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NATE WALKED ALONGSIDE Ana, who stopped to admire every pretty flower in the hotel's garden. There were lots, even a few blue ones Nate and Ana agreed were the prettiest. He snapped photos of the girl, but as soon as she spied his iPhone, she lost interest in the flora. "Can I see?"
She studied his smartphone with something like awe.
"Have you ever seen one before?"
"There are men in town who have phones like this, but they are"—she lowered her voice and looked around—"bad people. Mama says to stay out of their way."
Why would Marisa live in a place like that? Had the woman no sense? Especially with a vulnerable little girl.
Ana was watching him closely. "You'd better do what your mother says. You want to take a picture?"
She nodded, so he showed her how. After that, she took photos of every flower they came across.
It was still fairly early, so the gardens were quiet. Nate spotted a man up ahead of them, but the guy must've gotten a phone call, because he pressed his cell phone's screen and turned in the other direction. Nate stared after the guy. With his long jeans, he didn't seem to belong here. Nate's PTSD kicked his heartbeat into overdrive, but surely it had been nothing.
Ana tugged on his hand, her soft grip pulling him away from his dark thoughts. He turned and smiled.
"Let's sit down." She pointed to a park bench. He discovered that if he stood on top of the bench in just the right spot and looked between two hotels across the street, he could see Acapulco Bay. He lifted her so she could see, too, and she snapped a few more photos.
They sat next to each other, and she filled him in on her life, her and Marisa's small house, the orphanage, and her schoolwork. Marisa had told him Ana was four, but the girl seemed so mature for her age. Not that he would know much about that.
"Let's take a selfie," he said.
"A what?"
He explained it while he rotated the view of the camera. They spent the next few minutes taking silly photos of themselves. Her innocent giggles seemed to melt a long-frozen place in his heart, and he had a sudden urge to wrap his arms around her and hold her tight. To protect her from all the evil in the world.
He'd probably scare the kid away.
"There you are!"
He looked up to see Marisa walking toward them.
Nate stood. "How's Leslie?"
"You were right. She's resting."
"Stinks to get sick when you're traveling."
"Typical for—"
"Mama!" Ana tugged on her hand. "Uncle Nate and me took pictures. Wanna see?"
"And I." Marisa's eyebrows lifted, and she looked at him. "Uncle Nate?"
He shrugged. He hadn't given Ana the idea, but he liked the title.
Marisa sat beside her daughter on the bench. Nate sat on the far side, and together, they scrolled through the photographs while Marisa oohed and aahed. Finally, she laughed. "My goodness, how long was I gone? I think you've taken a thousand pictures."
"Can I take them home with me, Uncle Nate? Abby has a picture in her room because sometimes she misses her mama and papa. I want to show her where we were. Oh, and can we take a picture of the pool?" She looked at Marisa. "We saw the beach"—the little girl pointed—"through there. Can we take pictures of the beach? Are we still going to the beach? Can we, Mama?"
Marisa tweaked the girl's nose. "I promised, didn't it? But maybe not yet." She looked at Nate. "It's nice right now. I thought we might explore, go shopping or something, and go to the beach later when it gets hot."
He wiped his brow and chucked. "When it gets hot?"
"It'll get hotter still, trust me."
He remembered the day before well enough. "Sure. Shopping sounds great. Maybe we can find a place to get those pictures printed. And you can show me around."
"This is my first time to Acapulco."
"Right." He'd forgotten.
The concierge directed them to a shopping plaza designed with American tourists in mind. It was within walking distance. Nate had hoped it would be inside and air conditioned, but no. It was an open-air market. At least the stores were cool, and the shopping wasn't bad. The company, though—that couldn't be beat.
He walked alongside Marisa while Ana led the way, talking nonstop and pointing in awe about every two minutes.
"You'd think she'd never been shopping before," Nate said.
Marisa watched with a smile. "There's a market in town, of course. It sells mostly local food. But other than that, she hasn't." She glanced at him, then away. "There are no malls in my village."
"Where do you buy your clothes and stuff?"
She watched Ana, who'd stopped at a fountain and was dipping her fingers in the water. "The orphanage gets donations. Most of them come from this church in Oklahoma that supports us. They send all sorts of stuff. Most of her clothes come from there."
"What about yours?"
Her cheeks pinked. "That's where I get most of mine, too. I order some things online. Like... Well, stuff you wouldn't want to wear hand-me-down."
He could imagine.
"It's amazing how little we need. I used to spend more money on makeup and lotions than I spend on food now."
"Wow," he said. "A woman who doesn't shop."
Marisa looked into his eyes. "I gave up everything, Nate. Everything." She turned back and stared at her daughter. "But I gained even more."
He watched the sweet little girl play in the fountain. He'd seen that kind of sacrificial love last fall when his friend had been prepared to die to save her son. He didn't understand it—not personally. But he could appreciate it. In fact, on Marisa's face it seemed the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen.
