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AFTER NATE FILLED GARRISON in on all they'd learned, he stepped back into the living room to find Marisa chatting with Rae and Sam. Her plate held crumbs, and her coffee was half full. She was laughing at something, and the sound was more beautiful than a symphony at Carnegie Hall.
She turned when he walked in, her smile fading. Not the effect he wanted to have on her, but it couldn't be helped.
"Garrison thought our theories were sound," he said. "In fact, he was a little annoyed he'd never put it together before."
Brady stood in front of the fire, where he'd been adding more logs and probably avoiding all the estrogen in the kitchen. "He didn't have all the information." He brushed his hands off on his jeans.
"That's what I told him, but you know how those law enforcement guys are. All ego."
"Watch it," Brady said.
Marisa giggled, and Nate's heart did a little backflip. He'd made her laugh. The realization sent him a thousand stupid ideas, silly things he could do to elicit the same reaction. Good Lord, he was thinking like a middle-schooler. Maybe he should tug on her braid to get her to notice him.
The thought of children brought his mind to Ana, which sobered him. He walked around the bar into the kitchen. Not that he needed more coffee, but putting space between him and Marisa seemed a good idea, if he wanted to think straight.
Rae swiveled on her barstool. "What did he suggest?"
"Same thing as Brady—keep looking for the truth, because it might be our only leverage. The only way we can use the information is if we can either figure out who Leslie's accomplice is or get her on the phone alone. And even then, it would be risky to say anything. What if he's listening?"
Marisa said, "We could ask—"
"But why would she tell us the truth?" Nate leaned toward Marisa. "If he's listening in, she could say he's not. If we could be sure she was alone, we could confront her, suggest she give herself up and work with us to put her accomplice away. But if he's listening, or if she tells him we know..."
Marisa's face paled. "We could put her in danger."
"Or they could just run," Rae said. "Use her money and take off."
Marisa looked at Nate. "And what would they do with Ana?"
Rather than guess the answer, he said, "We keep going forward, searching for the money, and hope your sister and her friend keep their end of the bargain. Maybe an opening will come, and we'll get the chance to talk to Leslie alone. We'll just have to go where the circumstances take us."
Marisa sighed. "Nothing's changed, not really."
Brady stood behind Marisa and put his hand on her shoulder. "We know more than we did before. You know what they say—knowledge is power."
Rae nodded. "We'll figure out a way to use it. You never know how these things will work out." She met her husband's gaze, and they shared a moment that had Nate's heart beating wildly. He knew what they were thinking. It brought back a thousand bad memories.
Sam said, "What do we do now?"
Nate looked at her, thankful for something else to focus on besides Brady and Rae. "Any chance you could hack into Pamela Gray's accounts, see if she stole the money?"
"It's not stealing if it was her husband's money," Brady said.
"True," Nate said, "but she claimed she didn't have it. If she does, the mystery is solved." He looked back at Sam. "Can you do it?"
"I haven't been able to yet. She's better about security than most people."
"We'll just have to ask her," Marisa said. "Maybe if she knows the stakes, she'll help us."
Nate doubted it, but he didn't say that. "She's not going to be home until tomorrow. In the meantime, I think we need to figure out who Leslie's fiancé is. Did you find anything on her Facebook page?"
Sam shook her head. "It says she's in a relationship, but there were no Ricks or Richards."
"Maybe she lied about his name," Marisa said. "If he's an accomplice, why would she tell us the truth?"
"Maybe," Sam said. "The problem is, she has five hundred friends, about half of them men. I can scroll through them, see if I can narrow it down, but it'll take time."
"Five hundred friends?" Marisa couldn't imagine her sister connecting with that many people. Must be friends from her business. "Don't you have to work? I hate that you're all taking time off for this. Maybe I can do it."
"Don't be silly," Sam said. "It's just a job. I can catch up next week. This is more important."
Rae patted Marisa on the back. "I work freelance. My time is my own."
"But Johnny—"
"Is fine," Rae said. "Whatever you need, I'm here to help."
Brady nodded. "I'm a detective. This is what I do."
Marisa looked at Nate. He reached across the counter and took her hand. "There's no place I'd rather be than right here. I'm with you in this."
"I know." She held his gaze. Something warm and electric passed between them. Something terrifying and beautiful. He cursed the counter between them.
She looked away first. "Thank you. All of you. I can't imagine doing this alone."
