The room was medium size, just the bed, two nightstands, a dresser with TV, and a desk with a chair.

He dropped his backpack in the corner by the window, as close to the air conditioner as he could get. "I'll take the floor."

She smiled at him, her jungle-green eyes as innocent as a baby dolphin's. "We'll take turns."

She might not have arranged for the shared room, but the turn of events didn't make her unhappy.

She sat on the middle of the bed cross-legged and opened her laptop. "I'll sign into the Wi-Fi and keep going with the online research."

They'd spent the first half of the flight gathering information on the missing baby's parents and on the organization that had brought them to Brazil. See-Love-Aid was a nonprofit that took regular people on international trips that were part vacation, part charity work. Lasting two weeks at the longest, the programs fit into most people's vacation schedules. Micro Missions, their home page said.

Not the worst idea Ian had ever heard. See-Love-Aid might be on to something. From what he'd seen on their web site, they'd taken a quarter million people on helping-hand vacations last year alone, and their numbers were growing.

Daniela bent over the laptop in the middle of the bed, all beauty and grace, her long black hair loosened from its usual strict coil and falling over her shoulders to touch the beige coverlet.

Ian rubbed the back of his neck, some weird nervous energy buzzing through him. "I'll go out and look around."

Before she could respond, he was out the door, and, in another few minutes, out of the hotel.

And then he could finally draw a full breath.

G.o.d, the two of them spending the night in the same room was the worst idea ever. Hopefully, by tomorrow night, the hotel could give them an extra room.

He wiped his forehead. He felt as if he was swimming in heat and humidity instead of walking.

The city was loud and colorful and alive, more so than any other city in the world. Rio had an undefinable, mesmerizing quality. The streets pulsed with life. Even the air smelled different, lush and fruity, salty from the sea breezes.

Four years ago, he'd been here briefly, looking for Finch, then he'd found Finch's trail and followed it north, to Santana.

Finch had come to Rio to work security for the headquarters of a sugarcane conglomerate, Lavras Sugar and Ethanol.

Ian hadn't really looked into the business the last time he'd been here. He'd hurried off to catch up with Finch. Back then, he hadn't known that by the time he'd catch up with Finch, Finch would be dead.

Finch had been killed in Santana in the house by the Rio Negro, but he'd been in Rio when he'd left that message for Ian about having to go on the run. So it stood to reason that Finch's troubles had begun in Rio de Janeiro.

On impulse, Ian took a cab to the headquarters of Lavras Sugar. He'd spent an insane amount of time researching them on the Internet but hadn't found anything in the news, in legal reports, or on the employees' social media pages that could explain what had happened to Finch.

"How would I go about getting a job with security?" he asked the mustachioed guard at the gate.

He was shown to the HR department.

The woman behind the desk, still a beauty in her mid-fifties, smooth skin, deep brown eyes, long dark hair-handed him forms to fill out. After the question, How have you heard about our company? he put: Recommended by former Lavras employee, Ronald Finch.

He didn't have time to go undercover here right now. The best he could do was throw bread on the water and see if he got a quick nibble.

For a phone number, he gave his cell. For an address, he gave the street and number of an apartment building he'd seen on the way over. Since Daniela was at the hotel, he didn't want to lead anyone there.

If Finch had been running from somebody at Lavras, and the bad guys wanted to talk to Ian, they wouldn't find him at the address he provided. They'd have to call him. They'd have to make an appointment, probably pretending a fake job interview. At least he'd know when he'd be meeting them and where, and he'd be prepared.

On the way out of the building, he pretended to get confused and got off on the wrong floor.

Offices, offices, and more offices, drab gray industrial carpet, neon lights, cubicles. d.a.m.ned if he saw anything worth killing for, or even anything interesting. So he went back to the elevator, as someone who'd just gotten lost would, and left the building.

Sugar.

He wasn't aware of any big conspiracies involving the sugar trade. Ethanol had more potential. Ethanol, or ethyl alcohol, was a drinking alcohol. However, it was also beginning to be used as alternative fuel. The fuel industry was cutthroat. That had possibilities.

Instead of taking a taxi, Ian decided to walk awhile, give himself time to think.

Did Finch get involved in something like industrial spying?

Finch had headed straight north from Rio. Probably trying to get out of the country but not daring to go to the airport for fear that whoever was after him would be watching for him there. That they had pursued him likely meant that he'd taken something, confirmed by his own words "sweet little package" in his phone message, and also by the fact that his house on the Rio Negro had been searched.

