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MARISA WOKE THE NEXT morning to the scent of coffee wafting beneath her door. As much as she wanted some, she needed a shower first. She checked the clock on the nightstand.
No way she'd slept until ten.
They'd arrived home after eleven the night before. No amount of arguing with Nate had persuaded him to turn the car around and stay in New York. Once she'd fallen into bed, she'd realized he was right. Now, after sleeping ten hours, she was even more convinced. She'd needed a good night's sleep, and this cabin in the woods was much more peaceful than any hotel could have been.
She showered and slipped on clothes she'd found folded on her bed the night before. Probably Rae's, because Sam's clothes would have been too short for her. She chose a dark pair of jeans from the few folded there. They were a bit baggy but long enough, and with the belt Rae'd supplied, they worked fine. She looked outside at the drizzly day and chose a sweatshirt from the pile. Soft and cozy. How she'd missed sweatshirts.
She'd live with a million stifling hot days if only she could get her daughter back.
Hair wet and braided, she stepped into the great room and stopped.
Nate, seated at the bar, turned and smiled at her. Sam waved from her perch at the end of the counter. Rae was behind the counter, sipping from a mug. She said, "You're up. We thought we heard the shower."
Marisa blinked at all the faces, noted the tray of baked goods on the kitchen table, and turned when the back door opened. Brady stepped inside carrying a few logs. "Good morning."
"Hi," Marisa said. "I'm late to the party."
Nate walked toward her. "We didn't want to wake you. Did you get a good night's sleep?"
"Very."
He urged her to the bar. "Here, take my seat."
As Marisa slid onto the barstool, Rae set the coffee caddy in front of her. "What kind of coffee today?"
She selected one. Rae set it in the machine and pushed the button to start it brewing.
Marisa turned and watched Brady tear a newspaper into strips and shove the strips in the bottom of the fireplace.
"Is it cold enough for a fire?"
Nate nodded. "It's dropped into the thirties out there, and it's raining."
"I saw that." A thought occurred to her. "What if it turns to snow? We'll never get back to New York."
Before she'd finished speaking, Nate shook his head. "It's not supposed to snow. It's supposed to warm into the forties today. We'll be fine."
"But it could have, and we'd be stuck—"
"I checked the weather, Marisa. You have to trust me."
Brady lit the fire, and she stared into the flames for a moment as the paper burned. The twigs he'd stacked caught, and one of the logs started to flicker and hiss.
How long had it been since she'd seen a fire in a fireplace? A very long time.
Sam approached and slid the tray of baked goods and a plate in front of her on the counter. Marisa turned and met her eyes.
"It's good you came back here," Sam said. "You needed your rest."
"I need to know my daughter's okay."
Sam and Nate shared a look, and the bottom dropped out of Marisa's stomach. Ana was dead. They'd found her body, and nobody'd wanted to tell Marisa. It was over. She whipped round to face Nate. "What didn't you tell me? Is she—?"
"Nothing happened," he said. "Nothing's changed."
She studied his face. "Why are you lying to me?"
"As far as we know, Ana and Leslie are fine. And I'm not lying. I just want to wait until you have some coffee before we get into it."
"Get into what?"
He sighed.
Rae slid the coffee across the bar to her. "Cream? Sugar?"
Marisa ignored her and stared at Nate.
"Get your coffee, eat some breakfast, and we'll talk."
"I don't want to eat."
"It's not optional."
She could tell by the set of his mouth that he wasn't kidding. She could throttle him or eat. Eating was faster, even if the food tasted like cardboard. She snatched a muffin off the tray and took a bite. When she'd swallowed, she said, "Satisfied?"
"Is it good?"
She's hadn't noticed. Banana nut, she thought. She set it on the plate. "It's fine."
He nodded to the sofa in front of the fire. "Let's go where it's warm."
She sat on the end of the long sofa nearest the fire. Sam chose a club chair opposite her, and Rae perched in the love seat across from the fireplace. Nate followed a minute later with Marisa's coffee and muffin and set them on the table before he sat beside her.
Brady futzed with the fire another minute before he sat beside his wife.
