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  She pushed a lock of gray hair out of her face, thinking she should have known what to expect. The first week the foreigners arrived she’d written her sister that the fearsome new Senhor had unnerved her, until she had seen the transparent need he had for his lady. These things were easy to spot in men. A month later she wrote that she happened to observe Dona Kate in a moment of deep sorrow, something she never expected to see in one who had never known want. Her sister, who had also worked in many great houses, wrote back that any human could feel need and pain, even rich foreigners, though it was hard to tell why.

  Chapter Eighteen

  During the next week the Tanaka household creaked and groaned as the inhabitants shifted to accommodate this Mr. Matthew Montgomery, their invisible new inmate. The security team had to rethink their schedule, dinner times became more scattered and erratic, and the maids could no longer sneak off for delicious stolen hours with their boyfriends because the Senhor and Dona Kate couldn’t be trusted to stay in the library where they belonged. Cecelia in particular watched the whole proceedings clucking her tongue and feeling unsettled in her bones like something was coming. Only Mr. Nishimura went on unperturbed, having little thought to spare beyond his war with the weeds and his dearest passion, the prize orchids he grew in the greenhouse.

  That entire week Kate and Ryoki spent just one evening together in the library, their music and reading interrupted twice by calls from Montgomery. Kate’s eyes sparkled as she laughed at some joke waggling through the phone. Well and good, Ryoki consciously printed across his consciousness, just what he wanted, perfect for everybody. Reduce intimacy, that was key—irritating ringtone, thought she didn’t care to be tracked.

  Everything would be absolutely perfect, he told himself, had not the irksome security factor continued to divide them. According to Kate, Montgomery’s presence provided an instant solution of such magnitude it could very well cure hunger and bring about world peace. But Ryoki still felt they needed a grace period before dropping their guard, time to see if the relationship would gel and word would get around. Who was this guy anyway? Kate trusted him, but she had trusted her husband and he turned out to be a pirate.

  On Thursday morning he decided to swipe Kate’s phone and called doorMatt on the sly, requesting that he come a little early that evening, pick her up at the house rather than meet her in the city. A bit sleazy, he knew, but he couldn’t rest until he’d done it. Kate said Montgomery was an international finance consultant. Certainly he would come, out of professional curiosity, if nothing else.

  That evening Montgomery showed up early as promised and was led into the front sitting room by a blushing, giggly maid who wiggled her arm until her peasant blouse slipped coyly off one shoulder before she scuttled off to notify the Senhor of his guest. Ryoki had just offered Montgomery a drink when Cecelia entered to ask if anything was wanted, a pretext to get a gander at the interloper, disapproval clearly written in the set of her jaw and the stiffness of her back. When she entered the room, the two men were just taking their seats, quiet and cordial. She later reported to her daughter that they circled each other like tigers, then, biting her lip, she added, “At least that was my impression.”

  Up close Montgomery turned out to be more handsome than Ryoki had hoped. One of those tall, sunburnt blonds with artfully streaked hair and a voice four decibels too loud for the room. He was an educated surfer, someone who wore a good suit, but sometimes answered to the appellation “Dude.” Perhaps Kate was collecting blonds herself.

  They started off with small talk, Montgomery broaching the crucial subject first. “So, I guess you wanted to talk about security,” he said, rubbing the thick muscles on his neck, a smug smile on his face. “It seems to me that if I gave Kate a good smooch for the cameras, the trouble would be over. What am I missing here?”

  Ryoki smiled and nodded politely without giving up an inch of ground. One date did not give him the right to use her first name, let alone give her a “smooch,” public or private. In his opinion Americans were entirely too casual with each other. “How long have you known Kate?” he asked.

  “About a year and a half. She was a grad student moonlighting as a Portuguese tutor and I did a lot of business down here, so my company put me in touch with her and one thing led to another.” He grinned with a glint in his eye, dangling the corner of a red satin romance. But Ryoki knew Kate.

  “You knew her husband then,” Ryoki said, picking invisible lint from his trousers.

