"The girls insist that they were all at the game. n.o.body snuck off. They never sneak off. They're all perfect angels." She shoved an escaped tendril of black hair behind her ear. "They're probably worried that if they betray any bad behavior, they'll be kicked out. They just don't want to risk it." She stacked the papers into a pile and put it on her nightstand. "I'll keep trying. Every time we talk, they trust me a little more."

Something was off in her voice, something more than frustration.

"What is it?" Ian asked. "What's wrong?"

She dropped her gaze. "I told them I grew up around here, upriver, grew up poor like them." She picked at the bedspread. "But I didn't tell them what I've been. They might trust me more if I do. If I talk about that. If they don't see me as an investigator so much, but something else."

"You are an investigator," he said, because he knew how hard she'd worked to create a new ident.i.ty for herself, because she deserved to be respected for what she'd achieved. "But you have nothing to be ashamed about your past either. You survived it. It doesn't make you a bad person. It makes you a survivor, an incredibly strong woman who could overcome extraordinary hardship."

She looked up with a half smile. "Calm down, mother hen. No need to have the talk again. I know, I know."

"Good." But even so, he knew that a break line existed between her past and present, a fault line between continents. And when those continents rubbed together, there was friction and earthquakes.

She stopped picking at the bedspread. "Found out anything new by walking around?"

"Not much. I talked to the neighbors out back. n.o.body's seen anything." He had nothing but some unformed half thoughts, too vague to articulate. Instead of trying, he asked, "Want to go out for dinner?"

The food at See-Love-Aid was okay, but they were obviously on a budget and leaning toward vegetarian. He needed a d.a.m.n steak.

Daniela was already on her feet, her melancholy shaken off. "Do I ever not want to go out to dinner? Do you even know me?"

Good question. Did he? Because that kiss...

He turned and strode out the door. No way was he thinking about that kiss while they were in a bedroom together.

Since there was a fried food place at the end of the street, they walked. Neither of them felt like taking a bus deeper into the city.

They b.u.mped into Carol, coming out of a small convenience store.

She wasn't shopping for the girls at See-Love-Aid this time. She was carrying a bag of diapers.

"Getting ready for the baby?" Daniela asked.

Carol laughed. "Two weeks left, but you know how these things go. The baby could be early."

"Want me to take that back for you?" Ian offered and surrept.i.tiously checked her ankles, relieved that they weren't swollen.

Carol waved him off. "Doesn't weigh anything. You two have fun out on the town." She winked at them as if they were going on a date.

Ian paused.

Was that what everybody thought?

He scowled as Carol moved on, and he and Daniela resumed their walk. Did the other aid workers think he and Daniela were a couple? Did they think he was some fricking old lecher who'd take advantage of a young woman?

All right, they were sharing a room. But they were partners!

And he'd never even...

All right, except for that one kiss.

He filled his lungs. He wanted this op to be over. h.e.l.l, he wanted to run for the hills.

Next to him, Daniela marched along happily, walking fast to keep up with his long strides. When she caught him looking at her, she grinned.

She pointed at the busy, grimy street, the air filled with car exhaust and the fishy smells of the river. "Hey, isn't this great? We've put in a good day's work, and now we're going on a date."

Swear to G.o.d, Ian wanted to jump in front of traffic.

Daniela The call came just as Daniela and Ian got back to their lodgings. She was in a good mood, even if Ian had worked the word friends into the dinner conversation no less than half a dozen times. She didn't buy it. He had kissed her back in Rio. And there'd been nothing friendly about that kiss.

For the first time in her life, she felt desire, felt like a normal woman. She wanted. And she wanted to be wanted back. That kiss gave her so much hope, she'd been on the verge of breaking out in song every time she remembered Ian's lips on hers.

As Daniela watched, he answered his phone, then mouthed to her, Gustavo Santos.

The local detective.

Ian said, "Yes" and "Thank you" a lot, then hung up.

She was holding her breath. "What is it?"

"You know the gang that's been involved in illegal adoptions before? One of the women in the gang has been seen around with a baby. And n.o.body remembers seeing her pregnant. The police are tracking her down. Once they have her, they're going to bring her in. We are invited, as a courtesy, to the questioning, but the detective asked that we don't say anything to the Heyerdahls until it's certain that they have the right child."

