Flawless Danger (The Spencer & Sione #1) (3 page)

But there would be no zip-lining through the jungle for her.
 

Spencer’s next move was to check into the Belizean Banyan Resort in San Ignacio, part of
Step One
, Ben had explained. The favor was comprised of several steps. After she completed a step, Ben would tell her the next step. This pattern would continue until the last step, which would be the satisfaction of the debt she owed.

An hour or so later, the driver turned into the town of San Ignacio. As he navigated the narrow, dusty streets, they passed various stores and businesses, most of them in states of disrepair, giving the place a sheen of squalor that Spencer found both deplorable and charming.

Along the crumbling, concrete road, listless dogs meandered aimlessly, while locals loitered in the doorways of restaurants and bars that had seen better days.

After coming much too close to a group of backpacking tourists hiking down the shoulder, the driver turned the cab onto a side road and sped along the ribbon of gravel cut through large trees with broad leaves.

The road ended, and the resort came into view.

Beyond a large clearing of manicured grass, dotted with short Sego palms, was a palatial building in the style of a Caribbean colonial mansion. Peach-colored with white shuttered windows and white trim, it was surrounded by tropical jungle vegetation and highlighted by golden sunshine.

The driver headed toward the circular cobblestone driveway, then stopped under the portico near the entrance, and shifted into PARK, allowing the cab to idle.

“We’re here, ma’am.”
 

“Miss,” Spencer snapped, correcting his mistake.

“What?”

“I’m not a ma’am.” She rolled her eyes, opening her purse to get her wallet, already deciding she wasn’t giving him a tip. “I’m only twenty-three years old, which means you are to call me miss.”

“Sorry about that.”
 

“I doubt very seriously that you’re truly sorry, but whatever.” She gave him a dismissive wave. “How much do I owe you?”

“You don’t owe me nothing,” he said and then added, “Bitch.”

Startled and confused, Spencer jerked her head up. Glaring at the driver, a middle-aged man with sagging, copper-colored skin, dark bushy hair, and a mole on the tip of his nose, she asked, “What the hell did you just say?”

“Cab was paid for in advance, and this is for you.” He turned and tossed something at her. “On behalf of Ben Chang, welcome to Belize.”

Cursing, she fumbled the small black, hard object as it fell into her lap. A cell phone. She grabbed the cell phone, stared at it, and then looked at him. “What is this?”

“Burner phone,” he grunted. “Can’t be traced. And here’s the charger.”

Another small black object sailed over the seat, this one with an electrical cord extending from the bottom of it.

“Ben Chang told you to give this to me?” she asked, heart punching as she shoved the charger into her purse. “You know Ben?”

“I work for Mr. Chang,” the driver said. “He’s gonna call you on that phone. Make sure it stays on. Keep it charged.”

“Do you know anything about this favor he wants me to do?”

“Don’t know and don’t care,” he grumbled. “Give me your passport.”

“Give you my passport?” She glowered at him. “Are you crazy? What do you want my passport for?”

“I don’t want your damn passport,” he said. “Mr. Chang wants your passport.”

“I’m not giving you my passport.”

Cursing, the cab driver reached over the seat. Confused, Spencer shrank away from his arm, revolted by the excessive hair covering the short, stubby limb. With a snarling grunt, he grabbed the bright blue Hermes Birkin bag given to her by Rae—who’d lifted three from the closet of a “date” whose wife had about ten or twelve—and then swung it over the seat and onto his lap.

Spencer gaped at him, his audacity delaying her response for a moment before she sputtered, “What the hell are you doing?”

“I’m getting your passport.”

Rising up, Spencer leaned over the seat, desperate to get the Birkin back. “Get out of my damn purse! Crazy asshole!”

The cab driver pushed her off him. She fell against the backseat, horrified as he shoved a grimy hand into the Birkin. Rooting around in her purse, he took out her passport and then threw the purse over the seat at her. The Birkin hit her in the face.

Shrieking, Spencer tried to grab the purse as it bounced across the backseat. Grabbing the Birkin before it fell to the dirty, mud-caked floor mat, Spencer held it close to her, cradling it. “You son of a bitch! This is a fifteen-thousand-dollar purse and you pawed it with your filthy, disgusting hands!”