  Montgomery looked at Ryoki a beat too long, perhaps weighing the need to appear “in the know” against the possibility that his answers might be checked. “Oh, yeah, well, I knew he was a Stanford guy, stockbroker, but you know how she is, keeps things to herself. Funny story—I knew right off that she was married because she always wore her ring, but her husband was suspiciously absent. Then one night we were studying Portuguese at her place and this uniformed marshal shows up, serving her papers demanding she give up anything of his she might have in her possession, which meant her wedding ring. Turns out she was separated, but still wore her rings. That’s when it all came out.” Montgomery paused, licking his lips, rubbing his palms on his pants, possibly aware the story hadn’t come off quite as funny as he hoped.

  “A marshal?” Ryoki prompted.

  “If you ask me, the ring wasn’t all that impressive, but she wanted to keep it, and she asked me kinda shy-like if I knew any good lawyers. Don’t know why she didn’t do that in the first place. Anyway, she went to court over that ring, and the judge awarded her the ring plus half. If you ask me, Stanford guys don’t know when to quit.”

  “Few people do,” Ryoki said.

  “Actually, she had me help her put her settlement in an investment account. After I was transferred down here, she emailed asking what the consequences would be if she withdrew that money. Said her job had been delayed and she wanted to live at home and write for a year, was really looking forward to it. Had to look twice when I saw her picture in the paper down here. Must be fate brought us together again.”

  Kate writes? Ryoki kept his expression carefully neutral as though he’d known it all along. To write for a year? Sounds far too serious to be a hobby. All their hours in the library, and she’d kept it to herself. Stung, he fixed his gaze on Montgomery, searching for any quality that would cause her to give him her trust. He’s educated, privileged, and an American. Is that all she needed to know? She wouldn’t bother buying textbooks to understand one of her own breed.

  Montgomery ’s smile broadened, exposing his entire set of straight, bleached teeth, the grin of the alpha male. “I wasn’t surprised she decided to wait for that teaching job. She loves teaching, born to it. I sat in on a couple of the classes she taught at the university as a grad student. She’s a natural storyteller, explains hard things with simple stories until they make perfect sense.” Montgomery chuckled. “Of course, the big brown eyes help. No man can resist, such is her power.”

  “Brown? Brown eyes?”

  “Oh, yeah, brown, did I say something else?” Montgomery said, his smile dimming. He twitched and looked around the room. “Nice place,” he said.

  Ryoki heard the distant thump of the back door. Kate coming. Get to the point quick.

  “Has Kate mentioned that you’ll need to stick close to her and remain in public places—”

  “No problem,” Matt said heartily, swallowing a laugh.

  “No need to be obvious or smothering, but take it seriously, more seriously than she does.” Montgomery chuckled nervously and seemed about to speak, but Ryoki went on. “One of the presidential guards came himself to warn me. That’s why I say I need you to take this seriously,” Ryoki said for the third time, keeping his gaze level, the way he learned from his grandfather. “Just for a month, maybe two. Until we’re absolutely sure.”

  “Kate said—”

  “I know what Kate says. I’m asking this as a personal favor,” Ryoki said, the full weight of his portfolio thickening the a
ir around him.

  Montgomery nodded his head once, but before he could speak Kate appeared at the parlor door holding her shoes, looking warily from one man to the other.

  “Matt, I thought we were supposed to meet at Buca Romana.”

  Montgomery rose to leave, belatedly noticing he should have removed his shoes in the entryway. “My bad, honey. Got my wires crossed.”

  Honey. The hairs stood up on the back of Ryoki’s neck. Careless use of condiments—yellow card.

  Ryoki walked them to the front door. Kate put down her shoes and out of habit reached for Ryoki’s arm as she stepped into them. She caught herself just before contact, but luckily the damage was done; Montgomery had witnessed a domestic moment. For an instant his face hardened before relaxing into a polite smile. He put his arm around Kate, swinging her out to the car, two happy Americans on a date. Ryoki stood rooted before the open door, hand raised in a wave, eyes averted as if from an obscenity.