Ian turned those thoughts over and over in his head. He ended up walking longer than he'd intended, all the way back to the hotel. The room was dark, Daniela sleeping in bed. He breathed a sigh of relief.

He cleaned up in the bathroom, then went to lie down in front of the window where she'd made up a bed for him from the bedspread, a pillow, and a sheet.

The cover was plenty; he didn't really need anything. Even with the air-conditioning, the room was warm. If he'd been alone, he would have slept naked. As it was, he kept on his boxers and pulled the sheet up to his waist.

He lay on his back, staring at the ceiling.

She shifted on the bed.

"Linda was twenty-one when you married her," she said.

Christ. His shower must have woken her. "We're not talking about Linda."

"There's a lot we're not doing," she grumbled.

He closed his eyes. He was going to turn gray by the time this mission ended.

A romantic relationship between the two of them would be a mistake. He was determined to save her from that blunder.

When they'd first met, they both had been a mess, just in different ways. And he'd thought, what the h.e.l.l, one of them should be put back together. He'd helped her fit into her new environment in DC, helped her lay down the foundations of a good, safe life, a life she would enjoy living, where she could reach her full potential.

And what a woman she was now. If he'd helped her, it'd been the best thing he'd done in his miserable life. But he wasn't going to cling to her. She was the rocket, destined for the stars. He was the fuel tank on the rocket booster that propelled the rocket for a while, but then fell away, fell back to earth.

He willed himself to sleep, reaching up for a moment to rub the ache in his chest. Apparently, falling back to earth hurt.

Daniela Daniela waited for Ian to give up on the hard floor and come to bed. She pulled the sheet to her chin. She was excited about this next step, but that didn't mean she wasn't nervous.

Sleeping in the same room with Ian somehow made even the air different, thinner, and full of tingly tension. Daniela lay on her side and watched his shadowy shape as he lay in front of the window with his back to her, his wide shoulder outlined by the barely there moonlight.

When she'd first met him, she'd been scared of him.

Then he'd become her safe place.

And now...

She felt different around him. Happy. Confused. She felt full of possibilities. Another door had opened. She wasn't sure if she deserved another door-another new thing, another good thing.

In college, when she'd gone out with a guy and he touched her, she'd been an observer. She'd felt as if she was having an out-of-body experience. She'd been evaluating what it felt like-good or repulsive. She'd been trying to figure out if she could handle it. She'd been trying to tune out the emotions those touches brought back, so she didn't run screaming and make everyone think she was a lunatic.

With Ian...

She wanted him to be next to her. Just feeling his skin against hers, having her head on his shoulder would have made her happy. She wanted to lay her palm over his ribs and fall asleep feeling his heartbeat.

Lately, the tension she felt inside her chest when they were around each other was nearly unbearable. She was aware of every move and sound he made. She wanted him to look at her, then when he looked at her, she didn't know what to do with herself, what to do with her hands, what to say.

"Ian?" she whispered.

He didn't stir.

She'd tried to talk him into getting off the floor. He wouldn't. She'd tried to switch places with him, but he wouldn't do that either. He was like a great boulder, unmovable.

Maybe she was crazy to try. Except a tiny spark deep inside her heart told her she wasn't.

This trip was it. She'd graduated from college. She had a job. The same job as he had. They were partners. If he didn't finally see them as equals, he never would.

So the next morning, as they sat in the office of the head of the human trafficking division at the Departamento de Polcia Federal, Daniela was determined to be extra professional and useful.

"The Heyerdahls arrived in the country on July second," the federal commissioner, delegado, said from behind his metal desk, reading his notes.

He was an attractive man, swarthy good looks, close to forty, tall, well proportioned, well-spoken, with nearly accent-free English, someone who would come across well at press conferences.

"Carmen and Phil Heyerdahl," the delegado went on, "along with baby Lila spent one day in Rio for their See-Love-Aid orientation, then they flew to Eduardo Gomes International Airport, in Manaus."

All that checked off against Daniela's notes.

"I understand they were with a group," Ian said.

The delegado consulted his papers again. "Twenty-one people."

"Is it common for volunteers to bring their children along? As young as six months?" Daniela asked.

"I'm not certain," the man said. "You would have to ask See-Love-Aid."

