Page 6 of Girl in the Water
Ian dug into his pocket and passed her what money he had. He didn’t tell her to take the night off and go home to the kids—she’d do that anyway. And she didn’t offer to earn the money from him—he would turn her down as he had every time in the past.
To any onlooker, the exchange would have looked strange—a man passing by a prostitute, giving her money, then the two of them walking off in opposite directions.
Ian went inside, climbed up to his studio apartment on the top floor of the four-story walk-up. He dropped onto his couch that’d been old back when that meteor wiped out the dinosaurs. He drank straight from the bottle and didn’t bother turning on the TV.
From the corner of his eye, he caught the light blinking on the answering machine on the side table. He swung the bottle in the general direction of the Play button.
“Hey, it’s Finch,” a familiar voice shouted over traffic noise in the background. “I’m in Rio. I’m in trouble, man. Gonna clear out for a while. When things settle down, I wanna come up and see you.”
Ian took another swig. He and Finch had saved each other’s lives a couple of times in the army. Finch was as close to a younger brother as Ian had. Impulsive as hell, but heart in the right place. Most of the time.What kind of trouble has the idiot gotten into now?
As if anticipating that question, Finch said, “Can’t tell you more on the phone. But just don’t take off. I had a helluva time tracking you down. I’ll be there in a month or two. I’ll bring a present. I have a sweet little package for you. And don’t you worry about me. I got my lucky belt.” He laughed.
As the message ended, Ian glanced at the machine. The displayed showed: UNKNOWN NUMBER.
Dumb and Dumber all in one.If Finch told him where the hell he was going or who he was running from, Ian could go down and help him. He hadn’t even known that Finch was in South America. Last they’d talked, the idiot had been in Seattle.
He’d probably gone down for some job or other—a shady one, judging by the message. Still, he was a tough kid. He should be able to handle it. And if not, maybe he’d learn from the experience.
Ian finished the bottle, then lay back on the couch, hoping he’d drunk enough for oblivion. Not much scared him, but sleep… Just the thought of dreaming burned his stomach with acid.
He always dreamed the same thing: Linda in the car with the twins, Connor and Colin screaming for him as they were drowning. Drowning because their father was half a world away.
He’d been in Afghanistan when the van had gone into the Potomac. The neighborhood cops had ruled it an accident.
Was it?
Or had they been trying to spare him? Because they knew him, because he was a decorated war hero. They didn’t want to add to his grief.
Just two weeks before, when he’d been home on leave, Linda had begged him not to go back. She had postpartum depression, her mother said when Ian had called her to see if she could come and stay with Linda and the kids for a while.
Maureenhadcome.
But Linda still…
Ian shoved himself upright with a curse.
Hell, fuck.Now that he’d started thinking about allthat, he’d never fall asleep. He shuffled out to the kitchen and searched through the cupboards for another bottle, and tried hard not to think how his wife and baby sons had ended up in the river.
According to the police report he’d managed to sneak a peek at, there had been no skid marks on the road, no sign that Linda had used the brakes.