She turned and caught him staring. Rather than look away, she met his eyes and held his gaze.
He itched to grab her hand. But would she recoil? Maybe not now, but if she understood what he'd done, how he'd almost gotten his friends killed, she certainly wouldn't want him to touch her. To be near her at all.
"Mama, Uncle Nate, come on!"
The moment shattered as Marisa turned to her daughter. "We're coming, pajarita."
"What does that mean, pa-ha-ree-ta?"
"Little bird."
"Ah. It fits."
They failed to find a place that could print the pictures, but Ana had forgotten about them already. Maybe if he could coax Marisa's address out of her, he could mail the photographs to Ana after he returned to the States.
Ana and Marisa admired pretty things in every store, and Nate wished he could buy all of them for the two beautiful ladies. He couldn't buy them all, but he did take a yellow sundress for Marisa and a blue one for little Ana to the counter in one store, despite Marisa's protests.
But he had an ace in the hole, having seen the small bag Marisa had brought to town. "You have a suitable dress for dinner?"
She blushed and shook her head. "I thought we'd do something casual for dinner. We don't have a lot of money. And our clothes are fine. We washed yesterday's out last night, and we'll wash these tonight."
"You travel light, huh?"
She lifted the ugly brown canvas bag. "This is the only luggage I own."
He thought of the Pod at home stuffed with all his worldly goods. His life seemed suddenly bathed in riches. "But surely you left New York with a suitcase or something."
"My duffel bag was in rags by the time I settled."
He pulled a bag of candy Ana was staring at off the rack and snatched a pretty beach bag he'd seen Marisa admire and set them on the counter. "These, too," he said to the shopgirl. He turned to Marisa. "Now you have dresses for dinner and slightly nicer luggage."
"You really shouldn't."
He handed the girl across the counter his credit card. "I really should. And it's rude to refuse a gift."
The girl behind the counter nodded as she ran his credit card. "He's right, you know." Her accent was thick, her smile wide.
Marisa seemed to consider it before she smiled. "Okay. I guess I can't argue with your logic."
"Can we put them on now, Mama? Please?"
"After the beach, okay?"
At the reminder of the beach, the girl couldn't get there fast enough. After a quick stop at the hotel, the three of them splashed and played and rode the waves—small as they were in the bay—until Nate and Marisa were exhausted. The girl had energy reserves Nate lacked.
After giving her daughter strict instruction, Marisa fell into the lounge chair beside his with a sigh. "She'll be okay, right?"
"Between the life jacket and the lifeguard"—he pointed to the attentive man who seemed to have his eyes everywhere at once—"and you and me watching, I think so."
"She loves it."
"What's not to love? It's wonderful."
Marisa sat back and sighed, her smile fading. "We haven't talked about the threat all day."
"I know."
"Who do you think they were? Leslie said it was a man and a woman. I've been racking my brain trying to figure it out, but I have no idea. Charles is still in prison, right?"
"Unless he busted out."
Her eyes widened.
"Just kidding. He didn't. He's still safe and sound at Sing Sing."
"Sheesh. Scare me, why don't you?"
"Sorry."
"We should ask Leslie how old she thought they were."
"I did," Nate said. "On the plane. She said she didn't know, but she'd guess middle-aged. She also said she thought the man was tall, over six feet, and built. The woman was shorter but not short, according to your sister, and thin. It was dark, and they wore ski masks, so she didn't get eye or hair color. They both wore black."
"Thorough description. I can imagine you asking all the right questions to get that much out of her."
He shrugged.
"I remember that. You're good at getting people to remember things they didn't even know they knew."
"It's what I do." Did, but he didn't mention that.
A big wave created by the wake of a speedboat headed toward Ana. Marisa started to stand, but Nate touched her hand. "She's okay."
He itched to keep his hand there, to take hers.
Marisa looked at Nate's outstretched fingers. He pulled them back.
Ana jumped over the wave and looked at her mom, who clapped. "Very good!" Marisa leaned back again. "What are we going to do?"
An excellent question, one he'd been mulling since they'd found Marisa the day before. "You can't really do anything. Nothing has changed for you. You need to stay hidden, and you seem to have a life here. Though if you want, I could certainly help you find a safer place to live, maybe get you a job—"
"I have a job. If I can't go back to the States, I'll stay where I am."
"Ana said something about dangerous men in your village. Maybe you should consider—"
"Don't."
He shut his mouth, reluctantly.
"Besides," she said, "Ana's adoption isn't final. We have to stay where we are until it is."
"You can't move to a safer town?"
"Ours is pretty safe."
"When will the adoption be final?"
She shrugged. "This is Mexico. There's no telling. It's already been four years."