"Then you don't mind if we stop by their offices this afternoon?" Ian asked in a deferential tone that was a lot more subdued than his usual growl.

The man flashed a photo-op quality smile. "Not at all. We have investigated thoroughly, you understand. But we would be, of course, very happy if you found something we hadn't. The United States has our full cooperation."

Daniela liked the sound of that.

Brazil and the US were negotiating some kind of a trade treaty, Ian had told her on the airplane, so they would likely get the full benefit of the spirit of cooperation. Looked like he hadn't been mistaken.

They talked with the delegado for another amicable half an hour before Daniela and Ian left.

"That was a waste of time," she said in the cab. "We didn't learn anything new."

"Courtesy meeting." Ian looked at his phone, probably to see if anything new had come in from the office. Two seconds later, he put his phone away. "We just needed to check in and have the federal commissioner's approval. Now the real investigation begins."

They didn't wait until that afternoon to visit See-Love-Aid. Ian gave the cab driver the address, and the man took them straight to the organization's headquarters.

A graying woman in her fifties met them, Cristina Luiza Sousa, Vice President of Operations. She spoke perfect English, with an accent only slightly heavier than Daniela's. She had warmth in her smile, fierceness in her eyes, and toughness in her carriage, the kind of woman who could rule the world given half the chance.

When Daniela got around to posing her question again about children on the tours, the woman said, "We do have children in nearly every group, but usually teenagers. Toddlers or younger children are pretty rare. Lila Heyerdahl was the youngest we've ever had. Her parents are experienced. They've worked both in Africa and South America before. This is their second time in Brazil, actually. They missed the work after the baby was born, from what I understand, but didn't want to commit to something more involved, so they decided to do two weeks with us. We antic.i.p.ated no problems."

"And they're still in Manaus?" Ian asked.

"Yes. They don't want to leave without their daughter. Understandably." The woman smoothed down her skirt. "We put them up at our See-Love-Aid lodging. We'll do whatever we can to help them and the investigation." Her voice wavered. "We are all heartbroken."

Daniela thought she was telling the truth. That haunted look in her almond-shaped brown eyes couldn't be faked. Cristina Luiza Sousa really did care, wasn't just concerned with how it looked for her organization or how she could fend off a lawsuit.

Daniela liked the woman on the spot. Senhora Sousa was a strong, self-possessed female who'd dedicated her life to helping others. Daniela had very similar plans for her own future.

Ian asked a few more questions. Senhora Sousa answered all of them.

He treated the woman with respect and deference. And Daniela thought, Is this what I would have to achieve for him to see me as an equal?

They didn't uncover any great clues at See-Love-Aid headquarters, but Senhora Sousa gave them a list of everyone in the group the Heyerdahls arrived with, and the three-page application each volunteer had filled out. She already had signed releases from the volunteer visitors to hand over to the local police. Everyone had agreed to fully cooperate with any investigation that might recover the baby.

Ian and Daniela also received Senhora Sousa's permission to visit the See-Love-Aid project in Manaus and interview the employees. Senhora Sousa would call ahead and make sure that the US investigators had everyone's full cooperation.

"How do you feel about going up north?" Ian asked in the cab on their way back to the hotel.

Daniela shrugged. "I knew we'd end up in Manaus. That's where baby Lila disappeared."

He half turned toward Daniela, his full attention on her, his voice soft as he said, "We'll be close to your village."

"I don't want to go there," she answered his unspoken question.

Maybe she should want to. Maybe he'd expected her to want to go home. But to her, home was Ian's condo.

"I'm not the same Daniela that Pedro took down the river to Rosa's."

"I know."

"I just feel..." How could she ever explain this? "It's as if my mother's hut and the people I grew up with...they belong with a different Daniela in a different world. If I go back, then I'll be that Daniela again, the one that did all those things." She rubbed her arm, her skin feeling too tight and dirty. She pressed her thumb into a spot below her elbow until it hurt.

"You haven't done a thing wrong." Ian's tone was certain and fierce. "Wrong was done to you. You are as good and pure as anyone I know. There's not one thing wrong with you or bad about you."

"You don't know all that I-"

"I don't need to."

They both had topics they never discussed, and never even thought about if they could help it. Ian never brought up Linda and his twin sons, Connor and Colin. He'd told Daniela about them once, briefly, just the facts. And refused to have any kind of conversation about them since.