Page 22 of Girl in the Water

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Ian

Ian spoke English, because he sure as shit didn’t speak Portuguese. He hoped the young woman could understand him.

“Who are you?” He put himself between her and the door. Now she would have to get by him to escape. Which was not going to happen.

Did she have anything to do with Finch’s death?

Finch wouldn’t have gone down easily. He’d either met overwhelming force, or the danger had come from somewhere he’d least expected. Such as the young woman. And she’d done a fearsome job on that eel. She certainly knew how to bash somebody’s head in with a rock.

“Who else lives in this house?” Ian’s gaze flashed to the faded bloodstain on the kitchen floor, then back to her.

That he’d arrived too late to save Finch about killed him. He was never there when he was needed, dammit. Not with Linda and the twins, not with Finch. But this time… This time, at least he had an enemy to focus on. Whoever had killed Finch was going to answer to Ian.

“I’m Daniela,” the girl said, wide-eyed and pulling away from him to cower in the corner, her hands half up to cover herself from the blows she clearly expected.

Someone had beaten her in the past. Not Finch, but somebody. Beaten her enough so that cowering and covering had become a reflex. The thought disgusted Ian, but he didn’t back down with the questioning. He was here for answers.

“What are you doing here? Did you live here with Finch?”

Her tan face paled. Her large eyes—a million flecks of different shades of green—filled with tears, but she held them from spilling. “Senhor Finch. He was good man.”

Ah, hell.

Was. Was! Dammit.

Finch was gone.Andshe knew.

Ian had been half hoping she’d come after Finch had been dead, was squatting here, stealing his things. If she’d lived here with Finch… What the hell was Finch doing with her, for fuck’s sake? Not that it was unusual around here, but she was too damn young. Too damn scared. Too damn—

“How old are you?” he asked, then wished he hadn’t, because he didn’t want to think any worse of his dead friend than he already did just now.

She just looked at him and shook her head.

Great. She didn’t even know how old she was. Fricking perfect.

“How long have you lived with Finch?”

“Since the middle of the dry season,” she said.

So for a couple of months.Christ, Finch, you freaking asshole.Was it possible to hate a guy you loved like a brother? “How did you meet him?”

“Rosa brought me.” The way she shrunk said Rosa was a frightful bastard, probably the one who used to beat her.

Ian watched her—small, defenseless, scared.

He sank onto the floor across the room from her and leaned his back against the door, his anger draining away as if someone pulled a plug. “I’m Ian Slaney. I’m Finch’s friend.”

He struggled to see the full picture.

Finch, on the run from some bad guys, hiding here, sure. If God had ever made a place for disappearing, it was the Amazon, with its swamps and barely accessible tributaries.

But Finch buying a girl from some pimp? Ian clenched his jaw. He didn’t want to even think about shit like that.

“Do you go to school?” He was hoping to hear her say that she’d graduated already. She looked about that age. Okay, not really. She looked damn young, except he had a feeling she hadn’t grown up with sufficient nutrition, so she was on the thin side. But her eyes weren’t the eyes of a child. “Did you finish school?”

She shook her head.