Bermudez. No sign of Spencer.