When Brady moved out of the way, Marisa could feel the heat from the flames. She stared at them, wondering what terrible news Nate had for her and trying to figure out how she'd ended up in the middle of a fire herself. She'd built a life. She'd fallen in love with the people in Mexico, tried to serve them well.
She imagined the ancient chapel in the orphanage, where the priest had come every week to teach the kids about God. "God is on your side," he'd said. How she'd wanted to believe it. But Ana's kidnapping had taught her better. If God existed, he didn't care about her. She was on her own.
She tore her gaze away from the flames and looked at Nate. "What happened?"
"Yesterday when I saw Charles, he told me something that got me thinking. I told Garrison about it, and he agreed it was suspicious."
"But you didn't tell me."
"I needed more information."
She looked at the faces gathered around her. Ten o'clock Thursday morning, and everybody was there. For the first time she realized that little Johnny was missing. People had taken off work, Rae had gotten a babysitter, all for this news.
Marisa looked back at Nate. "You might as well tell me. It can't be worse than what I'm imagining."
He took a deep breath. "Your guess about your sister was right. She's the one who told Charles what Vinnie was up to. He confirmed that yesterday."
Marisa let that sink in. She'd never known for sure, but she'd always suspected. Leslie hadn't wanted Marisa to marry Vinnie. Marisa could imagine that her sister had seen the information as an opportunity to break them up. Leslie would have justified it, if she'd been caught. I was only trying to protect you. I only want what's best for you. And Leslie would have believed her own justifications.
Marisa looked back at Nate, glanced at the rest of the faces, all studying her. She focused on Nate. "Leslie set this whole thing in motion."
"Looks like it. I told Garrison—"
"Is that what you two were talking about yesterday when you stepped out of the car?"
"He'd had time to process it. He told me that he was going to do more digging. And after you and I met with Jessica yesterday, my theory sort of blossomed. When we stopped for gas and you stepped into the restroom, I texted Garrison."
Marisa's anger at being left out was slightly overpowered by her desire to know the rest of the story.
Sam cleared her throat. "Garrison called me last night and suggested Leslie's finances might shed some light on the mystery. It took time, but I managed to figure out where she banks and looked at her transactions."
Brady shook his head and looked down. "I don't even want to know."
"The hardest part," Sam said, "was figuring out where she banks. After that, it was pretty simple. It's not that I hacked the bank. All I had to do was go to her bank account and request a password reset. Then hack her email."
"What part of I don't even want to know did you not understand?" Brady asked.
"Anyway." Rae gave both Sam and Brady a look that had them clamping their mouths shut. She nodded at Nate. "Go on."
"Sam looked at her banking habits in the last seven years."
"That was as far back as the records went," Sam said.
"Every few months," Nate continued, "she has a small influx of cash. A couple thousand here, a couple thousand there. Sam checked the business account and doesn't see any reasonable explanation. And it's always from the same bank account."
"An overseas bank account," Sam said.
Marisa met Sam's eyes, but the woman immediately gazed at the table. Marisa turned back to face Nate. She didn't like where this was going. "Maybe she has a client that pays her from that overseas account?"
Nate looked at Sam, who looked up, her expression almost pitying. "Your sister emails her invoices to her clients. I matched most of the incoming money to invoices. But these large deposits—there are no invoices that match. Plus, the invoices aren't usually round numbers. You know, they're exact, like eight hundred thirty-seven—numbers like that. But these are big, round numbers—two thousand or twenty-five hundred."
Nate reached for Marisa's hand, but she yanked it away. "What are you saying?"
Sam looked at Nate, and Marisa turned to him.
"Leslie knew about the fraud," he said. "She knew about the FBI, and she told Charles about Vinnie's plan. She knew you were talking to me. Did you contact her when you were in the hotel?"
"She didn't know where I was staying." Marisa had promised not to contact anybody, but of course she'd contacted Leslie. "I called her once, just so she'd know I was okay. When I ran away, I met up with her. She gave me some money."
"The first time you contacted her," Nate said, "you told her what was going on?"
"Yeah. Of course. She's my sister, she needed to know."
"That's what I thought."
Marisa scanned the rest of the faces. They were all watching her. She focused on Nate. "That doesn't... I don't understand what you're trying to say."