* * *
NATE OPENED THE DOOR for Marisa, who climbed into Brady's truck Friday morning just as the night faded to gray. After a stop at McNeal's for coffee and breakfast sandwiches to go, they aimed for I-93. They were mostly silent until they slowed slightly as traffic picked up nearing 495.
"Where are all these people going so early in the morning?" Marisa asked.
"Most are trying to beat the traffic into Boston."
She looked at the clock. "I would still be sleeping back in Mexico. Our commute was a walk across the street."
"Different lifestyle down there."
"There were plenty who left for Chilpancingo before dawn. Ana and I were fortunate."
Nate glanced at her profile in the brightening light. Even this early in the morning, she was stunning. "Not a lot of folks would consider your circumstances fortunate."
She shrugged and sipped her coffee.
He'd managed to eat his sandwich before they'd hit Londonderry, before the traffic really slowed them down. Her sandwich lay on the paper it had come wrapped in, resting on her lap. She'd been picking at it for twenty minutes. She took the final bite, balled up the paper, and dropped it in the McNeal's sack. After she'd finished the bite, she said, "Thing is, it could have been much worse for me, but since I already spoke Spanish and I'm half Puerto Rican, moving to Mexico was easier than it would have been for someone like your friend Rae, for instance. Trying to fit in with her complexion and red hair—that would have been tough."
"You'd be surprised, though. Rae's able to fit in about anywhere she goes. She dyed her hair dark brown when she lived in Africa. It wasn't very pretty, but she stood out less."
"Tunisia, she said."
"Right." A little ball of apprehension settled in his stomach.
"She told me I should ask you about why she moved home. She gave the impression there's a story there."
His palms started to sweat just from the thought of sharing the story. He wiped his right hand on his jeans, then his left. He adjusted the heater. It suddenly seemed very warm.
"You don't want to tell me."
He glanced at her, saw a flicker of hurt in her eyes, and focused on the road. They were moving faster now, but it would take another three hours before they got to Queens. Not like he could pretend there wasn't time. He took a deep breath. "It's not easy to talk about."
"Okay." The one word held both question and resignation. She wouldn't push it. Which made him feel worse. Could he get through it without losing his breakfast? More importantly, what would Marisa think about him when he'd finished the story?
He could hear his therapist's voice echoing in his ears. Your prison bars are only as solid as your secrets. Fine. If Marisa thought less of him, at least she'd know the truth about the person she'd trusted to help her through this. Maybe she'd decide to leave him out of it, and he could go back to the solitary life he'd planned.
He glanced again and saw her watching him. What would she think of him? But it couldn't be helped. She'd learn the truth eventually. Rae or Brady or Sam—one of them would certainly tell her before this was all over. Of course, if he let one of them tell it, Nate would come out looking like a hero instead of the coward he was.
So yes, he should tell her. But, under the circumstances... "It's a pretty ugly story, Marisa. It has nothing to do with the people who have Ana, but I don't want to make things worse for you."
"I think I can handle it."
He took another deep breath. "Rae married a guy who turned out to be an arms dealer, part of an international crime family that makes our local gang activity look like child's play. She didn't know what he did for a living. He'd lied to her about everything, but..." He forced a breath. So far, so good. "A lot of this story is hers. I'll only tell you my part in it. Before I go on though, this isn't something I'm really supposed to talk about outside of therapy. It's all hush-hush, which means you have to keep it to yourself."
"You can trust me with your secrets."
He nodded once. "After Johnny was born, she left the guy and went back to Nutfield to hide. I was the only person he'd met from her past, so he..."
Nate paused, swallowed, and loosened his grip on the steering wheel. He took a deep breath and willed his voice to stay steady.
"He and his bodyguard grabbed me. And there was a woman, too. They stuffed me in the trunk of a car and took me to a hotel room in Connecticut."
"Oh, my God."
"The guard was..." She didn't need the details. "I knew where Rae was, but I refused to tell them."
"Did they hurt you?"
He nodded.
"Did you escape?"
If only he'd had the courage. "The guard was working against Rae's husband. Julien found out and shot him. Twice." Nate swallowed the nausea that always rose with the memory. "I watched it happen."
He focused on the road, the white lines whizzing by on each side, the sedans and minivans and SUVs and eighteen-wheelers all around him. It was a normal day, and he was surrounded by normal people. He was safe.
