Page 29 of Girl in the Water
Chapter Five
Eduardo
Eduardo Morais listened to the kid over the phone as he looked out his living room window from his tenth-floor apartment at the rushing city traffic of Rio de Janeiro below him. Only two bedrooms, and five whole blocks from the beach, his home was nothing like his father’s mansion. But Eduardo was on his way back up in the world. He envisioned a penthouse apartment overlooking Sugarloaf Mountain and Guanabara Bay in the very near future.
On the other end of the line, the kid jabbered on about how hard he’d worked, watching the house day and night, never sleeping. Eduardo hung up on him. The little maggot would get his bonus; no need to squeal about it.
Eduardo turned from the window, the kid already forgotten. The news was what mattered.
Another foreigner had come.
Meu Deus, that had been a long shot.
Eduardo walked through the air-conditioned flat and into the kitchen, and, as he grabbed a bottle of cachaça and poured a glass, he silently congratulated himself for leaving the little whore alone. He’d made a strategic decision at the time, and he didn’t regret it.
The men he’d sent to make Finch talk had panicked when Finch had fought back harder than they’d expected. One of the idiots shot the American. Eduardo had decided not to interrogate the girl living with the bastard. If Finch could keep a secret so well that he didn’t reveal it under torture, he wouldn’t have blabbed it out to his whore.
So Eduardo had left the girl in place and waited. Finch had made a call to an unlisted number in the USA the night he left Rio. He had a buddy. And Eduardo had bet big on the buddy showing up sooner or later to find out what had happened to Finch.
The American would come if he was a close friend. And if he was a close friend, Finch might have toldhimwhere he’d put what he’d stolen. And if the friend knew, he’d definitely come down to grab the package.
Looked like the friend was finally here.
And this time, Eduardo wasn’t going to settle for some stupid local muscle. This time, he would take his own best men with him.
He drank his celebratory drink. Then picked up his phone from the counter, ready to call and reserve a seat on the first flight from Rio to Manaus, the city of his birth, but his phone rang before he could dial.
As he looked at the display, he rubbed his thumb across the patch of beard on the top of his chin and smiled.Marcos.And, at long last, Eduardo had good news for his older brother. This time, Eduardo was riding to the rescue. This time, Eduardo had the answers. This time, Eduardo would be the hero of the story.
He answered the call with “I think I finally—”
“Doesn’t matter,” Marcos snapped on the other end. “The old hyena had a stroke. He might be dead by morning. Get over here. We’re going to contest the will.”
* * *
Ian
A light rain fell outside, which meant no evening bugs, thank God. The lack of flying and biting insects was the only thing going well. Technicolor pain pounded through Ian’s brain as he sat on the couch. The headache was back in full force and then some. Nausea swirled in his stomach.
As the rain pitter-pattered on the metal roof, he felt as if each drop was pinging off his brain. He regretted not buying booze while they’d been out earlier. But with things as they were, he couldn’t afford to get plastered. He couldn’t afford the oblivion he craved.
He needed to find the man in the white suit. And then he needed to beat the life out of the bastard. After the man answered some questions. Like who was he, and why did he kill Finch. What had the bastard been after?
Finch had been tortured before he’d been killed. To give up something. Which he didn’t give up, because, according to Daniela, the house had been tossed.
Two possibilities existed: either the killers had found what they were looking for, or they hadn’t.
Ian was betting on the latter.
When he’d headed out earlier with Daniela, he noticed a boy—about ten years old—following them around. He’d seen the same boy across the road when he’d looked out the window that morning.
The boy was gone now. If he came back, Ian planned on walking across the road and having a talk with him.
“Food is ready, Senhor Ian,” came from the kitchen.
Daniela was fast and competent. They hadn’t been home ten minutes. She wanted to prove her worth to him.
And he needed to show approval so she could stop worrying that he’d send her back to Rosa, but dinner was the last thing he wanted. Just thinking about eating hurt.