  The next day Montgomery was scheduled to leave for a week in Brasilia and the Tanaka household let out a breath and prepared to settle back to a comforting normality. But normal can be a fluid, slippery thing, and at 1:24 a.m. that night Ryoki jerked up out of bed to sound of a shrieking alarm. He stood for half a second staring at his clock’s red digital numbers, trying to gather his wits before snatching a bat from his closet and pelting through the house and into the pouring rain to Kate’s cottage. He arrived just behind two security guards, dressed and on duty, who were already tracking the target, a single intruder coming from the northwest corner. Three more guards closed in wearing only shorts and T-shirts, but carrying loaded weapons.

  The guards motioned Ryoki off, but stone-faced, he gestured to the door with his bat. Two guards sheared off to cover the back windows, while Ryoki and the other three advanced on the front door and tried the knob. Locked. They pulled back to kick it open just when the alarm cut and the lock clicked as Kate opened the door from the inside. They all stared at each other, blinking, the silence suddenly deafening.

  Kate, calm and unflustered, had pulled on a practical, knee-length, white terry robe, her nightgown trailing clear to the floor, yards and yards of silky and sheer frothing around her feet. She moved out of the doorway.

  “I’ve had a visitor,” she said quietly as she stood back to admit the men.

  One guard stayed with the principles while the rest ranged through the small cottage, guns ready. Finding nothing, they rushed into the garden, stopped dead and listened before splitting off to check the property and communicate with the outside security company. The next morning they would determine a camera and a few motion detectors had been tampered with, too high for the boy to reach, prompting an overhaul and ruthless tightening of all security systems.

  In Kate’s living room a small boy sat dripping with water and smeared with blood. He perched on the edge of the couch, coiled to spring, wild eyes gauging every exit.

  “He broke a window and must have cut himself in several places, but that doesn’t explain all these bruises,” Kate said as she walked to the bar and began wetting a hand towel.

  Ryoki hardly heard her, adrenaline pounding a freight train in his ears. He wanted an opponent, a good straightforward fight with the José he had expected. Gradually his eyes focused and he saw the marks on the boy’s face and neck, bruises big and small, different colors and different ages, nothing to do with the broken window.

  Kate returned with a couple of wet towels and some antiseptic ointment, but Ryoki noticed she had a long jagged gash on her right hand that had begun pouring blood, a startling Christmas red against her creamy, pale skin. Ryoki snatched the wet towel. “You’ve cut your hand. Wrap it up and keep pressure on it,” he said, more gruffly than he’d intended. He began gently wiping the blood of the boy.

  Kate looked at her hand in surprise. “I wrestled him through the window. So hopefully most of the blood on him is mine.”

  “That may leave a scar, Kate,” Ryoki said, though his real fear was the threat of AIDS, rampant in Brazil. However, as Ryoki finished wiping the boy’s face and arm he found the skin was unbroken—bruised and smeared, but not cut at all. Kate’s blood then. When Cecelia arrived a few minutes later, he sent her to call a doctor known to make house calls for rich patients. Forewarned of the circumstances, the little doctor came laden with a rolling suitcase of medicine and equipment, including a dewormer, a delouser, and an AIDS testing kit, which in time would come back negative.

  Ryoki sat next to Kate as the man stitched her hand, almost wishing she’d shudder or tremble so he could put his arm around her, let her know that she was safe and everything would be all right. Instead she sat holding her right hand very still, her eyes fixed on the boy, asking him question after question. But the boy was nervous and spoke colloquial Portuguese with a different accent, vaguely familiar, all kinds of shz sounds thrown in, so Ryoki only understood half his replies.

  After the doctor had examined the boy, Cecelia returned with food and two fully dressed security guards. The smell of leftover lasagna misted warm and rich through the room. Even Ryoki’s stomach started gurgling. The boy’s eyes went big at the sight of the tray, and when the housekeeper handed him a plate, he held it close to his mouth, deftly sucking in pasta, cheese, ground beef and ham with little or no aid from the fork.