"From Jessica English," Nate said, "we learned that your sister told her about all the other women. Did you see Charles with a lot of women in the office?"
Marisa shook her head. "No. Just Jessica, that one night."
"No other women?"
Marisa looked back at the flames, mostly because their compassionate gazes were making her angry. "It makes no sense. Why would Leslie tell Jessica that?"
"I don't know exactly," Nate said. "And I don't know why she'd say you and Charles had been together. And you said yourself, it went against what she always told you—to mind your own business. To keep your head down and not get involved."
"She was angry at me for dating Vinnie, even more so because we met there. She even threatened to fire me."
"Did you consider breaking up with him?"
"We were in love. Like I was going to give up the man I loved for a night job cleaning office buildings. I just worked there to pay my way through school. She paid well, but not that well."
"She wanted you to keep your distance from the G&K employees. But it seems she was very involved in what was going on there."
Marisa stood and stepped to the fireplace. She stared at the flames consuming the logs, one simmering spark at a time. She spun and faced Nate. "What exactly are you trying to say?"
Brady cleared his throat. "All that evidence... It points to something. If I were investigating your sister, I'd be pretty convinced at this point that she had done something wrong. People don't go against their own standards for nothing."
Marisa turned to Nate and crossed her arms. "Just say it."
"Your sister stole the money from at least one of the accounts."
"The company account," Sam clarified. "Garrison checked the bank accounts the money was transferred to eight years ago against the one your sister's been getting money from. It's not the same account, but it's at the same bank."
"There's no doubt your sister stole that money," Nate said.
"I don't understand," Marisa said. "Why that night?" Nate opened his mouth, but she lifted her hand to stop him. "I'm not saying she didn't do it. I'm just trying to understand. You're saying she somehow got the bank account information."
"She had plenty of opportunity to go through people's drawers. She probably found the account numbers and passwords written somewhere."
"Fine. So she maybe could have gotten that stuff. Why did she steal it that night—exactly the same night Charles was arrested? If she had the access, she could have done it any time."
Nate started to speak, but Rae beat him to it. "I don't think we can answer that for sure. But I have a theory."
Marisa was almost sorry she'd asked the question, because whatever Rae and the rest were going to tell her, it was going to make perfect sense. And she wasn't sure she wanted to know. She steeled her courage and said, "What's your theory?"
"Your sister knew the feds were coming, right?" Rae asked.
"She knew everything," Marisa said.
"I think your sister had a thing with Charles."
Rae's pronouncement hung in the air. Sam's dropped jaw mirrored what Marisa was thinking. Brady, on the other hand, nodded slowly, as if all the pieces were falling into place.
Marisa turned to Nate, who had closed his eyes. He slowly lowered his head, so she couldn't see his face. But she could guess what expression he wore.
Marisa turned back to Rae. "Why do you think that?"
"She told Jessica about the other women. Why would she do that? What other motive except jealousy?"
"But Leslie never said..." Marisa tried to remember something that would have hinted at an affair with the boss. "I think she would have told me if she'd been in a relationship with the boss."
"Would she, though?" Rae asked gently. "After grilling you about keeping your distance from the business people you worked for, after trying to break you and Vinnie up, would she have confided in you that she was doing the same thing?"
Marisa tried to imagine that conversation, but the picture wouldn't come. No, Leslie wouldn't have told her, not after all the lectures about Vinnie. About how she could do better. About how he would never see her as anything more than the cleaning lady. Marisa had always wondered if Leslie's biggest objection to their engagement was that she had been wrong.
And to admit Leslie'd been duped into the same kind of thing? "You're right. She wouldn't have told me. But still, why that night?"
Nate finally looked up. His expression was...sad. "When did you tell her Charles had come onto you?"
Marisa remembered that conversation well. Leslie'd been furious. The truth hit her, and she staggered back to the sofa and sat. "After Vinnie died, when I was at the hotel. A week or so before he was arrested. She was trying to tell me that Charles probably hadn't meant for Vinnie to die. That he was probably a decent guy who'd just gotten in over his head." Marisa's admission that Charles had come on to her—that's what had prompted Leslie's decision to steal the money.