Ridiculous, but she was right. Mexico was not a paragon of efficiency and justice in the world.
Marisa pulled a bottle of sunscreen out of her old, ugly bag. She'd refused to bring the new one to the beach, lest it get dirty. She squeezed lotion onto her hand and rubbed it over one long, brown leg. Apparently, she didn't own a swimsuit, so she'd been swimming in gray shorts and a loose pink tank top. She could have worn sweatpants, and he'd still find her beautiful. Maybe she should have worn sweats, because he couldn't stop staring at her legs as she flipped her long braid over her shoulder and got to work on the other one.
She seemed unaware as she watched her daughter. "Which brings us back to the question—what should Leslie do?"
He forced his gaze back to Ana, who had met up with the girl from the pool the day before. They were building a sand castle. "I've been thinking about it, and Leslie has no choice. She needs to go to the police."
"But the people said they'd kill her if she did."
"They said they'd kill her if she didn't give them the money, too. And she doesn't have it."
Marisa finished her legs and worked lotion into her arm. The scent of coconut surrounded them and reminded Nate of vacations with his parents when he was a small boy, before cancer had stolen his mother away.
"But that's not really what they said," Marisa said. "They said they wanted her to give them the money or find out who stole it."
"Well, but..." He paused. She was right. That's what Leslie had said. "Why would they care, as long as they get the money?"
She held out the sunscreen, and he took it.
A second application, and he'd probably still burn to a crisp, thanks to his Irish genes. He'd bought himself a baseball cap in town, so at least his face wouldn't char.
"Maybe it's about justice, too," she said.
"If that's the case, that should help us narrow down who it could be."
"Meanwhile, though, my sister's life is in danger. We have to figure out how to protect her."
"And keep you and Ana safe."
"But if I keep us safe, Leslie will be in more danger." She looked at her daughter. "It's an impossible choice, Nate. How do I protect them both?"
He knew exactly how she felt.
* * *
AFTER A SHOWER AND shave, Nate went to the small lobby—the only place in the hotel with reliable WiFi. The old walls had been repainted bright white. The pink and aqua furnishings had faded to bland. The lobby was cool, and the faint scent of flowers wafted from the fresh centerpiece on the amoeba-shaped coffee table in front of him. A few women in sundresses and men in Bermuda shorts sat in the bar on the far side of the lobby, where a hand-written sign advertised happy hour specials. In the seating areas scattered around the lobby, more people sat, teens and children and adults alike, all looking at their electronic devices. So much for family vacations.
While Nate waited for the ladies to join him for dinner, he used his iPhone to pull up the news stories he'd written that had been prompted by Marisa's information. Nearly eight years had passed since he'd penned the words. After re-reading the articles, Nate navigated to his cloud account and scrolled through the research he'd collected back then, which he'd thought to upload before they left New York.
The door that led to the pool opened, and Leslie walked in, bringing the humid evening air with her. She spotted Nate, beelined toward him, and sat on the sofa catty-corner to him. "You look busy."
Nate reluctantly lowered his phone. "I figured you were upstairs with Marisa and Ana."
"I needed some fresh air after being cooped up in the room all day."
She had a little color back in her cheeks, so in that respect she looked better. The humid air had done a number on her already frizzy hair, though. "Feeling better?"
"Much. Thanks. What are you doing?"
"Trying to see if I missed anything, trying to figure out who threatened you the other day."
She leaned forward. "Any luck?"
"Not yet, but hope springs eternal."
"In my experience, it's trouble that's eternal. Hope is fleeting."
No good answer to that.
"I've never really understood what it was all about," Leslie said. "Charles and those guys were doing something, and Vinnie was involved somehow. He was no Boy Scout. So why did he get murdered? I mean, I sort of understand, but what did they do that was so bad that it was worth killing over? Charles went to prison for the murder, not the rest of it."
"He was convicted of mortgage fraud, too. He'd have gone to prison for that, but the state's murder charges trumped the others. The stuff he and his cronies did led to a lot of people losing a lot of money, and not just when the housing bubble burst."
"I remember that. My house lost like a quarter of its value."
"Charles and his friends capitalized on the hopes and dreams of thousands of America's working class, sucking them into mortgages they couldn't afford, then turning around and tricking them out of the little equity they had in their homes when the people couldn't pay their mortgages."
"That's just cruel."
"It was more than that. When people were turned down for mortgages, G&K found a fresh way to pad their pocketbooks. They colluded with loan processors who were willing to overlook forged payment stubs and tax returns. They bribed property assessors to inflate the property values of homes. In doing so, they were able to secure inflated mortgages for borrowers—who had no idea what was going on, by the way—to put money in their own pockets. Over the course of about a decade, they took in hundreds of millions of dollars."
Leslie shook her head slowly. "And you're saying Vinnie was involved in that?"
