Flawless Danger (The Spencer & Sione #1) (22 page)

Rolling across the duvet, he heard more glass bursting as Spencer screamed against his chest, and momentum carried them over the side of the bed. Sione broke the fall as they crashed against the hardwood floor and then quickly moved on top of her, shielding her with his body as more glass popped and shattered.

More gunshots rang out. Sione lifted his head. Panes from the window above them exploded. Glass shards and chunks smashed around them, crashing against the hardwood floor. Sione winced as shards pierced his elbow and forearm.

Beneath him, Ms. Edwards squirmed and gasped, one arm slipping around his back while the other moved between their bodies, her hand trailing along his abs and up to his chest. He couldn’t ignore the arousal racing through him, filling his blood with feverish heat, but he fought the lust. Rationally, he knew this was neither the time nor the place for romance, but his body couldn’t help but respond to her luscious curves. Lifting his head, he realized how close they were, their bodies flush against each other and their mouths inches away.

“Get the hell off me!” She slapped him. “What the hell is your damn problem!”

“What the hell is my damn problem?” He stared at her, confused, his jaw stinging. “Did you not see that son of a bitch shooting at us?”

“Yes, I saw him shooting at us. I’m not blind!” She scowled at him. “But I didn’t expect you to tackle me like some linebacker on steroids!”

“Linebacker on steroids?”

“Get off me!” She pushed at his chest.

She really was a beautiful woman, he thought, as he gazed at her, even though she was being ungrateful.

“No.” He shook his head. “Not yet.”

“What? Did you say no?” She stared at him. “You’re not going to get off me?”

“Not until I make sure it’s safe for you to get up without being shot to death.”

“Do you hear any more bullets?” she asked. “He’s gone.”

Hesitating, Sione listened for a moment. Silence filled the room. The smell of smoke and gunpowder floated through the air-conditioned atmosphere.

“You let him get away,” Spencer said.

“I let him get away?” He stared at her. “I stopped him from killing you. I saved your life, Ms. Edwards.”

“What do you want, a gold star?” she asked. “Get off me!”

Sione liked the position they were in just fine, but an erection wouldn’t be appreciated, and considering the circumstances, it was inappropriate. Reluctantly, he rolled over onto his hip and then rose to his knees. Taking a deep breath, Spencer sat up.

“Are you all right?” He stood and then stepped back, giving her room. “Are you hurt?”

Fiddling with her hair, finger combing the loose strands back into a twist at the nape of her neck, she glared at him. “Am I all right? Are you serious? What the hell do you think?”

Sighing, Sione offered a hand to help her up. Refusing it, she staggered to her feet and sank down on the edge of the bed. She shook her head, then shuddered, and leaned forward, bracing her hands on her knees.

“I was just trying to get you out of the way,” he said, worried, wondering if he had accidentally hurt her. “I didn’t mean to be rough. I just didn’t want you to get killed. But forgive me. Next time, I’ll just stand there and let you get shot at.”

She cut her eyes to him. “Next time, instead of trying to save the day, why don’t you make sure the bad guy doesn’t get away. Some damn hero you are. This is the second time you let that guy get away!”

Her admonishment pissed him off. It wasn’t because of the ungrateful attitude, but because what she’d said was true. He wasn’t a hero. Even when he tried, he messed it up.

“I don’t understand,” she said. “You beat the guy like he stole something. He was down for the count, but instead of covering him while I called the cops, which is what I was about to do—”

“You didn’t look like you were about to call the cops,” he said. “You looked like you were about to have a damn nervous breakdown.”

“—you decide to ask me if I was okay?”

“Excuse me for giving a damn!”

“It was obvious I wasn’t okay,” she said. “That asshole was about to hit me in the face with a gun when you pulled him off me—”

“You’re welcome,” he said.

Exhaling, she said, “You think saving my life makes up for the fact that you let a murderer get away?”

“Murderer?” He frowned, his pulse jumping. “What are you talking about?”

“I’m talking about Maxine Porter,” she said, her aggressive façade starting to crack, threatening to shatter as tears filled her eyes. “I think he killed her and you let him get away!”

