He acknowledged her hesitation with a nod. "I know it's sudden. But you're everything I want. Just think about it."

I'm not everything you want. Her heart dropped to her stomach, then through and out of her to fall clattering on the floor at her feet.

Heart-achingly handsome and heartbreakingly out of her reach, he nuzzled her face. "I want us to get married, and have kids, and live happily ever after together."

She pictured children who would look like him, a little blonde girl with Phil's sparkling blue eyes. She hadn't known the meaning of longing until that moment.

She stepped out of his arms, because even letting him hold her seemed a lie. Why hadn't she told him before? She had been selfish, and now she would hurt him.

She backed away, drew a long breath, and prepared for her world to collapse. "I need to tell you something..."

Ian Ian spoke English, because he sure as s.h.i.t didn't speak Portuguese. He hoped the young woman could understand him.

"Who are you?" He put himself between her and the door. Now she would have to get by him to escape. Which was not going to happen.

Did she have anything to do with Finch's death?

Finch wouldn't have gone down easily. He'd either met overwhelming force, or the danger had come from somewhere he'd least expected. Such as the young woman. And she'd done a fearsome job on that eel. She certainly knew how to bash somebody's head in with a rock.

"Who else lives in this house?" Ian's gaze flashed to the faded bloodstain on the kitchen floor, then back to her.

That he'd arrived too late to save Finch about killed him. He was never there when he was needed, dammit. Not with Linda and the twins, not with Finch. But this time... This time, at least he had an enemy to focus on. Whoever had killed Finch was going to answer to Ian.

"I'm Daniela," the girl said, wide-eyed and pulling away from him to cower in the corner, her hands half up to cover herself from the blows she clearly expected.

Someone had beaten her in the past. Not Finch, but somebody. Beaten her enough so that cowering and covering had become a reflex. The thought disgusted Ian, but he didn't back down with the questioning. He was here for answers.

"What are you doing here? Did you live here with Finch?"

Her tan face paled. Her large eyes-a million flecks of different shades of green-filled with tears, but she held them from spilling. "Senhor Finch. He was good man."

Ah, h.e.l.l.

Was. Was! Dammit.

Finch was gone. And she knew.

Ian had been half hoping she'd come after Finch had been dead, was squatting here, stealing his things. If she'd lived here with Finch... What the h.e.l.l was Finch doing with her, for f.u.c.k's sake? Not that it was unusual around here, but she was too d.a.m.n young. Too d.a.m.n scared. Too d.a.m.n- "How old are you?" he asked, then wished he hadn't, because he didn't want to think any worse of his dead friend than he already did just now.

She just looked at him and shook her head.

Great. She didn't even know how old she was. Fricking perfect.

"How long have you lived with Finch?"

"Since the middle of the dry season," she said.

So for a couple of months. Christ, Finch, you freaking a.s.shole. Was it possible to hate a guy you loved like a brother? "How did you meet him?"

"Rosa brought me." The way she shrunk said Rosa was a frightful b.a.s.t.a.r.d, probably the one who used to beat her.

Ian watched her-small, defenseless, scared.

He sank onto the floor across the room from her and leaned his back against the door, his anger draining away as if someone pulled a plug. "I'm Ian Slaney. I'm Finch's friend."

He struggled to see the full picture.

Finch, on the run from some bad guys, hiding here, sure. If G.o.d had ever made a place for disappearing, it was the Amazon, with its swamps and barely accessible tributaries.

But Finch buying a girl from some pimp? Ian clenched his jaw. He didn't want to even think about s.h.i.t like that.

"Do you go to school?" He was hoping to hear her say that she'd graduated already. She looked about that age. Okay, not really. She looked d.a.m.n young, except he had a feeling she hadn't grown up with sufficient nutrition, so she was on the thin side. But her eyes weren't the eyes of a child. "Did you finish school?"

She shook her head.

His heart sank.

"Senhor Finch teaching me English," she volunteered.

And what else, Ian wanted to say but didn't.

"When did he die?" he asked, instead of when was he killed.

For the moment, Ian was willing to pretend that Finch had fainted and hit his head on the corner of the stove, if that gained him any cooperation from Daniela. If he scared her any more, she might not answer at all.

She pulled into as tight a ball as possible. "Senhor Finch went away. He will come back."

Right. She was wearing his lucky belt. Ian had Finch's Glock in the back of his waistband. No way had Finch gone anywhere.

"He died on this kitchen floor." Ian gestured in the general direction with his head. "You and I both know it. Let's cut the bulls.h.i.t. When did Finch die?"

Silent seconds ticked by.

"A month ago." Her voice was barely audible.

Ian's throat burned. A month ago, he'd been halfway between here and Rio.

He swore, then when Daniela flinched, he said, "I'm not going to hurt you."

But, f.u.c.k, he wanted to hit someone. And he wanted a drink. He'd been on the road for months. He hadn't had a drink since he'd blown into Santana the day before.

And while searching through the house earlier, he hadn't found a single bottle of hard liquor, for which he blamed Finch. The b.a.s.t.a.r.d was a beer drinker, and not much of one at that.

Ian cursed him silently. For getting into trouble, for dying without waiting for Ian to get here, for not having a fricking bottle of rotgut tequila in the house, G.o.ddammit.

"How did he die?" he asked.

