The Games (Private #11)

She shut the door, said, “Shower together?”


“That’s not necessary,” I said, showing her my Private badge.

Estella rolled her eyes. “Haven’t you been paid this month? C’mon, I had a real customer up there.”

“I’m not a cop. I’m looking for your husband, Urso.”

She wasn’t expecting that. Frightened, she looked to the door, said, “The Bear’s not my husband.”

“But I’m betting he’s the father of that baby in your belly.”

“What’s he done?”

“You tell me.”

“No,” she said, trying to get by me. “I don’t know nothing.”

I blocked the way, said, “Your sister, Claudia, says you do.”

“Claudia’s a junkie.” Estella sneered. “No one believes her. You let me out of here now or I start screaming you’re trying to kill my baby.”

“And I’ll start screaming that you’re part of a conspiracy to kidnap and torture one of the world’s richest men. You’ll be having your baby in prison, and who knows where Milena will end up.”

That got to her. “You leave my baby and Milena out of this. And I’ve got nothing to do with whatever that Urso’s up to.”

“But you know he’s involved in Wise’s kidnapping.”

Estella held her belly, stared at it like it revealed terrible secrets.

“We can keep you safe,” I said.

“No, you can’t,” Estella said in a lost voice.

“Yes, we can, and if you help us, there will be money in it for you.”

Shaking, Estella sat down on the bed. “Money?”

“A lot of it.”

Hugging herself, she said, “Like what? Fifty thousand reais? A hundred?”

“I was thinking three million U.S. dollars would be a fair reward if what you tell me leads to Mr. Wise’s rescue. You’ll be able to leave this place, start over somewhere else, make a life for Milena and your baby.”

She was looking at me in disbelief. “Three million. No way.”

“Urso’s asked for a billion, or haven’t you been watching the television? Three million’s a bargain.”

Estella shook her head. “A billion? Is he stupid or something?”

“You tell me.”

“No. It’s got to be that crazy know-it-all college bitch filling his head with all this bullshit.”

“Rayssa?”

“Her name’s not Rayssa. It’s Amelia.”





Chapter 69



AMELIA? MARIANA LOPES’S adopted daughter? Friend of the Wise girls?

So much of it made sense, and yet so much didn’t. Amelia Lopes had been with Alicia and Natalie at the beginning of their trip to Rio. She would have had time to learn their identities and set up the kidnapping.

But the girls said they’d told no one their real names. And wouldn’t they have recognized Amelia’s voice as Rayssa’s?

A sad thought started to worm and grow in my brain.

“They’re going to kill Urso for this, aren’t they?” Estella moaned. “They’ll just shoot my Bear on sight for this, and my kids will be left without a father.”

Before I could think about any of it, there was a knock at the door.

“Tempo,” a woman said. My forty minutes was up.



I sat on the bed next to Estella and said, “If we’re to have any hope of keeping Urso alive, we need to get you out of here.”

That frightened her. “It is not allowed. I must stay to the end of my shift.”

“This can’t wait. There are some people who want to talk to you.”

“Polícia?”

“Yes.”

“They can’t be trusted.”

“And Amelia can?”

Another knock. “Tempo!”

I wanted to ask more questions and thought about buying more time, but then I decided we needed to leave. Now.

“If you want that reward money, you’ll have to come with me. Go get dressed in your street clothes. Meet me by the locker room.”

“They’ll stop us,” she said.

“They’re not stopping me.”

Estella looked unconvinced but said, “Okay.”

We left the depressing little room. She went to change, and I did too. I waited and waited until I thought she might have chickened out or run for it. But just as I was about to go looking for her, she appeared near the locker room, dressed in a shapeless black cotton maternity dress and looking more frightened than ever.

“Just follow me and let me handle it,” I said.

I threw Bug-Eyes one hundred reais, said, “Keep the change.”

He spotted Estella, said, “Where do you think you’re going?”

Estella rubbed her belly mournfully. “I’m sick. My friend drives me home.”

“Don’t work like that.”

“It does today,” I said.

His hand shifted under the desk. I knew he was going for a gun, so I lunged forward, reached through the window hole, grabbed him by his collared shirt, and yanked. His knees cracked against the desk. His face smashed against the window, and he crumpled.

A woman started screaming. I glanced back into the brothel and saw Vitoria raising hell.

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