“Get the hell out of my cab,” he said, turning away, facing the windshield.

Spencer wanted to take the Birkin and bash him over the head with it, but she didn’t want to insult the purse. She forced herself to bury the anger and irritation churning within her. Why waste her rage on this jerk? Wouldn’t it be better to wait and let all her ire build so she could unleash it on the person who deserved it most—Ben Chang?

Who the hell did Ben think he was? Why would he have this jackass steal her passport? Without it, she was pretty much trapped in the country. And, she supposed Ben had planned it that way. Ben wasn’t going to let her leave Belize until he was good and damn ready for her to go.

Glaring at the cab driver, Spencer got out of the cab, yanking her purse and her two Louis Vuitton suitcases behind her. She had barely closed the sliding door before the man sped off, tires screeching, leaving a noxious cloud of thick, black exhaust billowing up around her. Trembling with anger, Spencer coughed, waving her hand in front of her face.

Straightening the bun she’d pulled her hair back into this morning, Spencer turned and headed into the resort, ready to get on with
Step One
.

San Ignacio, Belize
Belizean Banyan Resort – Manager’s Office

Sitting in his office, Sione Tuiali’i rubbed his jaw and stared at the stack of invoices he still needed to approve. He couldn’t seem to concentrate on the invoices today. He’d been unfocused yesterday, too. The day before that, it had taken him all day to finish signing the payroll checks, a mundane task that usually took about an hour.

For too long, Sione had been ill at ease and jittery, and as much as he hated to admit it, he was wary because of the night he’d spent with a beautiful random hookup. He wasn’t proud of ending up in bed with another anonymous stranger. But he didn’t want to overanalyze.

Critical self-inspection usually forced him to confront truths he didn’t want to acknowledge. Specifically, that he was using sex as a coping mechanism for his relationship woes.

He hadn’t been looking for sex with a random girl when he’d gone out drinking with his cousins several weeks ago. That night, he’d met a girl named Kelsey Thomas who had blatantly let him know she was down for whatever, and so he’d indulged.

Another night of sex with no consequences.

Except there had been consequences.

A specific consequence named Benjamin Chang. The random hookup hadn’t been random at all. The hot chick who’d come on strong had been instructed by Ben to get close to him.

Sione still didn’t know why.

His attempts to get answers from Ben had ended in a violent confrontation. Whenever he was around Ben, which was rare, a lot of crazy stuff was in his head. Disgust, hatred, apprehension, and even a strange, worrisome regret.

Despite everything, Ben was like a brother to him. His uncle had once told him that he and Ben were like Cain and Abel. But who was Cain? And who was Abel? Whose blood would end up crying out from the ground?

The night he’d confronted Ben about Kelsey Thomas, Ben hadn’t given him answers, but he had told him where to find them.

Ask your father.

Sione wasn’t really surprised Richard Tuiali’i was behind the curtain, pulling the strings. Apparently, his father was looking for something, and that something was in Sione’s casita.

Ask your father.

Sione didn’t want to. Any contact with Richard was always risky.

Since their knockdown drag out weeks ago, Sione hadn’t heard from Ben. Kelsey’s botched attempt to find whatever Richard was looking for might have forced Ben and his father to retreat. But retreat was not a concession of defeat. Sione knew better than that. Richard was relentless when he wanted something.

And what his father wanted had to be important because Richard was never indirect or subtle. His father was all about getting what he wanted through violence and intimidation—a knife to the throat or the barrel of a revolver shoved into the mouth. The fact that his father would order Ben to find some pawn to do his dirty work was proof Richard was searching for something significant, which worried Sione.

The desk phone chimed. Relieved to be distracted, Sione was quick to press the speaker button.
 

“Uh, boss ... I need you, like, right now,” whispered Analee, the Front Desk Assistant on duty, more than a hint of panic in her tone. “It’s an emergency.”

“What’s the problem?”
 

“Irate guest.”

“Where’s Lenora?” he asked, thinking he would let his assistant manager deal with the irate guest.
 

“She had that meeting with the event planner from the bank about the convention next weekend, remember?”

Slightly irritated, Sione asked, “What’s the name?”

“Edwards.” Analee said. “First name, Spencer.”

Sione accessed the reservation information and scanned the details. “So, what’s the problem?”

