Page 87 of Girl in the Water
She left with her baby, cursing them all the way out of the station, ending with a heartyvai se fuder!to Gustavo Santos. “Go F yourself” in Portuguese.
“I’m sorry.” The detective looked ready to curse too, scratching at the hair that was graying at his temples. “I really thought this was going to be it. We’ll keep looking.”
Ian shook the man’s extended hand. “We’ll do the same.”
He was grateful for the cooperation. The woman with the blonde little girl had been a long shot, but it could have worked. Better to try and fail than to leave any stones unturned.
Daniela was thoughtful as they got on the bus. “I’m glad we didn’t mention anything to Carmen and Phil.”
Ian held on to a plastic handle as the bus rattled on. He could have rented a car, but he wanted to get a better feel for the city and the people. For now, the buses and the cabs would do.
The traffic was crazy chaotic. If he drove, he’d have to keep his attention on that. This way, he could freely look around, watch the hustlers, the people selling drugs, the prostitutes, the shady element he was interested in. If he ended up needing a car, he could always rent one later.
Talking about the shady element… Ian watched as a pickpocket headed for them. Daniela stared the guy down. She could be seriously fierce when she wanted to be.
He’d always known she was tough, but on this trip, away from everything DC, he was beginning to see her in a new—or maybe old—light. Every once in a while, the river goddess came out, and he didn’t know what to do with her.
Part of him couldn’t wait until this mission ended. While the rest of him…
He was going to ignore what the rest of him wanted.
When they got off the bus in front of See-Love-Aid, the first person they saw was Pierre the French Casanova, fixing the front steps, filling the cracks with wet cement from a bucket. He immediately hurried over. He was watching Daniela as he asked, “Any news?”
“Not yet.”
As the bus pulled out, a beat-up pickup truck with See-Love-Aid’s logo pulled up to the curb in its place, and Henry, in the driver seat, lay on the horn before jumping out and tossing the keys to Pierre. “All yours, bro.” The big, blond English teacher from Ohio paused. “Hey, and I fixed that knocking in the back. Loose exhaust pipe.”
He seemed to be a jack-of-all-trades.
He turned to grin at Daniela, his gaze dipping to her purple sandals. “Nice shoes.”
She smiled back. “Thanks.”
Ian scowled. Henry was close to his age. What the hell did he mean by looking at Daniela like that?
As Henry disappeared inside, girls ran from the building to pile their crafts in the back of the pickup.
Pierre used up the last of his cement and stood, then stepped toward Daniela. “Want to come with me to the shops to drop off the goodies?”
She glanced at Ian.
He did his best not to grind his teeth. No way to tell hernowithout looking like an idiot. “Fine with me.”
He wanted to canvass the neighborhood again anyway. He could do that alone. Daniela deserved a couple of hours off. It wasn’t as if they were joined at the hip.
So she went, with Pierre the French Casanova, while Ian stayed behind.
Mrs. Frieseke invited him to lunch with her. She was alone at the staff table, the others already having finished. The older girls were back in their workshop, the younger girls in their classes.
“Oh, your poor face,” the woman cooed, her plate of rice and fish nearly empty. “It hurts to look at you. Those thugs in Rio did a number. I was a nurse back home. Did I tell you that? In San Francisco. Nurse for a while, then when my back gave out, I became a social worker. Are you sure you don’t want a butterfly bandage for that eyebrow? You’ll have a scar there.”
“My own stupidity,” he said. “When they asked for money, I shouldn’t have resisted.”
“They didn’t know you were the law. They don’t respect the law anyway. Not in Rio and not Manaus. With the economy slipping, crime is going through the roof. I worry that, if it gets worse, we won’t be able to get enough volunteers to come here.” She sighed. “Where did you and Daniela go this morning in such a hurry?”
“Police station.” Ian dug into the rice, cooked in coconut milk and flavored with a spice he couldn’t name.
The woman brightened. “Do they have anything?”