"I hate to say it," Brady said, "but your sister doesn't have your looks. You were used to men fawning all over you, but your sister... Maybe it was a first for her. She just got sucked in."
Nate said, "And she gave you money to help you escape. Nice, of course, but it made you look guilty. It was kind of the perfect plan. Because Charles wasn't going to tell the feds he was sleeping with the cleaning lady. He underestimated her."
"He probably never even considered her," Sam said. "If what Anderson said was true. Sounds like he had a sexual addiction. Maybe there were too many to think about."
Marisa looked at the flames as she let the information settle in. Her sister had stolen at least part of the money. All those people had lost their jobs, the mortgage company closed down, because Leslie had used the information Marisa gave her to steal that money.
Leslie had been her big sister, her protector. She'd given Marisa a job to help her get through school. She'd paid all the household bills so Marisa could focus on tuition. And Marisa had always pitied Leslie. Poor Leslie had no father and had lost her mother. Poor Leslie had to play the caretaker to Marisa when their mother died. Poor Leslie wasn't blessed with good looks like Marisa, with a talent like Marisa's. Poor Leslie.
Poor Leslie was a liar and a thief.
Marisa considered the money Leslie had given her to escape. A few thousand dollars, a drop in the bucket compared to what she'd stolen, but because of it, Marisa had been able to escape.
And because she'd run, she'd looked guilty. And Leslie had gotten off scot-free. She'd continued to build her business, and she'd been smart, never taking too much. It was as though she'd taken the money not to get rich, but to prove something. To get back at the world for dealing her such a rough life. To get back at Charles for using her and discarding her. To get back at Marisa for what?
It didn't add up.
Marisa turned back to the room. "If Leslie has the money, why doesn't she just tell the kidnappers, offer to pay them off in exchange for their freedom?" She looked at Sam. "She hasn't spent it all, right?"
"Assuming this is the only bank account she's using, she should still have plenty."
Marisa couldn't sit still. She stood and stepped back to the fire, warming her hands in the heat. She turned to Nate. "How do you explain that?"
Nate looked at Brady before he stood and joined Marisa by the fire. He took her hand, and she resisted the urge to yank it away.
"What I'm about to suggest—it's sort of good news for Ana."
"What?"
"We believe"—he nodded to his friends—"that your sister always believed you had stolen Charles's money. Remember what she said back in Mexico—'just give it back to them, and I'll be safe.'"
She did remember. "Okay."
"For whatever reason, your sister decided she wanted to get her hands on the rest of the money. I don't know why. I don't know what prompted it. But I think your sister lied about those people in her room that night. I think...we think her kidnapping was staged."
Marisa tried to step back, bumped into the hearth, and stumbled. "No." She righted herself, pushed past Nate, and stalked to the bar. She turned to look at them, all watching her.
"No."
Nate stood and started to step toward her, but Brady shook his head, and he stopped.
Nobody else moved.
"Leslie wouldn't do this," Marisa said. "She wouldn't..."
Marisa stomped to the back door, yanked it open, and stepped outside. Cold damp air shocked her system, but she didn't care. She couldn't be inside with those people, with Nate. Couldn't listen to their terrible lies about her sister. Terrible lies that, God help her, made too much sense.
No.
Maybe Leslie was a thief. The facts lined up like chisels, chipping away at her battered heart.
But to kidnap a four-year-old girl, to smuggle her out of the country? To terrify Marisa? To harm a helpless child, all for the sake of money?
No, Leslie couldn't sink that low.
Marisa pulled the arms of the sweatshirt over her hands and hugged herself. The back deck extended a few feet beyond where she stood, but she stayed where the house's overhang protected her from the steady rain. The lake was gray, the raindrops splashing and creating a layer of mist that rose up like ash from the fires of hell.
Leslie wouldn't have done this. Leslie had never loved anyone except Mom and Marisa. And sometimes, Marisa had wondered about her sister's feelings for their mother. But she'd never doubted Leslie's love for her. She'd cared for her, protected her, guided her.
But even if Leslie hadn't been behind the kidnapping, she had stolen the firm's money. And because of that, Marisa had run away. Her life had been ruined because of something Leslie had done. Was it possible? Had Leslie done this, too?