Relief filled her down to her toes. "Thank G.o.d."

Please let this be baby Lila.

She wanted to rush straight to Carmen and Phil, but she understood Santos. If they were wrong, the Heyerdahls would be devastated.

As Daniela lay in bed that night, she thought about the case, and she thought about Ian. She cared about baby Lila more than she could put into words. And she was focused on the case. But her awareness of Ian was like constant background music these days. Or as if the TV was left on in another room. You did your business, but the sounds were there, woven into the fabric of your day.

And night.

She could never have imagined that sleeping in the same room with him night after night would be this disappointing. He didn't even kiss her good night.

How could Ian keep ignoring her?

Even after the kiss in Rio.

The kiss!

She couldn't believe she'd worked up the guts to do that. But, G.o.d, how good it had been. If they hadn't been in danger, she would have kissed him over and over again. She wanted to. Even now. Still. While he...

Out of the darkness, his growly voice said, "Thank you for coming to Rio for me. But, please, don't do anything like that ever again."

She turned to stare at him in the semidarkness. That was it?

Chapter Fifteen.

Ian Gustavo Santos conducted the questioning in a large but plain conference room on the ground floor of the police district headquarters. Maybe the interrogation room was too small for all of them. Or maybe they had floggers hanging on the wall that he didn't want the Americans to see. Ian didn't know and didn't care. He watched the suspect.

She held a blond baby, nothing but hatred and contempt toward the police in the woman's drug-hazed black eyes that matched her stringy black hair. Tattoos covered her neck and both of her skinny arms. She could be anywhere between twenty or forty, impossible to tell. Too many years of hard living had left deep marks on her.

"You take my baby away over my dead body." She spat the words at them and looked ready to fight.

She didn't have a lawyer present.

"When did you have the baby?" Gustavo Santos asked.

The questioning went on in Portuguese. Ian didn't understand every word but got enough to know what they were talking about. And if he missed anything, he could always ask Daniela.

He sat back while Santos worked the suspect. He and Daniela were here only to observe.

The woman gave the baby's birthday, and the detective made a note. The date was seven months ago, so the timing matched. The baby was the right age.

"Where?"

"At the Hospital Adventista."

The detective produced a printout from the folder in front of him and pushed it over to the woman along with a pen. "I need you to sign the release of medical records form."

"No way."

"Then we'll take the baby for a DNA test, and you won't have her back until we get the test results."

Shooting them a look of murder, the woman scribbled what might or might not be a signature.

The detective walked the piece of paper to the door, called over a secretary, and instructed her to obtain the records immediately, have them emailed over. Then he strode back to his chair and sat.

"Is your boyfriend blond?"

The woman's chin came up in defiance. "What's it to you?"

"You don't see a lot of blond kids running around here."

"Maybe his father ain't from around here."

"Where is he from?"

Her eyes shot sparks of anger. "He's a f.u.c.king prison guard down in So Paulo. I got knocked up while I was in the can. Now you happy?"

The detective didn't look happy.

Neither was Ian. While the baby was the right s.e.x, age, and coloring, she didn't look like the pictures Carmen Heyerdahl was showing around. Not that you could necessarily tell much from baby pictures. Fuzzy hair, no teeth, chubby cheeks-babies looked a lot alike at that age, at least to Ian.

The detective kept asking questions.

The woman answered, but with thorough contempt. You could tell from her tone that if she thought she could get away with scratching all their eyes out, she would have gone for it. She certainly had the nails for aggravated a.s.sault: long, ragged, with plenty of dirt packed underneath.

Should an altercation happen, Ian was happy to know that he'd had his teta.n.u.s shot just last year.

Santos moved on to questions about other gang members, to which the woman responded with stony silence. They went on like that for about twenty minutes.

Then the email finally came in from the hospital, and everything matched up. The little girl was hers.

She left with her baby, cursing them all the way out of the station, ending with a hearty vai 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 prost.i.tutes, 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 G.o.ddess 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 h.e.l.l did he mean by looking at Daniela like that?