San Pedro, Belize

Estrella Estates

Sitting on the edge of the bed, Spencer alternated from looking down at her canvas shoes to glancing, every now and then, over toward John.

Standing in the short hall between the bedroom and the bathroom, he looked down at the bloody hand on the floor. Spencer wondered what he was thinking. Wondered when he would call the damn cops. Wondered most of all if he believed the lie she’d told him about why she’d come to see Maxine.

His hazel eyes had been expressionless when she’d explained her reason for being at the condo. She couldn’t tell if he was buying what she was selling, but Rae had always told her to get her story straight and then stick to it. Never deviate from your lie, her older sister had told her. Never admit to anything. Deny, deny, deny.

Spencer took a deep breath as the day’s horrible events looped in her mind again from the call from Maxine to the nauseating ride on the ferry to discovering the bloody hand, which had probably been severed from Maxine Porter’s dead body, which her killer had probably buried somewhere.

The severed hand had shocked and traumatized her. Tommy Fong’s attack had terrorized her.

For some reason, what really stuck in Spencer’s mind was John. He hadn’t explained what the hell he was doing at Maxine’s condo or how he’d known Spencer would be there. His evasiveness worried her. She had a feeling he had suspicions of her, but she didn’t want to jump to any conclusions. She didn’t think John knew about the boxes of prescription medications or the money inside them. How could he? Unless he’d opened one of the Xanax boxes. She glanced at John again.

He was crouched next to the hand, peering intently. What the hell was he looking at? Or was he looking for something? Clues? Why would he need to look for clues? She’d told him who had killed Maxine Porter and then cut her hand off. Tommy Fong. The man he’d let get away.

Spencer had responded to John’s “heroic” actions with baleful histrionics, but only because she hadn’t wanted him to know the truth. When he’d grabbed her and wrapped his arms around her, she’d felt like the wind had been knocked from her, but not in the awful way that left you feeling sick and gasping for air. She’d felt dizzy and breathless, as though a surge of adrenaline and dopamine had shot through her, as if she was plunging head first into something hypnotic and exciting.

Crazy, foolish thoughts, she knew. They were still swirling in her mind, making it hard to concentrate on the current situation, which was the severed hand in the closet. Not even a gruesome dismemberment and a dangerous fugitive could steal Spencer’s attention from the memories.

She and John had rolled across the bed, swirling and tumbling. After a quick drop to the floor, she’d landed on top of him. Before Spencer had a second to enjoy it, he’d switched their positions and covered her body with his. It had been hard not to wrap her arms around his neck and her legs around his waist. He was heavy on top of her, but in the best possible way, and she was even more aware of how muscular he was.

Everything about him was huge and hard. She’d had irrational, irresponsible thoughts in those moments. It was crazy, but she’d wanted him to make love to her—right there on the floor in the three feet of space between the bed and the window. And she hadn’t cared about Maxine’s severed hand in the closet or Tommy Fong shooting at them.

Massaging the spot between her eyes, Spencer told herself to focus. Now was not the time for romance. John was going to call the police, and she needed to think of what she would tell the San Pedro cops. It wouldn’t be the truth, but it would be her story, and she planned to stick to it.

San Pedro, Belize

Estrella Estates

“Ms. Edwards, this is my cousin,” John said. “David Jones.”

Spencer said, “hi,”, but she didn’t extend a hand.

John’s cousin had his arms folded and didn’t look as though he thought she was good enough for him to uncross them. Tall and imposing, David Jones had the same body type as the resort owner. Vaguely, Spencer wondered if having lots of muscles was some genetic trait in John’s family. His cousin seemed to be an alternate version of him, one dipped in dark chocolate instead of caramel.

“He works in security,” John said.

Spencer nodded, but she was completely confused. Why hadn’t John called the cops? What was his security guard cousin supposed to do?

Moments ago, she’d seen John walk into the closet, disappearing from her view, and when he’d walked out, he’d been on the phone. Spencer had assumed he was talking to the police. She tried to calm down and mentally prepare herself to tell her story to the cops as convincingly as possible with a straight face. Minutes later, there was a knock at the door, and John went to answer it.

