“Obrigado—but here is fine.”
River hopped out of the truck, thanking the driver sincerely once again.
Then he stood on the street, staring at the house.
The gates opened; one of Tio Amato’s black cars slipped out and onto the street. The gate remained open as the mechanism slowly whirred back into action.
River didn’t mean to do what he did. But suddenly, he was running.
He slipped through the gate right before it closed. And then, he was in the yard.
Tio Amato’s yard.
There might be security cameras—there were certainly alarms. And he still wasn’t sure why he’d done what he had.
Natal had told him not to come. She had not wanted him to die over the fact that she had suffered a black eye.
But Tio Amato had killed people. Many people. The man was far more than a bully who gave beautiful fountains to his bairro to look as if he were a kind and generous uncle—he was a killer. He destroyed those who did not bow to his power.
Natal couldn’t know; she wouldn’t have stayed here if she had known.
And he couldn’t just close his eyes and pretend that he hadn’t seen what he had seen. He could be guilty of the crime and cruelty of silence.
Heart racing, River realized that no matter what he had promised her, he was afraid for her. Reed Amato had given her a black eye. God knew what else he might do.
Because River knew what he had already done.
The door opened; someone was coming out. River instantly slid back into his military mode, ducking low and creeping close to the wall. Thankfully, hedges and well-manicured plants adorned the place as well.
From his vantage point close to the porch and the elegant double doors, River could watch the man. He wasn’t wearing a blue suit; he was dressed in black. Black trousers, a black pullover. He was shaking his right hand. River squinted, trying to see why. Then he saw that the man’s knuckles were bloody—he’d hurt his hand.
That kind of injury meant one thing—he’d hurt himself beating someone.
River felt something sink to the pit of his stomach.
Natal!
No, it couldn’t be. Not even a man like Tio Amato would have someone else beat up on a woman for him.
Or would he? River had to be sure.
No, no … not Natal. There was someone else inside. There had to be someone else inside.
River crept around the house, heading for the back. There were wide doors facing out to the patio and the pool—and then the forest and trees that hedged the back of the property. The doors were open; the curtains blew out past them.
He heard rapid, angry Portuguese, then a thump and then … a cry. A man’s cry of pain. Someone was being beaten—that was certain now. Some other poor idiot who hadn’t paid the price that Amato had demanded of him.
At least it wasn’t Natal.
Still …
River looked through the blowing curtains, into the house. Amato was there. He sat casually in a chair, studying his manicured nails. River frowned; it appeared that he had a bandage on the side of his face.
Another of Amato’s goons was on duty, so it seemed, slamming his fist into the poor bastard who knelt on the floor, blood streaming from his broken lips.
River looked back at Amato. Yes, though he appeared calm and relaxed, there was definitely a bandage on his chin and his face appeared to be slightly swollen.
Natal had said that she’d slapped him. Maybe she’d caused the injury to Amato. And if not, this poor fellow being beaten to within an inch of his life might have been the one to inflict the injury—and now he would pay.
River’s first instinct was to grab his gun from his backpack and burst in. But they certainly had guns too. And what if Natal was still in the house?
He didn’t burst in. Reed Amato was talking now—his voice low and easy but River could pick out enough to know that Amato wanted money from the man. There were plastic bags on the table and Amato kept referring to them. Then River understood. The man was supposed to deal drugs for Amato. Either he had refused or he hadn’t come up with the income he was supposed to have provided.
The man was begging for his life through bruised and swollen lips.
He was probably bound for the river—just as, possibly, like whatever River had seen tossed from the bridge just days ago.
He had to do something, River knew. He would never be able to live with himself if he didn’t. And yet, he couldn’t risk Natal.
Nor did it make any sense for him to get himself killed. He wouldn’t help anyone if he did that. He had to take care and think out his moves.
The man would have to wait—and River just had to pray that he could put his plan into action before the man was hurt further or—
Or worse.
Killed.
River carefully and silently slipped back around to the front. The other man was still there—lighting up a cigarillo.
His back was to River; he never had a chance.
River was upon him in a flash, his death hold on the man’s neck so intense and powerful that the man did nothing but gasp as River dragged him back behind the neatly clipped bushes.
River looked down at the man as he stared up into his captor’s eyes, astonished at seeing River there—and astonished at being on the ground. “The U.S. trains its troops well,” River muttered, and then moved straight into his demand. “Where’s the woman?”
The man stared at him blankly. River eased the elbow he had against the pivotal point of the man’s throat enough to let him gasp out words.
“Woman—what woman?”
“Amato’s woman. Is she in the house?”
The idiot still looked at him blankly.
“Tell me—tell me now. Or you’ll die.”
“Women, yes, Amato has women. They are all gone; there are no women in the house.”
“All women are out—what about any other men?”
The hoodlum on the ground—at River’s mercy—just stared at him. His eyes closed and he said. “No one.”
No. No one else was in the house—not when they were torturing and possibly about to kill someone.
That was all that River needed. He was done with this man.
He didn’t know what the man lying at his feet had done in his day; he had probably participated in murder.
But River didn’t kill the man. He hated killing.
He grabbed a ceramic frog garden decoration and brought it down on the man’s head. He was careful to hit hard enough—but not too hard.
The light went out of the man’s eyes as he was rendered unconscious.
Natal had left; River was safe to create whatever diversion was necessary to get the police to break into the house. If the police came and saw the bloody man and the cocaine everywhere, they would be compelled to act. He had to be careful, however. He intended to meet Natal at the train and leave with her—forever, if necessary. Brazil was huge; there were many places they could go and live where Tio Amato’s power couldn’t reach them.
He created a diversion in the front—just knocking on the door. He listened and heard Amato bellow; he was directing the thug in the house with him—the one delivering the beating—to the door.