Flawless Danger (The Spencer & Sione #1) (13 page)

“I’m not sure,” Sione said. “Before I do anything, I need to find out who visited her in prison.”

Ask your father.

Ben’s taunt floated in his head, but Sione prayed it wouldn’t get to that point. If at all possible, he wanted to avoid any face-to-face contact with Richard.

San Ignacio, Belize

Angie’s Eco-Adventure’s Cave-O-Rama

Disgruntled and leery, her nerves on edge, Spencer swatted at a mosquito flying near her nose and tried to concentrate as the guide gave an overview of the tour.

Under the bright and hot early morning sun, fourteen tourists from five different hotels gathered in a haphazard circle in front of the tour bus, a large sixty-plus-passenger vehicle painted bright green with colorful caricatures of smiling jungle animals surrounded by rainforest.

They’d just gotten off the bus after a forty-five-minute drive from the heart of San Ignacio and were now being thanked for choosing Angie’s Eco-Adventure’s Cave-O-Rama, which promised the exploration of four different caves in about eight hours with scheduled stops for refreshment and lunch.

Behind her dark Prada sunglasses, Spencer rolled her eyes. She was absolutely not in the mood for cave exploration, but she hadn’t chosen this damn tour.

Just like the tour a few days ago to the Mayan ruins, the cave tour had been the bright idea of Ben, who expected her to use the excursion as a cover for another Xanax box delivery. But unlike the trip to Xunantunich, when she’d been told to leave the pink beach bag on the bus so some strange woman could take it, the plan for the cave tour was slightly different.
Sighing, Spencer swatted another mosquito and forced herself to listen to the tour guide. Enthusiastic and agile, the guide engaged the group warmly, introducing herself and giving them a bit of information about her experiences as a tour guide in Belize, a job she’d been doing for more than ten years.

As the guide went over the safety instructions and made sure everyone was properly clothed—long, loose-fitting pants and shirts, hiking shoes—Spencer’s mind raced. Thoughts scattered, she fixated on one thing, then became obsessed with another, and then dwelled on yet another thing.

Her stomach jumped, thinking about what she had to do, wondering if she would be able to pull it off.
Part One
of the side venture had gone fine, but her success didn’t give her confidence. If anything, she worried her luck would run out. What would happen if she made a stupid mistake? Ben’s instructions had come via the cab driver, and who knew if the sweaty, smarmy fool had relayed them correctly? Just like when she’d been on the Mayan tour, Spencer felt paranoid and figured she was being watched.

“Everybody ready?” the guide said, smiling. “C’mon, let’s go!”

Hot and humid, the sun was too bright, and Spencer was too damn pissed and terrified to care about the series of caves she was about to visit on this particular excursion. She faked as much enthusiasm as she could and headed off with the group into the first cave.

An hour later, Spencer had already had quite enough of stalagmites and stalactites. But the tour was called Cave-O-Rama, and so after a respite of water and a protein bar, they were herded back on the bus and quickly got back on the road.

At the second cave, Spencer followed the guide, who led them on a steep downward slope. Struggling to keep her footing over the uneven cave floor and loose rocks, she felt as though they were headed down into the bowels of the earth. As the light from the opening began to fade and darkness converged, flashlights winked to life, their beams splaying across the cave walls, illuminating what the tour guide said were crystalline formations.

At the third cave, the guide led them along the cave floor, a long, wide stretch of uneven, broken stone formations. Spencer stared up at the stalactites hanging from the ceiling as the guide explained that the cave had been used by the Mayans as a burial site.

As the day wore on, Spencer found herself forgetting her fears and troubles. Her eyes began to adjust more quickly to the gloom. The no-see-ums became less annoying. The tour guide’s overexcitement lost some of its irritation, and she allowed herself to be entertained and informed.

The fourth cave featured vaulted openings, which allowed light to stream in. Spencer cut her flashlight off and kept pace with a group of energetic geriatrics as they crossed a footbridge to the exit. By the time the tour was over, she realized she’d enjoyed it and was looking forward to calling Shady to give her the details.

After the last cave, the bright, colorful tour bus pulled off the road and turned into a rest area. It was a large park operated and maintained by some government tourism association. Gravel pathways snaked between the manicured lawns. There were lots of trees, several corrugated buildings, an information center, a gift shop, and washroom facilities.

