Flawless Danger (The Spencer & Sione #1) (43 page)

“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.”

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.

“You can’t stay here,” D.J. said, stalking into the kitchen. “You don’t know if Bermudez is coming back. You don’t know if he’s still staying at this place.”

“There are dirty dishes in the sink,” Sione said, pointing at a plate littered with crumbs. “And there’s food in the refrigerator. He’s coming back, and I’m going to be waiting for him.”

D.J. shook his head. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“I don’t care what you think,” Sione said. “I am not leaving, but you can go. I don’t need you to stay here and keep me company. Didn’t even want you to come in the first place.”

“So now you don’t need my help anymore?”

“I know you don’t want to be here,” Sione said. “You think I’m wasting my time looking for her. You think she snuck away in the middle of the night because whatever scam she pulled is over and she’s moving on to the next dumb asshole stupid enough to believe her lies.”

Exhaling, D.J. said nothing, but he didn’t have to. His disapproving scowl said it all, loud and clear.

“Spencer didn’t leave because she wanted to,” Sione said. “Somebody took her, and I know Ben is the reason she’s gone. He probably told Bermudez to grab her.”

“Grab her for what?” D.J. asked, frowning. “You keep saying Ben took her. Why would he do that?”

“Because that’s what Ben does to women,” Sione said. “He uses them and then he discards them.”

“So, Ben told Spencer to make the Xanax box deliveries, which she did,” D.J. said. “And now he wants to get rid of her because she did what he told her to do? That doesn’t make sense.”

“You think Spencer knows something about the deaths of Maxine Porter, Karen Nelson, and Carla Garcia,” Sione said. “Well, maybe Ben thinks so, too. Maybe Ben doesn’t want Spencer to tell the cops what she knows about the murders because she knows those women are dead because of Ben.”

It wasn’t an outright lie, Sione told himself. Maxine Porter, Karen Nelson, and Carla Garcia had been killed because of the deal they’d made with Ben. Technically, Ben bore some responsibility because he’d convinced the women to go against Richard. A stupid mistake that had cost them their lives.

What he’d told his cousin wasn’t too damn far from the truth, but he couldn’t tell D.J. anything about Moana.

How could he explain that Moana hadn’t died in some prison fight? How could he explain that Moana’s demise had been orchestrated by Richard, who’d helped her fake her death so she could get out of jail and kill for him? A claim Sione still found hard to accept and damn near impossible to believe.

“I think Ben wants to get rid of Spencer so she won’t go to the police.”

“All right, fine,” D.J. said. “Give me the address to the house in Shawville. I’ll go back there and take a look around. Maybe I can find something that might give us an idea of where she is.”

San Ignacio, Belize

Location Unknown

Night descended. Thick blackness poured into the small, hot room, filling every corner and crevice. Not even a sliver of light from the moon managed to make its way through the window. The darkness converged on Spencer, as though it had swallowed her whole. Painful memories contaminated her mind.

Spencer felt like she was seven years old again, alone in the dark apartment, scared, sad, and confused. After her mother had left her, the sound of the door slamming ricocheted in her head, terrifying and confusing. She didn’t understand why her mother had left. She had been afraid something bad had happened to her mother.

Bugs chirped and buzzed, whizzing by her face. She whipped her head left and right, unable to swat them away. Insects landed on her skin, and she was forced to jerk and twitch to get the unseen bugs off her. The smell of damp earth and stale urine assaulted her nostrils. Night sounds abounded, a swelling chorus of rustling, scurrying, and scampering.

She closed her eyes and drew her knees up to her chest, praying through her tears that she would be rescued, even if maybe she didn’t deserve to be saved—even if this was her punishment for all her mistakes. She prayed she wouldn’t die, alone and abandoned, in the small, hot room.

Terrorized, she imagined her dead body would be left behind by Tommy Fong and soon forgotten, left for the vultures that would pick at her skin and muscle until she was nothing but bones. A skeleton bleached by the sun, she would be found years after her death, accidentally stumbled upon by tourists. Her remains would go unidentified, while miles away, her sisters would always wonder what had happened to her. Rae and Shady would hold out hope for her return and yet know in their hearts that they would never see her again.

Leaning her head against the wall behind her, Spencer sobbed bitterly, vehemently.

She would have faded from John’s memory. He would have moved on. He would have found a woman to be Mrs. Tuiali’i and had children with her. Spencer would never cross his mind. He would have given up trying to figure out what had happened to her.

Had he already given up, Spencer wondered.

By now, John had to know she was missing. She hadn’t come home from the art show. Did he suspect something bad had happened? Or did he think she was some criminal who’d had to flee Belize because she’d learned the cops were on her trail?

