“Sorry,” I murmur, my voice thick. “I know I’m a head case.”

He gives me an exasperated look and then heads for the kitchen. As I watch, he grabs a bottle of some sort of liquor and two glasses. He heads back to the living room, sits on the other end of the sofa, puts the glasses on the end table, and begins to pour two drinks. “Regan, you’ve been through hell in ways I can’t even imagine. No one’s expecting you to be shitting daisies right now. But you and I have to work together to get you out of here, okay? I need to know what’s going on so I can save both of our asses.”

I watch him for a moment and then offer something that’s not quite an apology. “I panicked earlier. That’s why I . . . tried to seduce you. I thought you were going to send me away. I thought you’d like it. I’ve seen you looking at me. And I saw the panties you bought me.” Tears pool in my eyes, and I swipe them away. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I wasn’t thinking. I was just . . . desperate. I didn’t know what to do. So I just . . . acted. Now I’m as bad as the men at the brothel.” Snot’s running out of my nose and I’m a mess, but I don’t know what to do to make things better. I tried to fix things and I just made them so much worse.

Daniel leaves the room and comes back a moment later with a roll of toilet paper, which he hands to me. I blow my nose and wipe my eyes obediently.

“Yeah.” He shakes his head. “You fucked up. Not gonna lie, I’m more than a little pissed about the situation. Listen,” he hands me a glass of the clear alcohol, “truth is I think you’re gorgeous, okay? But I’m not that big of a dick. I wouldn’t touch you because I know what you’ve been through. You’re safe with me. I bought you girly panties because that was what they were selling at the store I was at and I didn’t want to leave you alone for any longer than necessary. I’m sorry if I sent you the wrong signal. I’m not here to fuck you, okay? I’m here to save your ass.” He downs his drink and lifts the glass in a toast. “However fine it might be.”

A reluctant half-smile touches my mouth. I glance down at my drink and sniff it. It smells . . . strange. “What is this?”

“Local drink of choice. Cachaça,”—he says it like ka-shah-sah—“kinda like rum, kinda not.”

“So why are we drinking?”

“Because I sure as shit need a drink after this morning,” he says, pouring himself another one. “And you need to relax. Now, bottoms up.”

I shrug. He’s right. I do need to relax. I feel like I’ve been in panic mode for the last twenty-four hours. I tilt the glass back and down its contents. At first it tastes a bit like rum, then it explodes into something totally different, and I cough. My throat is raw from all the puking I’ve been doing. “Whoa.”

“Yeah, it’s something else.” He refills my glass with another shot of the cachaça. “Now, drink that and then we’ll talk.”

I suck down the next shot of the cachaça and the alcoholic burn begins to float through my limbs. Normally it would take more than two shots to get me plastered, but I’ve got an empty stomach and the alcohol is strong. I hold my glass out for another shot, and Daniel obliges.

“So,” he asks, “we feeling better now?”

“Better,” I agree. And I am a little better. “Thank you.”

“How come you didn’t want to talk to Daisy?”

I give him a skeptical look. “So the plan is to get me drunk and quiz me?”

“Bingo,” he says, filling my glass again.

I down the newest shot and I’m definitely feeling floaty and relaxed. I notice Daniel has been holding the same full glass while I’ve been pounding them away. Sneaky man. A thought occurs to me and I stiffen. “You’re not getting me drunk so—”

Daniel’s eyes widen. “Christ, no. That fantasy’s a little ruined for me at the moment with that whole you-jumping-me-and-then-puking thing.”

I wince. “Bad call.”

“Yep,” he says flatly.

“Ugh. That was rapey of me.”

“Eh. It makes sense, in a fucked up sort of way. You’re desperate.” He refills my glass before I can ask. “When you’re desperate, you do crazy shit. Been there.”

I muse on his words, languid now that the alcohol is doing its magic. So sex with me was a fantasy, huh? If only he knew. “Probably for the best that the sex fantasy is ruined,” I confide to him. “I don’t know if you noticed, but I have a few issues.”

He snorts. “Darlin’, you are the poster child for issues.”

I giggle at that, unable to help myself. I should be insulted, but he’s right. I’m all fucked up in the head, and I acknowledge it. Then I sigh, looking down at my glass. “At least it’s just sex I’m messed up about. It’s not like I’m missing out.”

“Do tell.”

I peer over at him and am reminded he’s rather good-looking. He’s got that all-American boy thing going for him. I’d have totally crushed on him if I’d had a class with him back at college. “It’s not like it was great before, you know? Never had an orgasm with a guy. Pretty sure it’s bullshit.”

Daniel groans. “You are positively killing me here, Regan.”

“Why?”

He shakes his head. “Change of subject. Why were you short with Daisy?”

I lick the rim of my glass since he’s not refilling it. Maybe I should stay drunk for the next month. “Because I didn’t want to be mean to her.”

“Why would you be mean to her?”

“Because she got away,” I whisper. “She got away and left me. Everyone left me.” I swallow hard and put my glass down. Then I look at Daniel. “You’re not going to leave me, are you?”

“I’m not, sweetheart. You have my word on that.” He looks at me thoughtfully and then downs his drink. “But you need to tell me why you won’t go to the embassy. What’s there that scares you?”

“I saw a man,” I whisper. “Mr. Freeze’s bodyguard.”

“Mr. Freeze? Arnold Schwarzenegger? Like . . . from the shitty Batman movies?”

I shake my head and rub my arms, as if chilled. I’m not warm and toasty from the alcohol anymore. “The blond guy. The scary one. He buys girls. He bought me. He sent me to Rio to be ‘broken in.’ They can be as rough with me as they want, as long as they don’t mess up my face, wear condoms, and make sure I brush my teeth.”

“Your . . . teeth? Wear condoms?”

I rub a finger over my front teeth thoughtfully. “I think he has a hygiene fetish. He’d come and visit me at the brothel. Wouldn’t fuck me. Just put on plastic gloves before he touched me and looked me over. Asked them if they shaved me. Everything.” I shiver. “He scares me.”

“Maybe he’s a germophobe.”

I shake my head, remembering the bodyguard that was with him. “Everyone’s scared of him. Even Senhor Gomes.”

“So some rich guy has a fixation on you. Sends you to Gomes for what? Training? I guess that explains the use of condoms and good hygiene and why Gomes wants you back.” He doesn’t look happy with this news. “And you said you saw him at the embassy?”

“His bodyguard.” I shiver again, unable to help myself, and I realize for the first time that I’m sitting on the couch in nothing but my bra. Whoops.

Daniel notices my shivering and pulls the blanket around me, tucking it around me like he would a child. “Good to know. I’ll make a few calls and see if I can find out what’s going on. And then we’re going to have to move.”

“Move?” I blink at him, still drunk from the cachaça. “Why?”

“Because they’re going to know we’re in the area once they find out I killed Gomes’ little scout.” He says it so casually, like someone would comment on the weather. “We’re safe for now, but tonight we need to move on.”

I hug the blanket closer. “And you’ll take me with you?”

“I’m afraid you’re all mine until we figure out what the deal is.” He rubs his neck and looks agitated, but not at me. “It’s a goddamn mess, isn’t it?”

“Can I get a gun?”

He gives me a speculative look. “Do you promise to stop crying?”

“I will, if you get me a gun. Then I’ll shoot you if I get upset.”