Girl In The Water Part 3

She remembered the missionary's sermons in her village and thought, maybe this man is a saint.

After the meal, Senhor Finch showed her a small bedroom off his larger one. He had a big bed. She had a hammock. But they both had mosquito nets, which was the most important thing.

"Good?" he asked. "Bom?"

"Very good, senhor. Obrigada."

A pleased smile showed off his perfect white teeth again. "You settle in. I need to go out for a while, but I'll be back."

He didn't lock the door when he left.

Daniela hurried to the front window and peeked out from behind the curtain. This had to be a trap. He was probably waiting outside, so if she tried to leave, he would catch her and beat her. Rosa had done that.

But Senhor Finch was walking down the street, going and going until he disappeared in a swarm of other people.

Daniela's heart beat fast, then faster as she walked to the door and opened it a crack. Nothing happened.

A soft, warm rain drizzled outside.

She eased down the steps, holding her breath.

n.o.body paid her any attention.

Still no sign of Senhor Finch rus.h.i.+ng back.

Daniela moved forward. Before she knew, she was standing in the middle of the street, her heart racing. Shouldn't have left the house. Now she'd be caught, and she'd have to go to sleep with her whole body aching from the beating she'd get.

But since she'd come this far... Her legs trembling, she began walking down the street.

The crowd was large and loud. People brushed against her. Too many people. After her small village, then the confines of Rosa's house, Daniela felt as if she was drowning.

One tentative step at a time, she walked all the way to the end of the street before she stopped. She didn't know where to go from there. The street opened into a large square with a church, shops, and stalls right on the sidewalk, and even more people.

She couldn't see Senhor Finch anywhere.

Ian The latest pop hit pulsed through Orpen, an upscale nightclub in Was.h.i.+ngton DC, flashes of an overhead laser show illuminating the crowded dance floor. Everyone was focused either on their next drink or on their next lay. Except Ian Slaney, who headed across the room, keeping an eye on the party. He didn't drink at work, and he didn't mix with the women here either. You don't s.h.i.+t where you eat had always been his policy.

He was one of the bouncers. Didn't mind the hours. He couldn't sleep anyway.

A young guy at the entrance caught his eyes. Six foot even, hair buzz cut, nothing but spikes of gold. For a moment, Ian thought, Finch. Then the lights flashed brighter, and for a second a beam fully illuminated the guy's face. A stranger.

Too d.a.m.n bad.

Finch hadn't called again. The thought that the kid had met with more trouble in Rio than he could handle had been like a sharp tack under the sheets, digging into Ian at night, making sleep even less likely.

He'd finally gotten his pa.s.sport renewed and a visa to Brazil, intending to go to Rio, although he hadn't made definite plans yet.

The guy at the door moved forward, deeper into the crowd, stepping around the small party that was leaving, a young woman escorted by two men.

The woman was around twenty, one a.s.shole on each side of her, tugging her toward the exit to Const.i.tution Ave, toward the dark night outside.

On the surface, they looked all right, but instinct pushed Ian forward, and as he reached within a few feet, he could hear the woman say, "I have to get up early for work. I'll just call a cab," to one of the men.

But he overruled her with "We'll just pop up to my place for five minutes. You don't want Joey to think you don't like him, do you?"

He was too smooth, his dark hair had more gunk in it than hers, the kind of guy who was probably manscaped under his slick suit. His buddy was the same, their fancy suits nearly identical. The girl had on a modest little black dress. She wasn't dressed to seduce, but to impress.

Ian had a fair feeling for what was going on. Jerk took his new girl out, told her she was going to meet his best friend. Now he was pressuring her to go home with them, where they wanted to share her. She was smart enough to have caught the vibe, but between the two of them, they would railroad her into their car before anyone noticed something was up.

He stepped up to the threesome as they reached the door. "Everything okay, miss?"

"She had a little too much to drink." The boyfriend flashed a half-embarra.s.sed, what-can-you-do smile. "We'll help her get home safely."

Ian pulled his phone from his pocket. "Why don't I just call her a cab?"

The boyfriend leaned closer to him and slipped him a twenty. "I wined her, I dined her, I'm ent.i.tled to a little fun. Don't be a c.o.c.k blocker, man."

The guy wasn't lying about the wine-and-dine part. The dance club had a pricey restaurant upstairs. Ian had seen the three of them come down earlier. But he didn't think the two d.i.c.kless idiots had a right to the woman's body for the price of the garden salad she'd likely had.

They pushed for the exit, and he walked out with them, shoving the twenty into his pocket as the summer heat hit him.

"Would you like me to call you a cab, or would you like to go home with your friends, miss?" he addressed the woman directly.

She moved toward him, but the boyfriend hung on to her elbow, so she didn't get far. She looked between them, hesitating only a second before she said, "Could you, please?"

"No problem." Ian pushed the cabbie on the speed dial, didn't say anything. Hung up. Afiz would see the call and come. That was their deal.

"Listen, jerk." The boyfriend shoved the girl behind him and stepped forward, no longer smiling. "How about you mind your own business?"

"The safety of our customers is my business, sir." Ian kept his tone polite.

The man glared at him for a second, then backed away, dragging the girl. "Come on, Madison. Screw this guy."

"Madison will be staying," Ian said, still very civilized. "Her cab is on the way."

And then the two guys turned and really looked at him.

They weren't built like gym rats, but weren't wimps either-the kind of preppy guys who might have been on the rowing team at college.

