“Nice.” Her nose—the one that fits perfectly into my neck—wrinkles up. I’m rank. Maybe I should’ve let her sniff me more because that would be enough to send any girl into a fit. I’ve got dirt, blood, and who knows what other bodily fluids from two dead men on my clothes, and I haven’t showered in…I count back. Three fucking days.

If I was with my team, we would’ve joked about the smell, saying that if you aren’t riper than a rotten peach then you haven’t been outside the wire long enough. I’ve gotten soft in the years since I’ve been out. Sleeping in a “Ranger grave” is common enough during deployment that blankets and pillows should be a luxury, but the services of a paid assassin pay pretty well and I’ve gotten used to feather beds and down comforters, not to mention hot showers.

I lay the bundle onto the wooden table and then stare down at Regan. My tired mouth speaks before my filter can catch up, “You are really fucking beautiful, you know?”

I’m grateful but surprised when she shakes her head and laughs disbelievingly. “You know my boyfriend Mike said I looked like a colt. All legs, no torso.”

“Shit-for-brains-Mike? The one who couldn’t give you an orgasm? You actually listen to what he says?”

Regan’s face falls. “I should’ve never told you that. You think I’m a weirdo.”

Leaning against the table, I shake my head in disbelief. “You’re the weirdo because he can’t give you an orgasm?” I don’t even tell her about the other stuff I know, like how he’d sleep through her masturbating right next to him. And how he hasn’t called, not even once, to find out where she is. Nick told me that he’d considered shooting Mike because he was taking up space in the universe that could have been given over to someone who actually gave a shit.

“No, because I told you all the stuff and…” she waves towards my crotch, “other stuff.”

I don’t need for her to notice my other stuff because it’s swelling in hopes that she pays real close attention to it. I need to get her out of sight and out of mind before I start telling her that I’m not going to be a tool that she uses to get off. What I’d like to say is that the next time my touches are going to be personal and when she gets wet, it’ll be because of my up close attentions.

Worried that she’s a distraction to me, I cast around for a place to stash her. In Morro Dos Macacos everyone is armed—from the residents to the police force that regularly marches through trying to clean up the slums so that Rio is respectable for the world stage. Regan could easily get hit by a stray bullet, which to my way of thinking would render this whole escapade worth about a Benjamin ripped in half. Meaning, less than nothing.

Mentally I check off the things we have to do. First, we need identification and passports for Regan or she is never leaving Rio. Second, we need to get to the airport and send Regan home. Third, I need to find the hacker. Fourth, I need to find my sister, and then the Hays siblings get on their own plane and return to their ranch and never, ever leave it again. But before all that I need to hustle up to the hill and meet my informant, the one that Pereya found that might have information about Naomi.

Running an agitated hand through my hair, I order her, “Stay here. Be right back.”

Upstairs, I find Pereya sleeping like an innocent next to his wife. My knife hand itches, and I place my palm against my ankle so I can feel the outline of the sheath against my hand. Pereya has sold me ammunition and given me a place to stay. I don’t need to threaten him with a knife across the throat. Not yet at least.

I give him a few alternating taps on the side of his face, and when I see his eyes pop open I cover his mouth. When the warm saliva and tongue hits my palm, I wonder why I don’t wear gloves more often. Resisting the urge to pull my hand away, I whisper in his ear, “Need one more thing from you before I leave.”

Pereya nods and I release him, swiping my hand across the fabric of my pants. A wet wipe will be in order as soon as Pereya gives up a source. “I need to know of a good paper maker.”

“Lots of them in the favela, but none that are good. You’ll have to go to Ipanema. See a mermao by the name of Luiz Soto. He can hook you up.” Pereya holds out his hand, and I slip him another hundred. It’s an expensive tip.

“So about the girl,” I begin to say, but he holds up his hands.

“No way.” He makes a shooing gesture with his fingers. “She needs to go. Take her down to Copa. No trouble there. There’s os homi by the Rio.”

“Pereya, I can’t leave Regan at the Rio by herself even if there is a police station next door. Let me leave her here.” I pull out more bills and start flicking through the stack. “How much?”

“How much for what?” Regan says behind me. I turn and the expression on her face saying I’ve betrayed her.