"He was a small cog in a very big machine. He found and befriended a lot of the buyers. He earned their trust, then worked with the assessors and processors to get the deals done. From my research, it seemed that Jeremy Kinnison was the mastermind."
"He wasn't even there, though. I remember cleaning the office after his going-away party."
Nate had forgotten how well Leslie knew these people. She'd cleaned their building, and she'd hired Marisa to help her. That's how Marisa and Vinnie had met in the first place. "Right. Kinnison was smart and cashed out before Vinnie started working there. But Charles Gray carried on his practices and even expanded on them. The whole scheme was a series of felony on top of felony on top of felony that screwed thousands of buyers out of millions of dollars."
"Wow. Charles seemed like such a nice guy. Vinnie, though, I was never sure."
"Vinnie was going to do the right thing."
"Or go to prison. I wouldn't call that noble."
"Better than warning Charles. Or running. But your sister said he'd become disillusioned. One of the borrowers had tracked him down and threatened him. Told him how he'd lost his house, lost everything, because of what Vinnie had done."
"So Vinnie grew a conscience," Leslie said. "That's good, I guess. Except probably why Charles had him killed. And at the end of the day, when it all hit the fan, the money was gone."
"Apparently, at some point after Charles was arrested for Vinnie's murder, but before the feds searched the building, the money in both Charles's personal account and in the business's operating account was funneled out. Millions of dollars, and the feds never found it."
"Why do they think Marisa took it?"
He nodded to her. "Because of your business, of course. The money was stolen at night, and she had access because she cleaned the building."
"But all the employees had access."
"But as far as anyone knows," Nate said, "only Marisa knew the feds were coming."
"How do they think she got access to it, though? She's not some super computer hacker."
"That's a good question. I don't know."
Leslie sat back and crossed her arms. "It doesn't make sense. I never believed she took it. Even now...I don't know what to think."
"Obviously, somebody else knew what was going on. Because Marisa didn't take it."
Leslie sighed, looked away. "The people who threatened me seemed pretty sure."
"They are wrong, Leslie. Your sister wouldn't—"
"Of course you believe her." Leslie laughed, but he wasn't sure of the joke.
"Meaning what?"
"Oh, come on." Her smile seemed forced. "You think I don't see how you look at her? How every man in the whole world looks at her?" Leslie looked away a moment. When she looked back, her expression had softened. "Did you know that when she was in high school, some modeling agency offered to represent her? I thought it was probably a scam and did some research."
"That was nice—"
"No, it wasn't." She shook her head. "I think I was jealous. Okay, I know I was jealous. I wanted it to be a scam, because things always came easy for her. She acted like I was this awesome big sister, but really...I was always jealous."
Nate wasn't sure how to respond, so he said nothing.
"Anyway, the modeling agency was totally legitimate. A swanky upscale place in Manhattan. I got there, found it filled with tall, skinny girls, just like Marisa. She could have done it."
Nate wasn't surprised, though maybe it wasn't nice to say so. "Why didn't she?"
"She thought about it. And Mom was all for it—which is probably why she didn't do it. She was in a rebellious stage. That and her father didn't want her to."
The way Leslie said father made Nate ask, "You didn't like her father?"
Leslie looked at her hands. "He was my father for a few years, too. He and Mom married when I was about a year old. He was the only father I'd ever known. And he loved me, treated me really good. I knew they were trying to have a kid, and I was happy about it. I wanted a little brother or sister to play with. Marisa was born when I was seven, and it was like Daddy forgot I existed. They divorced a few years later, and to me, Daddy became Carlos, Marisa's father."
"What about your own father?"
She shrugged. "Never knew him. Mom never told me anything about him."
"Your mother passed away, right?"
"Yeah, I'm an orphan. Like Ana." Her smile was sad. "At least me and my niece have something in common."
"Marisa, too, right? Didn't her father die?"
"He was killed in a motorcycle accident a year before Mom died. But at least she had a dad all those years."
He tried for a gentle tone. "None of that was your sister's fault, you know."
"I know. I love Marisa. I'd do anything for her. But...well, everyone thinks she has the money. Except you. I'm just saying, just 'cause she looks like an angel doesn't mean she is one."
Hadn't he had that very thought? "Point taken. But if she had millions of dollars, why would she be living in a tiny Mexican village?"
"Well, we don't actually know where she lives." Her gaze scanned the lobby a moment before she turned back to him and smiled. "But I know you're right. Of course she didn't steal it. She was always so good. Not perfect, of course. I used to be so jealous of her, but now... Well, it's not like her life's been all roses and cream, right? The last few years with her gone, I've realized how much she means to me. I just want my sister back." Leslie blew out a long breath. "But I have to find that money, or they're going to kill me."
"We're not going to let that happen, Leslie." His words carried a confidence he didn't feel. "We'll figure it out."