Shivering, despite the humidity, Spencer thought back to the day when she’d first met John. He’d beat up Tommy Fong for her, and he hadn’t even known her. He had fought for her. No other man had ever done that before.

John had been willing to fight her battles, even though he hadn’t known if she was worth the trouble or not. He was the kind of guy girls dreamed of meeting but never did. Not just tall and good-looking, but brave and compassionate, a man who did keep his promises, it turned out.

John was the kind of guy she might actually become “that wife” for.

San Ignacio, Belize

Location Unknown

“Where your boyfriend, bitch?” Tommy Fong teased, goading her. “Why he not come to save you yet?”

Dawn had broken as night slowly faded away, leaving behind a pall of gloom. Spencer realized she must have slept despite the insects, the darkness, and the cacophony of buzzing and scurrying.

Opening her eyes, Spencer stared at Fong. He stood near the door, holding a large plastic bowl in one hand and a bottle of water in the other. He walked to the mattress, crouched down, and then sat in the dirt, legs folded. Shrinking away from him, Spencer eyed the contents of the bowl.

Fruit. Chunks of pineapple mixed with slices of banana. Her stomach responded, growling. When was the last time she’d eaten? She didn’t really remember. She didn’t even know how long she’d been in the small, hot room. Two days? Three? Forever?

Fong twisted the cap off the bottle of water and held the opening toward her. “Drink.”

Spencer turned her face away, though she was thirsty and her mouth dry. She didn’t trust him and was surprised by, and suspicious of, his gesture. How could a man who’d beat her to within an inch of her life offer her water to quench her thirst? And how could she accept after his brutal cruelty?

Still, she parted her lips and allowed the lukewarm water to stream into her mouth. After she drank half the bottle, Fong took it away, replaced the cap, and set the bottle next to the mattress. He picked up the bowl of fruit.

“I’m not hungry,” she said, having already decided she would refuse the food despite her stomach’s rumblings. It could be spoiled or contaminated, teeming with some microscopic bug. Last thing she needed was a case of the runs.

“You got to eat, bitch,” he said, spearing a piece of pineapple with a plastic fork he pulled from the pocket of his dirty, weather-beaten jeans. “You cannot starve to death. You no good dead.”

“What are you talking about?” She stared at him, cautioning herself against any rising hopes. His words seemed to suggest he needed to keep her alive for some reason. But she had doubts. He could be lying. He might still kill her. “What do you mean I’m no good if I’m dead?”

“Eat,” he insisted, thrusting the pineapple toward her mouth.

Wary, Spencer opened her mouth and clamped her teeth down on the chunk of fruit, pulled it from the plastic tines, and chewed. After she swallowed, she asked, “Why did you kidnap me?”

“No questions.” He stabbed a slice of banana and then held it inches from her mouth. “Eat.”

She accepted the banana, chewed, swallowed, and then asked, “Did Ben tell you to kidnap me?”

“Not Ben,” Fong grunted.

“It wasn’t Ben?” Spencer stared at him, her pulse jumping. “Then who the hell was it? Who told you to—”

“Richard,” Fong said. “He the Goddamn devil.”

Spencer stared at him, a strange jolt slicing through her.

Richard.
She knew the “Goddamn devil” Fong was talking about. Maxine Porter and the blonde tomboy had told her about him. As far as Spencer knew, Richard had no idea who she was.

“Why did Richard tell you to kidnap me?”

“Richard give Ben an order,” Fong continued. “Ben do not want to follow the order, so Richard got to make him mind. Ben have to learn to be obedient. Richard teach him.”

“How?”

“No more questions.”

“Tell me,” Spencer said, moving her head when he tried to feed her another pineapple chunk. “How is Richard going to teach Ben to be obedient?”

“Richard take away something very important to Ben,” Fong said. “Something Ben care about very much.”

“That’s why you broke into Ben’s house that night,” Spencer said, remembering what Ben had told her.

Tommy Fong just glared at her.
 

Persistent, her heart slamming, Spencer asked, “What were you trying to take from Ben that night?”

“You.”

San Ignacio, Belize

Bullet Tree Village

Sione woke to a voice he wished wasn’t so familiar, a voice he could never forget.

Yesterday, after D.J. left, he’d holed up in a bedroom at the back of the house and waited. Time passed and night fell. Sione dozed but couldn’t really rest. He was too agitated, too angry and apprehensive to sleep.

He couldn’t really sleep without Spencer, anyway. He wasn’t sure how he’d gotten to the point where he couldn’t close his eyes unless she was in his arms, but he was there. And he didn’t want to leave, didn’t want things to change.

Rubbing his face, Sione blinked, then rose slowly from the chair, and walked to the bedroom door. Opening it a crack, he listened. Voices raised in anger and confusion. One of the voices was unfamiliar but was probably Bermudez. The other voice belonged to a man he would always despise.