  “Thank you, grandmother,” he said to Cecelia, slowly and gravely as he put down the plate and folded his hands.

  Cecelia and two security men took the boy off to a utility washroom for a good scrubbing and delousing, leaving Kate and Ryoki alone.

  “He’s probably a juvenile delinquent” Ryoki said.

  “Very likely,” Kate said, looking at her hand, rubbing around her stitches.

  “This probably isn’t the first house he’s broken into.”

  “No, probably not,” she agreed.

  “He’s probably been a thief for most of his life,” he said.

  “He’s only eight.”

  “I don’t think we should call the police,” he said.

  “I don’t either.”

  “But we have to call someone.”

  Kate nodded, but looked uncertain.

  “I’m sure there are government agencies to deal with kids like this. Did he tell you where his parents are?”

  “He said his father died in an accident when he was little, a motorcycle messenger apparently. He lost his mother more recently, supposedly a hit and run, but he thinks it was an accident at the factory. I don’t know if any of it is true,” Kate said.

  “Does he have any other family we could contact?” Ryoki asked.

  “He says he doesn’t.” She paused before adding, “He says his name is Lucas.”

  Ryoki could hear something in the way Kate said the name, carefully, with a peculiar softness like a new mother trying out her baby’s name for the first time.

  “He’s not a stray dog you can pull in off the street, Kate,” he said. “He’s a person with a history—”

  “He’s a child.”

  “—and we have no idea he’s even told us the truth about it,” he said. “What if he works for that José we’ve been concerned about?”

  “You’ve been concerned about.”

  “He may be working for any number of criminals a lot bigger and not nearly so cute,” he said.

  “But why break in here and not the main house? I think he was alone and just looking for someplace dry. He said he stayed here once when it was empty, but the alarm was new and it scared him.”

  “Or he counted on you being the easiest target and said anything to protect himself,” Ryoki said.

  “He’s a little kid alone.”

  She wouldn’t look him in the eye, but he could see what she was thinking. He took her hands in his, careful of her stitches. “This isn’t about those children on the mattress,” he said softly. “Don’t do crazy, careless things out of guilt. We don’t even know what damage that kid is capable of.”

  “You’re absolutely ri
ght,” she said. But he could see her debating with herself, searching for the safe zone between compassion and good sense.

  “He could stay here with me just for tonight,” she said. “Tomorrow I can call around and find out what we should do. That way he wouldn’t have an entrance to the main house.” She looked around. “You could take the TV and my laptop into the house. Then Lucas wouldn’t be a threat.”

  Ryoki stared at her in blank astonishment. What exactly did she think he was trying to protect?

  “Tonight he can bunk with the security guards. There’s an extra bed in one of their rooms anyway. But until this window is fixed and we figure out how he got so far, you will sleep in the main house, any room you want,” he said firmly.

  Kate flopped back on the couch and rubbed her eyes. “All my things are out here. Besides, if he could break in here, there’s nothing to stop somebody from breaking in there. I don’t really see the difference. Everything’s alarmed.”

  “Keep it up, Kate and you’ll be in my room with me,” Ryoki said exasperatedly.

  Kate made her incredulous face, but he knew she wouldn’t push it further. The boy would be warm and dry, that’s all she really wanted. Tomorrow would be soon enough to quibble over details.

  Cecelia returned with the boy, now dressed in a voluminous white T-shirt and a pair of drawstring shorts hanging nearly to his ankles. Ryoki told her where to take him and what to do, leaving special instructions that he was not to be let out of sight or allowed to use the phone.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Privately Cecelia had sized up the boy and saw no immediate threat, no inherent evil lurking behind his eyes. But she knew the streets made strange companions, especially for children. Just before bed she gave him a glass of sweet watermelon juice in which she’d dissolved half a sedative. The boy would be no trouble until morning. In the light of day they could all judge better.