“I’m not leaving you behind,” I say, but my words are belied by my fat wad of cash. I feel more exposed here than if I were a john on a street corner with my pants around my ankles and the police headlights shining on the glossy wet of my dick that was polished by the mouth of the street vendor. Officer, I was not soliciting. I was taking a piss and my dick fell into this young lady’s mouth. All a misunderstanding.

The stricken look on her face says that I’ve struck a blow deep, harder than the guy I capped in the apartment we’d left. Cursing, I take her arm and drag her down the stairs, pretending to gain a little privacy. Pitching my voice low so that I can at least make it difficult for Pereya to hear our business, I tell her my plan. “We need to get papers, and out there,” I gesture over my shoulder toward the street, “you’re more likely to be endangered than here in Pereya’s home. People leave him alone on both sides because he’s got quality product. So he’s like the armory in Switzerland. You come in, take out what you need, and leave. It’s safer here than anywhere. You’re safe with his arsenal.”

She doesn’t hear one word I’ve said. “You’re leaving me behind,” she repeats.

“I’m not. I’m taking a detour, and then I’ll be back.”

“All those things you said earlier, they were to pacify me, right? Tell the little victim what she wants to hear.”

“No,” I protest. I realize I’ve fucked up on so many different levels that it will take a land mine specialist to get me out of this mess.

“Take her down to Ipanema. It’s safe there,” Pereya not so helpfully offers from the top of the stairs.

At this, Regan presses her lips together and looks at me militantly.

“I’ve got a tip. A lead on something important. But it’s in a real dangerous place, and I don’t want to see you get hurt.”

She’s not buying it. There’s no way I’m leaving her with Pereya. I can see it all over her face. With a sigh, I give in. I pack all the ammunition that I’ve bought from Pereya and drape my tactical vest around Regan’s shoulders. Maybe if everyone sees she’s armed, they’ll think twice about pointing a gun in our direction. Maybe.

Thirteen

Regan

THIS MAN IS SO FULL of shit. I won’t leave you behind, Regan. You can trust me, Regan. All lies. All stupid lies. He’s still trying to ditch me.

“It’s not safe for you to go with me,” he tells me, those blue eyes asking for me to understand.

I stare at him.

“I didn’t come this far for you to be killed.”

“And I didn’t come this far to end back up in a whorehouse,” I hiss at him, anger getting the best of me. I used to be such a nice girl. I never argued with anyone. Now I’m constantly screaming at Daniel. But it’s his fault, damn it. If he wasn’t so fired up to ditch me, I wouldn’t lose my shit so often.

He glances over at Pereya, then back at me. “Not here.” He calls over his shoulder, “We need our room again for a bit. See if you can find those jeans and boots for me.” And with that, Daniel grabs me by the arm and hauls me back to the safe room where we’d spent the night.

I let him drag me. That’s fine. His hand is pinching my arm, but if he’s hauling me along, he’s not leaving me behind. That’s all that I ask.

We shuffle back to the safe room, and Daniel flings the door shut, then turns and glares at me. “Okay. We need to talk.”

I adjust the heavy vest he draped over my shoulders. It’s bulky and doesn’t hang right over my boobs, but I’m not going to point that out. Fiddling with it gives me something to do without looking at Daniel. “So talk.”

“This place I have to go today? It’s a dangerous shithole.”

“As opposed to all the other nice, safe playgrounds you’ve taken me to so far?”

“Damn it, Regan, I’m serious. I need to get a tip from a guy in a soccer field that’s the favorite place of the local gangs for microwaving.”

I look up at him, puzzled. “Microwaving?” Somehow I don’t think he means Hot Pockets.

“Yeah. Someone fucks up, you take him out to the field, throw a few tires around him, douse him in gasoline, and set the whole thing on fire. Leaves a nice smoky skidmark to warn everyone else not to make the same mistake.”

I swallow hard. That sounds worse than awful. And Daniel wants to go to this place? Alone? What if he never comes back? What if he leaves me here and I’m sitting with Pereya for weeks, wondering what happened? How long before Pereya decides to sell me to the highest bidder? “Sounds like a shitty place. I’m still going.”

“No,” Daniel says. “I’m in charge of keeping you safe. Taking you there won’t keep you safe. We’re in the middle of some primo gang territory around here.”