Spencer had stood up and paced across the bedroom a few times, trying to calm her nerves. Turned out, she shouldn’t have bothered. The guy who’d walked into the room wasn’t a uniformed deputy.

As David looked her up and down, there was a faint smile on his face, but she couldn’t tell if he appreciated her looks or not. His dark gaze had lingered a bit on her breasts, but he didn’t make her feel sexy, the way John did. Instead, David looked at her as though he knew some secret she was hiding, which made her think of the box she’d delivered to Maxine Porter a few days ago. She wondered if John had found out about the money and passports.

“So, Ms. Edwards,” David said. “Why don’t you tell me what happened here today.”

“I don’t understand,” she said and then glanced at John.

“What don’t you understand?” David asked.

“I don’t understand why I have to tell you anything,” she said, her voice shrill. “John, I thought you were going to call the police.”

David frowned. “Who is John?”

“I’m John,” the resort owner told his cousin.

“You’re John?” David gave John a strange look. “Since when?”

“It’s a long story,” John said, looking a bit embarrassed and uncomfortable. “Anyway, Ms. Edwards, David is a private investigator. So, I thought maybe he could help us with the situation.”

“Why do we need help with the situation?” Spencer asked, suddenly wary. “We just need to explain the situation to the police.”

The cousins glanced at each other, exchanging a look. Spencer was beginning to think they didn’t want to call the police. She was thinking their reluctance to get the cops involved had something to do with the reason why John had shown up at Maxine’s condo just in time to save her from Tommy Fong. Again, she went back to wondering if John knew about the money and passports.

“Do you know who lives in this condo?”

“A woman named Maxine Porter.”

“She a friend of yours?” David asked.

“We’re not friends,” Spencer said. “I met her a few days ago at a boutique on Front Street. She works there as a sales assistant.”

“You’re not friends but you came all the way from San Ignacio to San Pedro to visit her?” David asked.

“I wasn’t coming to visit her,” Spencer said. “I accidentally left my driver’s license in the store, and she called me and told me I could come and get it from her.”

“Really?” David cocked his head, eyes narrowed. “So, you left your identification at the store, but she wanted you to come to her condo to get it? Strange.”

“Well, she wasn’t working today,” Spencer improvised, trying to keep her tone even and casual. “And she knew I needed my identification, so she offered to let me come and pick it up from her condo, which I think was actually nice of her and not strange at all.”

“Strange that she took your identification from the store,” David said, glaring down at her. “Most times, when customers accidentally leave their IDs or credit cards at a store, the employees will lock those items in a safe, or some other secure place, until the customers come back for them.”

Spencer shrugged, trying to think of something plausible. “Well, I don’t know why she took my ID home with her. Maybe she accidentally did that. All I know is, I wanted my driver’s license, so I told her I would come to her condo and get it.”

“And when you got here, did she give you the driver’s license?”

Spencer looked up at David. “When I got here, she wasn’t here.”

“Then how did you get into the condo?”

“The door was unlocked,” Spencer said and then sat on the edge of the bed.

“And you just walked in?” David asked.

“I knocked first, but she didn’t answer,” Spencer said. “So I decided to come inside and leave her a note.”

“Where is the note?”

“I didn’t get a chance to write it,” she said, frustrated by his questions, afraid her answers sounded like farfetched lies. “I found the bloody hand, and …”

“So I’m assuming there’s nobody who can corroborate your story?”

“It’s not a story, it’s the truth,” Spencer said. “And I don’t need anybody to corroborate it.”

“Can you prove that the hand you saw on the floor was severed from its body when you arrived at the condo?” David asked.

“Wait a minute,” Spencer glared at John’s cousin, her heart slamming. “Do you actually think I killed Maxine and cut her hand off?”

“No, he doesn’t think that,” John said. “He’s just—”

“I’m just trying to figure out what happened,” David said. “It’s entirely possible that Ms. Edwards arrived at the condo and she and Maxine Porter had an altercation of some kind and Ms. Edwards killed Ms. Porter and then—”

“Go to hell!” Spencer told him.

“The cops are going to ask you the same questions,” David said. “And if you get that defensive attitude with them—”