“She claims she didn’t book the honeymoon casita,” Analee said. “She says she booked a regular casita and that’s what she wants, but we don’t have any regular casitas available.”

Exhaling, Sione rubbed the spot between his eyebrows.
 

“I’m giving you fair warning, boss,” Analee said. “She’s a real bitch-and-a-half.”

Minutes later, Sione walked out of his office and headed for the lobby. Once there, he strode to the front desk and asked Analee, “Where’s the lady I need to talk to about the honeymoon casita?”
 

“She’s over there.” Analee pointed across the lobby to a cluster of couches near the wall of French doors facing the back loggia, which overlooked the pool area.

Perched on the edge of a couch was the irate guest, Spencer Edwards. Ms. Edwards had her back to him, but from the stiff, rigid posture and the dark hair pulled back into a severe bun, he had a feeling the woman would be a handful. Reluctant, he took a breath and started toward her.

San Ignacio, Belize

Belizean Banyan Resort - Lobby

“Ms. Edwards?”

Behind Spencer, a nice, deep baritone floated out and wrapped around her, shaking her in a way that was slightly arousing, but she ignored the feeling.

The manager, probably, hopefully. Anxious and wondering if she could really pull off
Step One
, Spencer stood. Turning, she found herself staring up at one of the best-looking men she’d ever seen in her life, maybe the best-looking guy she’d ever seen. No, no, she wouldn’t give him that much credit, but still … he was damn good-looking, and she was flustered, disoriented, and struggling to remember why she’d demanded to see him in the first place.

“Ms. Edwards?”

“Huh,” she said, chagrined at how whispery she sounded.

“I’m Sione Tuiali’i,” he said. “I’m the owner and manager. How can I help you?”

“Well.” She took a breath and tried not to look directly into his eyes, which were hazel and entirely too intoxicating. “You could start by giving me the regular casita I requested, not the honeymoon casita.”

“I’m sorry we misunderstood your reservation.” He gave her an appropriately apologetic look. “But the honeymoon casita is very beautiful.”

“I’m not married.” She held up her left hand, pointing at the ring finger, where there was no ring. “Why would I book the honeymoon casita when I’m not on my honeymoon?”

“Listen, how about this?” he said. “Why don’t I let you take a look at the honeymoon casita? I’m sure you’ll like it. It’s more luxurious than a regular casita.”

He gave her a smile, an enticing curve of full lips, and for some reason, she felt at ease and entranced but still a little wary.

She could tell she was becoming intrigued, but there was no time for infatuation. Not that she was really infatuated, because she wasn’t. Her breathless nervousness had nothing to do with the resort manager’s mesmerizing hazel eyes, or how tall and muscular he was, or the low timbre of his voice, which was giving her an unmistakable shiver in a very unmistakable place.

Mr. Tuiali’i was nice to look at, but she didn’t have the time, or inclination, to drool over a good-looking man.

“Ms. Edwards?”

“How about this,” Spencer countered, clearing her throat. “I’ll see what I think of the honeymoon casita, and if I like it, you can give me a reduced rate.”

San Ignacio, Belize

Belizean Banyan Resort – Honeymoon Casita

The honeymoon casita was beautiful, of course, as Spencer expected.

But all the lush, tropical flowers in various shades of fuchsia and orange festooning and adorning everything were a bit much.

In the bedroom, flowers and stems spelled out the words WELCOME across the king-sized bed. Orchid petals strewn across the floor led to the large bathroom, which was dominated by a claw-foot tub, obviously big enough for two. There were flowers on the roll of toilet paper. Flowers on the wash towels. Flowers on the soap. Flowers on every surface imaginable, even on the travertine tile in the rainforest shower.

After touring the entire casita, Spencer walked back into the large living area. Feeling a bit dejected and disgruntled, she stared at the large bottle of champagne and two glass flutes on the coffee table in the living room.

The damn place made her wish she were on a honeymoon. It made her wonder what it would be like to be Mrs. Whoever The Hell, a new bride, in this gorgeous casita where she and her husband would make love in all five rooms. They would start in the living room, then move to the dining room and on into the kitchen, then backtrack to the bedroom, and finally, eventually, head into the bathroom to screw in the giant tub.