Page 23 of Girl in the Water

His heart sank.

“Senhor Finch teaching me English,” she volunteered.

And what else, Ian wanted to say but didn’t.

“When did he die?” he asked, instead of when was he killed.

For the moment, Ian was willing to pretend that Finch had fainted and hit his head on the corner of the stove, if that gained him any cooperation from Daniela. If he scared her any more, she might not answer at all.

She pulled into as tight a ball as possible. “Senhor Finch went away. He will come back.”

Right.She was wearing his lucky belt. Ian had Finch’s Glock in the back of his waistband. No way had Finch gone anywhere.

“He died on this kitchen floor.” Ian gestured in the general direction with his head. “You and I both know it. Let’s cut the bullshit. When did Finch die?”

Silent seconds ticked by.

“A month ago.” Her voice was barely audible.

Ian’s throat burned. A month ago, he’d been halfway between here and Rio.

He swore, then when Daniela flinched, he said, “I’m not going to hurt you.”

But, fuck, he wanted to hit someone. And he wanted a drink. He’d been on the road for months. He hadn’t had a drink since he’d blown into Santana the day before.

And while searching through the house earlier, he hadn’t found a single bottle of hard liquor, for which he blamed Finch. The bastard was a beer drinker, and not much of one at that.

Ian cursed him silently. For getting into trouble, for dying without waiting for Ian to get here, for not having a fricking bottle of rotgut tequila in the house, goddammit.

“How did he die?” he asked.

Daniela folded in on herself even tighter. Any more of that and she might disappear. The goddess of the river was gone. She didn’t belong here. She belonged to the Amazon. Her staying at the house with Ian was wrong, as it’d been wrong with Finch. Somehow the setup stripped her of all her power.

“I don’t know.” She tucked in her chin, obviously not believing that Ian wouldn’t hit her.

He was so damned tired, only his grief and anger kept him awake. “How did he die?” he asked again.

“I wasn’t here,” she said.

And he believed her.

She’d been fierce with the eel, but she was scared to death of him. Probably all men. If she’d been sold to Finch…Ian didn’t even want to think about what her life might have been beforehand.

Now that he’d spent a little time with her… He didn’t think she would have attacked Finch. And if she’d been here when someone else had, they wouldn’t have left her alive as a witness.

“All right.” He pushed to standing, beat as shit. He’d been up all night watching for Finch, and months of endless tracking before that. “We’re going to get some sleep.”

She immediately rose and walked into the bedroom, got on the bed. Her shoulders looked tight, her jungle-green eyes filled with apprehension, but as Ian watched her, he knew with a sick feeling in his stomach that she’d do anything he told her.

“Fuck you, Finch,” he said under his breath.

He took off his belt, sat on top of the covers, put his feet up on the bed, then grabbed her ankle and pulled her over. She didn’t protest. The resigned look in her eyes said she wouldn’t protest anything.

He fastened her left leg to his right one with the belt. “I’m going to tie us together, so you don’t run off while I sleep. I have more questions, but I’m tired.”

She could undo the belt, but her efforts would wake him up. The last thing he wanted was her in his bed, but it was the best idea he had at the moment.

He put Finch’s gun under the mattress on his side, exactly where he’d found it, then lay back down.

She lay down next to him. Then she scooted closer and reached her hand toward him.

“No,” he snapped, and ground his teeth, because what the hell else was he supposed to do in this damned situation?

She pulled her hand back, her gaze filling with worry and confusion.

He closed his eyes. “Tomorrow, after you answer all my questions, I’ll let you go.”

She was so quiet, he wasn’t sure if she didn’t stop breathing. But he didn’t open his eyes to check.