Wrapping her arms to hug her body, as though she was cold, provided a sense of personal security. It wasn’t due to the weather, which was barely seventy degrees with low humidity—fall season in Rio. The seasons were opposite those in America, where it was still spring. “Nome?” The guard by the door barked the question at Ella, and she knew he wanted to know her name. Even if she hadn’t been practicing conversational Portuguese on the airplane, she would have guessed his meaning. “Ella,” she said, neglecting her last name. At the time, it didn’t occur to her. The guard nodded and went through the front door, to see if anyone in the Bianci family knew her. Ella hoped Adam was inside, but doubted her luck at that point. Shifting uncomfortably, she tried to appear relaxed and casual. That last thing she wanted to do was alarm the small army guarding the premises. Minutes dragged by, and Ella began to wonder if anyone was home.