The door opened, and a moment later, someone stood beside her.
"You okay?"
Nate, of course. She glanced at him, but he kept his gaze on the lake beyond the trees.
Marisa sighed. "I'm cold. Let's go inside."
He opened the door, and she stepped in. Brady, Rae, and Sam had moved back to the kitchen. They all looked at her.
"I'm fine." She went to the fireplace and warmed her hands. Stared at the flames. Tried not to think.
A moment later, Nate wrapped an afghan around her shoulders. "Cold out there."
"Yup."
"Probably feels pretty strange after so many years in Mexico."
"Yup."
She watched the flames, itching for a pencil and paper. To escape the nightmare for a few minutes with her fingers and her imagination. A picture filled her mind. A cabin, water dripping down the siding, the gray lake beyond, and the fire flickering through the windows. A figure entered the picture in her mind's eye, a little girl with dark hair and joyful eyes, her face lifted to the sky to catch the raindrops.
Tears dripped down Marisa's cheeks, but she couldn't move to wipe them. She let the moment fill her, overwhelm her, until a sob rose in her heart and burst out.
Nate turned her to face him, and she leaned against his sweatshirt and wept. He held her, silent, until the latest round of tears was spent. When she looked up and sniffed, Nate stared into her eyes, and she stared back. If only things could be different and she could stay with him, right in that spot, with Ana adding the music of her laughter. If only.
Nate wiped her tears with the sleeve of his sweatshirt. "You okay?"
She turned to see Brady, Rae, and Sam getting coffee, picking at muffins, and generally trying not to watch. Polite. A little awkward. She nearly laughed. "It's okay," she said to the room in general, and they all looked up. "Sorry about that."
Rae nodded gently. "You're entitled to fall apart. We don't mind. Right?" She nudged Brady, who nodded.
"Yeah. It's fine. Uh..."
"Let's sit back down," Rae said.
The five of them took their seats, and Marisa laid the blanket over her legs and sipped her coffee. Someone must've microwaved it while she'd been outside, because it was hot. She was thankful as it warmed her.
"Are you with us?" Nate asked.
"You're saying the kidnapping was staged. Leslie staged it."
Nate looked at Brady, who shook his head. "Just to be clear, your daughter was kidnapped. That wasn't staged. Your sister wasn't a victim, though. She's the kidnapper."
Leslie had kidnapped Ana. How could she have sunk so low? And more importantly, why? Marisa faced Sam. "But you said Leslie still has plenty of money."
"As far as I can tell," Sam said.
"Why would she do this?" Marisa asked. "And why now?"
Sam shrugged. Marisa turned to Nate. "You spent time with her. Did she give you any indication—?"
"That she was lying about everything? Of course not. I knew she was jealous of you, that maybe she wasn't convinced you didn't steal the money. But if I'd thought her capable of this, I never would have helped her find you."
"Of course." Marisa touched his hand. "I didn't mean to imply..."
Nate squeezed her hand. "I know."
"You asked the right question." Brady looked at Marisa. "We might not be able to figure out her motive, but let's focus on the other half of it—why now? What's different now from, say, a year ago? According to Sam, her business is thriving."
Sam nodded. "She picks up new accounts all the time, bought a new car with cash about a year ago. Her house is paid for—"
"Our inheritance," Marisa said.
"If there are gambling debts, I'm not seeing them," Sam said. "But even if there were, why not just pay them out of the money she already has?"
Rae leaned forward. "Maybe we can't figure out why, but something prompted her to do this. What's different in your sister's life now from before?"
The answer was obvious. "There's a guy. She's engaged." She looked at Nate. "She wasn't wearing a ring, but she said he was going to get her one soon. She talked about him a lot, said he was handsome and sweet, and she couldn't believe he wanted her."
"Did she give you a name?" Brady asked.
"Rick."
"No last name?"
Marisa shook her head. "I never thought to ask. We didn't have that much time to visit, honestly. We spent the one night together, but she was exhausted after all the travel, and she was sick the next day. We talked a little before bed that night, but..."
"It's okay," Rae said. "Rick is a start."