Two dozen tourists got off the bus, stretching their legs. Famished and fatigued, they clustered around the tour guide, who corralled everyone toward a large, wide tent under which there were several picnic tables.

The sun was directly overhead, beaming down like a hot, glaring spotlight, but Spencer was glad for the heat and brightness after the shadowy, dark dampness of the caves.

Crowding beneath the welcomed shade, the tourists grabbed paper plates and began to partake of the cold sandwiches, fruit, chips, cookies, and water that were spread out, buffet style, on one of the tables. Spencer’s stomach grumbled.

According to the website, lunch would be provided at the end of the tour, which was when the cab driver had told her to make the delivery. Separating herself from the group, she hurried along the gravel path toward the restroom. In her mind, she rehearsed the instructions.

Go to the restroom. Go to the handicapped stall. An OUT OF ORDER sign will be on the door. Go inside the handicapped stall. There should be a green beach bag on the hook on the door. Take that green bag. Leave your green bag with the money and passports on the hook. Then leave.

Spencer didn’t like the plan. Too many things could go wrong. What about other tourists coming into the restroom? The group was comprised mainly of the very old and the very young. Historically, little kids and geezers had weak bladders and were always rushing to pee. What if someone asked a worker to fix the broken toilet? What if somebody stole the green bag? What if she was spotted going into or coming out of the broken toilet stall?

Spencer slipped behind the door marked LADIES. Inside, it was cool, well lit, and surprisingly clean. More sanitary than she’d expected. Four stalls. Three separate pedestal basins, each with a mirror above it.

After checking to make sure the restroom was empty, she walked to the handicapped stall, saw the “Out of Order” sign, and pushed the door open. Spencer went into the stall, closed the door behind her, locked it, and turned. She stared at the hook.

No green beach bag.
Damn!
Spencer was pissed but not surprised. Hadn’t she known something would go wrong? What the hell was she going to do? She had to think of something. But why should she? Ben didn’t want her to think. He just wanted her to look pretty and do his bidding. She would call him, she decided. Tell him the bag hadn’t been in the handicapped stall and ask him what he wanted her to do.

Resolved, Spencer opened the stall door. A girl stood in front of her, blocking her. Spencer stammered her apologies and then rushed out of the stall, accidentally shoulder-checking the freckled-faced girl as she hurried toward the door.

“Not so fast, black Barbie.”

Black Barbie? Strange images filtered into her mind. A dismembered doll on the floor. Head, arms, and legs ripped from the torso and—

Startled, Spencer pushed the intrusive memory away and then faced the girl, not sure what to think or if she should be offended. “Do I know you?”

“You don’t need to know me,” the young woman said. “All you need to do is follow the instructions Ben Chang gave you.”

Ben Chang. Frowning, Spencer stared at the girl, skeptical. This freckle-faced tomboy knew Ben? This kid with her big blue innocent eyes had some connection to a Jamaican businessman with vague criminal ties? Hard to believe, and somehow, Spencer wasn’t surprised.

Annoyed, and yet relieved to be finished with the second side venture, Spencer removed the green bag from her shoulder. “Guess this is for you,” Spencer said, noticing the slightly darker green bag strapped across the freckle-faced girl’s boyish frame.

Spencer tossed the green bag onto the pedestal basin closest to the handicapped stall, then turned, and headed for the door. Technically, the instructions were to trade beach bags, but she wasn’t in the mood for cloak and dagger foolishness and didn’t think it was necessary to—

“Stop right there,” the tomboy said. “Turn around.”

Apprehensive, Spencer looked over her shoulder at the girl. The blue eyes were no longer innocent, but threatening, and her scowl was a fitting accompaniment to the gun she pointed at Spencer. Stomach twisting, Spencer tried to ignore the jolt of fear slicing through her. Was this woman really pointing a gun at her? This kid, really, with bright yellow nail polish and a cheap silver butterfly ring on her pinky finger was pointing a gun at her.

“Don’t try nothing stupid,” the blonde tomboy said. “You’re a good-looking woman. You don’t want to get shot in the face.”

