“So,” I ask him as we walk, “you never did tell me the three problems?”

“Hmm?” He brushes a hand over mine absently, then pulls away as if remembering that I don’t like to be touched. Again, I’m surprised Daniel’s not setting off my puke trigger. Maybe our ugly little interlude this morning was cathartic, like a boil that needed to be lanced. It’s a gross mental image, but those are all I’ve got lately. “Oh, yeah. Three problems. One is that your sweet little ass has no papers. Two is that we can’t go to the embassy to get those papers for obvious reasons. And three is that pissant Gomes keeps pulling more guys out of the woodwork to go after you. Mr. Freeze wants you back and bad.”

“I don’t know why. I’m no one special.”

“Baby love, you are all kinds of special.”

“You are the worst at coming up with pet names.”

“It’s a talent of mine.” He grins at me and then gestures down the street. “There we go.”

“There we go, what?” I stare at the building and try not to panic. It honestly reminds me of the brothel. It’s a narrow three story red brick building. The windows have strings of laundry hanging out of them, and a nest of wires overhead shows the building has electricity. “Not in there, surely?”

“‘Fraid so,” Daniel says casually. “We’re going to hide under their noses for a few days. I’m going to pull a few connections, see what I can find out, and a partner is heading this way.”

He doesn’t look afraid of the shitty building, so I swallow my fear and let him lead me onward. I have a gun tucked into my pants, and I’m going to use every bullet before I let anyone drag me back into the brothel again.

We approach the building, and there’s music blasting from a nearby apartment. The door is wide open, and people are lounging inside the grimy hallway. I’m pretty sure someone is shooting up in the corner. It smells like piss, shit, and, of all things, wet dog. Daniel walks in with a smile and heads for the nearest man. “Pereya.” he asks, and from the tone of his voice, it’s a demand to see someone, not a question.

The man studies Daniel, his clean-cut looks, and glances at me. I sidle closer to Daniel, in case. Then he holds his hand out.

Daniel says something friendly in Portuguese, but he brushes his jacket back as he does so, revealing his gun. “Get me Pereya,” he says again. “Now.”

The man nods and disappears into the building.

A few moments later, another man comes out, all smiles. He’s wearing a Manchester United jersey, despite the fact that it’s a British team, and a baseball cap. He has a scraggly goatee that’s so long it’s been braided, and he grins at Daniel and throws a hand up. “My man.”

“Pereya. How’s it going?” They exchange an intricate handshake as if they were bosom buddies.

“Can’t complain, can’t complain. Got your stuff inside.” Pereya looks me up and down. “Sweet little honey.”

“She’s mine,” Daniel says casually, as if I’m not my own person. I want to protest, but Daniel’s arrogance brings safety so I’ll let him take the lead. He’s leaned closer to Pereya, asking, “The doc too?”

Pereya nods, touches the side of his nose with his thumb, and glances around.

“Yep,” Daniel says to the unspoken question.

“Come on, then.” He gestures to a couple of the men loitering in the doorway, and they shuffle outside. Bodyguards, perhaps. Pereya looks at Daniel and nods his head, acknowledging a back room.

Daniel grabs my hand and begins to head back, but Pereya shakes his head. “Just you, Hays. No chickies.”

Panic swirls, but Daniel gives my hand a squeeze and pulls me closer. He clearly doesn’t like that idea either. “You didn’t hear me, Pereya. I said she’s mine. She’s staying at my side. You got a problem with that?”

Pereya considers me and mutters something in Portuguese, then shrugs and leads us to the back room.

It’s surprisingly clean, the back room. There’s no windows, and the only light is a bare lightbulb that flickers overhead. Pereya lets us into the room, shuts the door behind us all, and then pulls a ring of keys out of his pocket. There’s a short wooden table in one corner of the room, and Pereya heads there. He drags it over to the side, revealing a trap door with a padlock on it, unlocks it, and flips it up. Under the floor, there are two military crates, also padlocked. He hops down into the crawlspace and opens the first crate. “What’s the order of the day, Hays?”

“I’m thinking a GPS tracker if you have one. Couple of semi automatics. More bullets. Maybe a nice grenade for shits and giggles.”

Pereya grunts and unlocks the case, revealing a veritable armory stored in the boxes. My eyes widen. Did we come here to get more guns? How many more do we need? Pereya digs through the stack of arms and pulls out another handgun. He offers it to Daniel, who inspects it with a clinical air.

The room’s quiet. Oppressively so. I lick my lips, nervous as Pereya drags gun after gun out of the case, along with boxes of bullets and cartridges.

Daniel looks over at me. “You want anything, baby doll?”

“For you to stop calling me baby doll,” I say in a sweet voice. Then I add, “Maybe a couple of knives.” I want to be armed to the teeth.

“You heard the lady,” Daniel says, and I catch a drawl in his voice. Southern, or that’s part of his act, too. “Got any knives?”

Pereya pulls out a couple of small knives in leather sheaths. “For your girlfriend. She can slide them in her boots.” He gives my ugly sandals a skeptical look.

“You got boots for her?” Daniel asks.

“Size seven,” I offer hopefully. I like the idea of getting boots and filling them with weapons. “Maybe some jeans, too. Size two.”

“I’ll see what I can find,” Pereya says, tossing stuff into a pile at Daniel’s feet. “Give me until the morning.”

“Doc?” Daniel asks again.

“Soon,” Pereya answers.

“We also need a place to stay tonight.” Daniel says, pulling out a wad of money from his pocket and peeling bills off. “Though I think it goes without saying that no one saw us here.”

Pereya gives us a skeptical look, then shrugs again, as if he doesn’t care. “Got a room upstairs. I can toss my old lady out of it for the night, but it’ll cost ya.”

“Not a problem,” Daniel says smoothly, flipping more money out of his stash for Pereya.

I look around at this room. No windows. Only one door. And we’re close to the front of the building. I point at the floor. “We want this room.”

Pereya looks at me like I’m crazy. “Ain’t no bed in here, chickie.”

“Bring us blankets and pillows,” I tell him. “I like this room.” It’s true—I wouldn’t feel safe upstairs in a room full of windows. In this place, we can barricade ourselves for the night . . . and we’re close to the exit if we need to escape.

Daniel’s giving me a half smile, as if he’s wondering what I’m thinking, but he doesn’t argue. He looks over at Pereya, pulls out a few more bills and then offers them to the man. “Think you can set us up for the night?”

Pereya takes the money without even looking at the amount. He simply pockets it and begins to put his guns carefully back into their cases, locks them, and then shuts the trap door and padlocks it. “Be back in a bit with your bedding,” he tells us, leaving me and Daniel in the room.

WHEN PEREYA RETURNS HE BRINGS an older woman with kind eyes. She’s carrying a black bag.

“Hello, I’m—”

Daniel cuts her off. “No names.”

Pressing her lips together, she nods and opens the bag. “I’m going to take blood and urine samples. I can have your results back in an hour.”

I don’t know if I’m relieved or terrified to see the doctor. Both, I suppose. I’m afraid of what she’ll find swimming in my system after all the “clients” I’ve had. But . . . I also want to know. So I let her examine me thoroughly, not flinching when her touch becomes as invasive as any client’s. She asks me personal questions without judgment on her face and takes blood and urine. Daniel’s there the whole time, at my insistence. I don’t think I’d be comfortable with a stranger touching me if he wasn’t there. He keeps his face averted out of respect for me, though.