Sam was already tapping on her laptop's keyboard. "I'm looking at your sister's Facebook profile. Her relationship status says she's in a relationship. She doesn't mention the guy's name, though. I'll scroll through her friends..." Her voice trailed off as she studied the screen.
"Maybe this Rick she's involved with is her accomplice."
Marisa turned to Nate, a new thought occurring to her. "Or maybe he was just using her to get information, to find me. Maybe he threatened her, and she didn't have any choice."
Nate nodded slowly. "Maybe."
The rest of the room was silent. Clearly, nobody thought that seemed plausible, but the idea took hold, a lifesaver in this ocean of doubt. "Maybe she really was threatened that night, and they think I have all the money. She went to Mexico to get me to give it to her. Maybe she's been caught up in something she can't control."
"That's very possible, Marisa," Nate said. "We'll just have to wait until we find her and we can ask her."
"But you don't believe it."
He shook his head. "Why wouldn't she have just given them the money she stole? To protect herself, to protect you, why not just pay them off to get them to go away?"
Marisa had no answer to that.
"Remember what Nate said?" Rae asked. "In a weird way, this is good news."
Marisa turned to Nate as the memory of his words from a few minutes before came to her. "Why is it good news?"
"Your daughter is with your sister." Nate adjusted in his seat to face her. "Don't you see? She might be guilty of all these things, but she's not a psychopath. She wouldn't be cruel. I don't know your sister like you do, but from what you've told us, and from what I've seen, she has a strong instinct to nurture. Don't you think she's taking good care of Ana?"
The tightening in her chest loosened just a tad, and a tiny flicker of hope lit. Marisa remembered Leslie with Ana, remembered how they'd walked hand-in-hand through the market. Remembered the gifts Leslie had bought her, the way they'd laughed together, how Leslie had protected Ana on that Acapulco street. Leslie wouldn't hurt Ana.
Marisa met Nate's eyes. "Leslie will take good care of her."
"I think so, too."
"Thank God." Marisa looked up, saw only the ceiling, but imagined some strong force up there. For the first time, she allowed herself to believe this might work out. She looked back at the faces around her, all watching for her reaction. She smiled. "You're right. That's good news."
Nate squeezed Marisa's hand and turned to Brady. "We have the information. What do we do with it?"
"I know what I'd say," Brady said, "but Garrison probably has more experience with this kind of thing than I do. Let's catch him up and see what he says."
"What would you do, though?" Marisa asked. "I'm curious."
"If it were me, I'd stay the course, see if you can discover who stole Charles's money. For all you know, they're watching you. You don't want them to know you're on to them."
Nate was nodding with Brady's words. "I agree. I'll call Garrison and get him up to speed." Nate stood and walked into his bedroom, dialing on the way.
Marisa sipped her coffee, picked up the muffin, and took a bite. It was delicious. She hadn't noticed before.
"More coffee?" Sam asked.
She looked inside her cup, finished the last sip, and nodded. "Let me. I want to play with the machine."
Sam laughed, and she and Rae joined Marisa in the kitchen, where Marisa figured out the Keurig. "I really missed America."
"I know what you mean," Rae said.
Marisa turned to the tall woman. "You've lived abroad?"
"Nate didn't tell you?"
Marisa looked at the closed door of his bedroom. "We haven't had a lot of time to catch up."
"We were colleagues."
More than colleagues at one point, but Marisa didn't quibble about the details.
"I'm a reporter, too," Rae said. "I lived in Tunisia."
"What brought you home?"
Rae looked at Sam, who lifted her eyebrows.
"It's a long story. You should ask Nate about it."
"I've tried a couple of times to ask him why he left the Times, but he always changes the subject."
Sam took Marisa's hand and squeezed. "Ask again. I think you need to know."
Their expressions were too serious. Seemed these two women knew a lot more about Nate than she did, and they felt she needed to know. Why, though? Would it affect their ability to find Ana and Leslie? Or did they think there was more going on between her and Nate?
Was there?
Marisa slid her coffee across the counter, took her muffin from the coffee table, and perched on a barstool. She ate the muffin, sipped her coffee, and wondered about the man who'd come to mean so much to her.