From the way they exchanged a glance, Ian knew the exact moment they realized they weren't going to get Madison without a fight. Then he knew the exact moment when they decided that, hey, what the h.e.l.l, between the two of them, they could take Ian. They thought of him as nothing but a dumba.s.s bouncer, their inferior in every way. And older. Like Madison, they were in their early twenties. Close to thirty, Ian probably seemed halfway to ancient to them.

Boyfriend shoved Madison aside. And then the punches started flying.

Ian let them get in a few, let them get going. He didn't mind the pain; it woke him up. Made him feel.

When he let loose on them at last, the release of his deep, endless anger felt like physical pleasure. He knocked them back, knocked them down, until they were a single b.l.o.o.d.y heap on the ground, the girl screaming.

A horn blared. Ian pulled back, barely breathing hard. Hey, the cab was here. Too d.a.m.n fast. But he put the whimpering girl in the backseat.

She couldn't get away from him fast enough.

He filled his lungs. Hadn't meant to scare her. "Stay safe. All right?"

He gave the twenty to Afiz, then went back inside, let the d.i.c.kwads crawl off at their leisure. He washed off his b.l.o.o.d.y, throbbing knuckles in the bathroom, straightened his tie, then returned to work.

When the bar closed at two a.m., he checked around outside to see if the p.r.i.c.ks had waited for him. Not that he wanted another round, but hey, free entertainment. If he was tired enough, sometimes he could actually sleep when he went to bed.

But no more fights tonight.

The walk home was quiet.

Sharon wasn't on the corner.

Ian was content not to run into anyone, but his new neighbor, a redhead with impossibly pillowy b.r.e.a.s.t.s, waited for him with a bottle of Jameson in the hallway outside his apartment. Skimpy tank top. Short skirt.

The whiskey had potential.

"Hey, Ian." She flashed a smile that said the bottle was his, along with anything else, for the asking.

"Hey..." He tried to remember her name. She'd introduced herself twice already this past week.

"Nicole," she said. "Wanna have a drink?"

She was maybe a year or two younger than Ian. She was a big girl. Safe to a.s.sume she knew what she was doing. He unlocked his door and opened it for her.

She sashayed into the kitchen like she lived there, and grabbed two gla.s.ses from the counter, rinsed them in the sink, all very domestic.

His eyes strayed to her b.r.e.a.s.t.s. "You came to do dishes?"

"I came to come." She winked, smiling from ear to ear.

"Gotta appreciate a straight-talking woman." He walked up behind her and caught her around the waist, pressed himself against her round a.s.s, rubbed a little while his hands snuck around for the girls.

She giggled and poured them each a gla.s.s.

He let her go long enough to knock the whiskey back. Then he knocked back another. Then a third. A comfortable buzz began to build in his brain. About time. He'd been dry all night.

She walked her fingers up his chest, her voice breathy as she said, "Hey, handsome."

He lifted her onto the Formica counter. Her short skirt was flouncy enough to slide up without trouble when the time came. She'd been thinking ahead. He had a feeling they were going to make great neighbors.

"You got a boyfriend?" He hadn't seen one around. Didn't care either, just wanted to know if he should keep an eye out for a p.i.s.sed-off dude kicking the door open behind him.

"s.h.i.+thead ran off." Her mouth tightened, but only for a second, then her smile came back. "I'm hoping you'll help me take revenge."

He put his hands on her knees and parted them. "I try to step up to the plate for others if I'm in a position to help."

And he was in position. Between her legs.

He ran a hand up her skirt. No underwear. "My kind of woman," he murmured.

"Yeah?" She tugged his s.h.i.+rt out of his pants.

"Yeah." He grabbed his wallet out of his back pocket, then he unbuckled his pants and shoved them down to his knees, along with his underwear. The next second, the wallet was on the counter, he had a condom in hand, and the second after that, he was protected.

"You need a little warm-up...Nicole?"

She flashed a look that began shy and ended up anything but. "I warmed up a little while I waited."

"I think we're going to be friends," he said as he pushed into her.

And then she moved on him, like she'd taken lessons. d.a.m.n.

He pulled down her tank top, no bra either, and sucked a raspberry-size nipple into his mouth as they rode off into the sunrise together.

When they finished, they reconvened to the couch and polished off the bottle. A d.a.m.n good night, all things considered.

Unfortunately, the good vibes didn't last long. As soon as Ian got to work the next day, the boss called him into the office.

Chandler, the club manager, was short, pudgy, and bald, which he tried to balance out with a beard. A garden gnome in Gucci loafers.

Two beat cops, both black, waited with him: one man, one woman. Ian knew the mostly Irish cops in his own neighborhood, but not these two, not here on the better side of the tracks.

Daniela Daniela stood at the edge of the square and swayed at the sight of the swirling crowd, more people than she'd ever seen in one place. A whirlpool of tourists and locals.

The Icana had whirlpools just above her village. Sometimes those swirling funnels of water swallowed even strong swimmers. Daniela s.h.i.+vered despite the heat.

She'd followed Senhor Finch this far, but now her feet wouldn't move. She could go no farther.

And even if she could, where would she run?

Senhor Finch had given her food. He hadn't beaten her. Yet.

She wrapped her arms tightly around herself and turned around. Breathed. She felt better with the crowd behind her.

She walked back toward the house on the river.

Senhor Finch kept his door open. If he turned out to be a bad man, she could always run away later. So Daniela went back into the house.

The man didn't have much. A few cargo pants and s.h.i.+rts hung on pegs on the wall. The bamboo furniture was worn, had probably come with the house.

Why did he come here? How long would he stay? How long would he keep her? What would he want with her?

The house gave no answers.