Daniela folded in on herself even tighter. Any more of that and she might disappear. The G.o.ddess of the river was gone. She didn't belong here. She belonged to the Amazon. Her staying at the house with Ian was wrong, as it'd been wrong with Finch. Somehow the setup stripped her of all her power.

"I don't know." She tucked in her chin, obviously not believing that Ian wouldn't hit her.

He was so d.a.m.ned tired, only his grief and anger kept him awake. "How did he die?" he asked again.

"I wasn't here," she said.

And he believed her.

She'd been fierce with the eel, but she was scared to death of him. Probably all men. If she'd been sold to Finch...Ian didn't even want to think about what her life might have been beforehand.

Now that he'd spent a little time with her... He didn't think she would have attacked Finch. And if she'd been here when someone else had, they wouldn't have left her alive as a witness.

"All right." He pushed to standing, beat as s.h.i.t. He'd been up all night watching for Finch, and months of endless tracking before that. "We're going to get some sleep."

She immediately rose and walked into the bedroom, got on the bed. Her shoulders looked tight, her jungle-green eyes filled with apprehension, but as Ian watched her, he knew with a sick feeling in his stomach that she'd do anything he told her.

"f.u.c.k you, Finch," he said under his breath.

He took off his belt, sat on top of the covers, put his feet up on the bed, then grabbed her ankle and pulled her over. She didn't protest. The resigned look in her eyes said she wouldn't protest anything.

He fastened her left leg to his right one with the belt. "I'm going to tie us together, so you don't run off while I sleep. I have more questions, but I'm tired."

She could undo the belt, but her efforts would wake him up. The last thing he wanted was her in his bed, but it was the best idea he had at the moment.

He put Finch's gun under the mattress on his side, exactly where he'd found it, then lay back down.

She lay down next to him. Then she scooted closer and reached her hand toward him.

"No," he snapped, and ground his teeth, because what the h.e.l.l else was he supposed to do in this d.a.m.ned situation?

She pulled her hand back, her gaze filling with worry and confusion.

He closed his eyes. "Tomorrow, after you answer all my questions, I'll let you go."

She was so quiet, he wasn't sure if she didn't stop breathing. But he didn't open his eyes to check.

Chapter Four.

Daniela The Rio Negro rushed on outside, the sounds of the water filling the night, along with the sounds of the bugs in the trees. In Senhor Finch's giant bed, Daniela held her breath as she folded her body until her fingertips could reach the belt buckle.

She had to escape.

She'd waited too long. She should have run away right after Senhor Finch had been killed.

She hadn't, because here at least she had a roof over her head without having to entertain men. Living in Senhor Finch's house, people a.s.sumed she belonged to Senhor Finch, and n.o.body tried to take control of her, tried to sell her again. They didn't know Senhor Finch was dead.

But now, Senhor Slaney knew.

He had eyes like a jaguar, like he was lord of life and death, eyes that pinned her and saw even her thoughts. He'd looked at her, and she told him everything. She didn't think he was a bad man. But he was the most dangerous man she'd ever known.

Senhor Slaney was going to send her back to Rosa tomorrow.

"I'll let you go," he'd said, meaning Daniela was done here. Time to go back.

He hadn't meant he was setting her free. He would have to buy her from Rosa for that, and why would he do such a thing? Paying good money, then letting Daniela go would be the same as just throwing his money in the river. What would he benefit? Nothing.

In the morning, Senhor Slaney might give her to a fisherman going upriver and ask Daniela to be delivered to Rosa. Or simply give her to a policeman. Rosa knew all the police.

Daniela had to run and trust fate that she wouldn't be caught. She had to run now. In the morning, it would be too late. So with trembling fingers, she tried to loosen the belt without waking the man next to her.

A beam of moonlight, softened by the mosquito net, fell over his face.

He had hair and eyelashes almost as dark as hers. He was the most physically powerful man she'd ever met, and he moved like the jungle hunter. Like a jaguar.

She'd seen a jaguar once.

They rarely came out of the forest as far as her village, but Daniela had seen one the night her mother had drowned, the night of the flood. All the village had run uphill, into the jungle, looking for high ground. When Daniela had realized that her mother wasn't there, she had run back, and met the jaguar on the path.

The roar of the river and the people in the forest had probably disturbed the beast's night hunt; he'd come to check out the clamor.

As Daniela had rushed around a bend in the path, a dark shadow separated from all the other dark shadows in front of her. She froze. Precious little moonlight filtered through the double canopy, but that dim light glinted off sleek black fur.

Daniela held her breath.

The jaguar sniffed.

Keen tension stretched in the air, strings of tension so taut they could have been played as a musical instrument. Her heart thump, thump, thumped in her chest, louder than it'd ever beaten, and still not as loud as the blood rushing madly in her ears.

Then a goat cried in the distance, maybe caught in high water.

And in a blink, the jaguar had disappeared.

Daniela had fallen down, dropped like a monkey shot out of a tree. She gasped for air. All that time, she hadn't breathed.

When she recovered, she was too scared to continue on toward the village, so she ran back to the people huddled together in the jungle. She hadn't found her mother until morning, tangled in tree roots at the edge of the flooding river.

Ana's long hair streamed out around her face, the locks half-covered with mud, as if reaching into the earth, as if she was growing roots herself and would now simply transform into another form of being, but still very much part of the rain forest.

That image often returned in Daniela's dreams. But not tonight. Tonight, she wouldn't sleep.

She shifted on Senhor Finch's bed. Senhor Slaney's bed now.