Shot in the face. The idea terrified Spencer, but it annoyed her too. Was this really her life right now? Had all the bad decisions and stupid mistakes really led her to this moment where she was standing in a bathroom in some Central American country while a woman held a gun on her, threatening to shoot her? The worst part was she had brought all of this on herself. She wouldn’t be in this position if she hadn’t made the stupid mistake of dating Ben.

“Get away from the door,” the tomboy ordered, her voice shaking just like the big, black gun in her small, pale hand. “Go stand in front of the handicapped stall.”

Spencer did as she was told while the tomboy walked backward to the door. Keeping her gaze and her gun on Spencer, she locked the restroom door. The tomboy went to the basin where Spencer had thrown the beach bag, scooped it up, and then threw it down at Spencer’s feet.

“You don’t have to point a gun at me,” Spencer said. “I’m giving you the bag.”

“I need to make sure that bag contains what was promised to me,” the tomboy said. “I need to make sure Ben didn’t decide to cheat me. I don’t trust that bastard.”

“What did he promise you?”

“A chance to stay alive,” the woman said.

Wary, Spencer said, “A chance to stay alive? What does that mean?”

“It means I don’t want to die,” the blonde tomboy said. “So, going with the devil I know is better than taking a chance on the devil I don’t.”

“What is all of this about?” Spencer persisted, irritated by the blonde’s cryptic evasiveness. “Why is Ben giving you this money? Is it payment for something you did for him? Or payment to stay quiet about something?”

“Ben wants me to go against Richard,” the blonde said. “It’s dangerous, but …”

“Who is Richard?” Spencer asked, trying to recall if Ben had ever mentioned the name.

“Richard is the Goddamn devil,” the blonde said. “And when Richard finds out what I’ve done, I’m going to be dead to him. Ben said he could make sure that Richard can’t get to me. Not that I trust Ben, because I don’t. Ben is not really trying to save my ass, he’s trying to get back at Richard.”

“Why is Ben trying to get back at Richard?” Spencer asked.

The blonde frowned, suspicion in her blue eyes. Spencer wasn’t sure if the tomboy was wary of her questions or skeptical about her own rambling, maybe realizing she’d said more than she should have or more than she’d wanted to.

“No more questions,” the blonde said. “Open the bag. Slowly. And then dump everything out of the box. Put everything on the floor where I can see it.”

Spencer complied, removing five stacks of money and a passport. Crouching, she arranged everything on the floor, in a line, for the tomboy’s inspection.

“So, did he keep his promise?” Spencer asked and then stood.

“Seems he did,” the tomboy said. “But …”

“But …?”

“What’s the name on the passport?”

Spencer bent down, grabbed the passport, and opened it. “Helen Johnson.”

“Helen?” the tomboy made a face, her blue eyes troubled, wistful.

She seemed very young and naïve, as if she should be in some frilly pink bedroom gossiping about boys while she did her nails, not holding a gun and complaining about the name on a fake passport.

How the hell had she gotten mixed up with Ben Chang? Had she made a stupid mistake and ended up indebted to him, forced to do a favor, or something even worse?

“You don’t like the name Helen?”

“It’s kind of old-fashioned.” The tomboy who was soon to become Helen Johnson shrugged. “Guess it really doesn’t matter though.”

Except, Spencer suspected, it did matter, more than the tomboy would ever admit. It wasn’t that she didn’t like the name Helen. She didn’t want to be Helen Johnson.

“So, now what?” Spencer asked, anxious to see if she was right about the reason behind the tomboy’s hesitation. “You’re just going to become Helen Johnson? You’re just going to leave who you really are behind? How can you do that? How can you just give up yourself and become someone else?”

“I have no choice.” The tomboy scowled and then dropped to one knee in front of the money. “Can’t get on the bad side of Ben Chang. That’s a dangerous place to be. Not going to end up like Livvie.”

“Livvie?” Spencer asked. “Who is that?”
 

“Olivia Eastman,” the tomboy said. “We worked together.”

“Where?”

“Place called Kwik Kash.”

“Kwik Kash,” Spencer said, familiar with the company. “Ben owns that, right?”

Nodding, the blonde said, “Yeah. Well, he did. But it burned down. The cops said Livvie did it. Supposedly, she stole a bunch of money from the Kwik Kash safe then set the place on fire to cover up the crime and accidentally got trapped in the building and burned herself alive, but that’s not true.”