"That must have been terrifying," Marisa said.
"I just thought... You're in that situation, and you think, this is how I'm going to die. Just like that. And you start to wonder about inconsequential stuff, like will I soil my shorts? Will it hurt when the bullet enters my brain, or will I die instantly? Should I try to run and get shot in the back instead? At first, I kept trying to figure out how to get away, but there were three of them, just one of me, and they had the guns. The woman was adept at tying my ropes. And then I was badly beaten, I couldn't imagine how I could ever get out of the ropes, much less fight to get away. After a while, I don't know. You just decide, whatever. I guess I'll die."
"Oh, Nate."
"I got angry. I thought, screw 'em. They're going to kill me anyway. I'm not telling them anything."
"But everybody breaks. That's what they say on TV, anyway."
He nearly smiled. "Yeah. I would have, eventually."
"But you didn't?"
"Rae called. I should have..." His eyes stung, but no way was he going to cry. He waited until the feeling passed. "I should have answered the phone with, 'They have me. Run.'" But I thought they'd just figure out I'd been lying and try to get me to tell where she was. I never imagined she'd give herself away. When she did, I should have warned her."
"But there was a reason you didn't."
He could still feel the gun pressed to his temple. All his thoughts about being ready to die had come to that moment, and he hadn't had the courage to go through with it. "I was afraid." At least he didn't have to look at her as he admitted this most shameful moment of his life. He might never be able to look at her again.
Marisa reached across the truck and touched his hand, which had a death grip on the steering wheel. He looked down, saw her hand there, palm up. An invitation. He considered ignoring it, wanted to ignore it. But he cared too much for her to hurt her. He took her hand.
"We're all afraid, Nate. That's what it means to be human."
"I should have protected her."
"But she's all right. It worked out."
"No thanks to me."
"What happened?"
He sighed. "The rest is really her story to tell."
A few moments passed, and he hoped the conversation was over. Marisa scooted closer. "How long did they have you?"
"About thirty-two hours."
"A long time."
"Nothing, really. Think of POWs and what they have to endure. My situation was nothing like that. And still I couldn't hold out."
"You didn't tell them where she was."
"Eventually, I did. He threatened to kill my family, and at that point, I couldn't figure out what the point was in not telling them. They knew the town she was in; it was just a matter of time before they figured out her real name and where she lived. I didn't want them hunting down my parents or my brother to get the information."
"They put you in an impossible position, Nate. You did the right thing. The only thing."
"You say that because Rae and Johnny survived. If they'd died..."
"But they didn't. And Rae and Brady obviously feel very differently about what happened, based on the things they've said to you. And to me about you."
"Rae blames herself for what I went through. I wish she wouldn't. She didn't have any control over the situation."
"And you did?"
He didn't answer. He knew what Marisa would say, the same thing his therapist said, the same thing Rae and Brady and Sam had said so many times. He hadn't had any control. Maybe it was easier for the rest of them to say it, but to realize the truth of it? That was a whole different ballgame.
Nate had felt a lot of terrible emotions in his lifetime, but none hit that depth of powerlessness. He'd never considered himself a control freak, but having everything removed from his control, from when he was able to use the bathroom to the number of sips of water he was allowed between beatings. Being tied to a chair, unable to wipe the dripping blood, unable to scratch an itch. Some people found peace in knowing the world was out of their control. Nate found only torment.
Marisa moved their joined hands to her lap, where she laid her other hand over his. "I can't imagine how awful it was for you."
No, she couldn't imagine it. And he wasn't going to tell her any more. She had enough of her own torment right now. She didn't need to worry about his.
"Is that why you quit your job?"
"I needed to escape the chaos. Escape the job, escape New York." He needed to control his environment, and there was too much in New York that was out of his control. A quiet life. That's what he longed for. A life where he would never, ever feel that powerless again.
And if that were the case, what was he doing here?
"I believe I've ruined your plans," Marisa said.
Was she a mind reader? "Nobody ever plans for something like this."
"I would never have guessed you'd gone through that. Did you have PTSD?"
"Did. Still do, I guess."
"Yet, here you are."
A sucker for a pretty face. He glanced at Marisa and smiled. A beautiful face, a beautiful heart. He squeezed her hand. "Like I said yesterday, there's no place I'd rather be."
"How are you handling it, the...the fear? Because after I escaped eight years ago, I was skittish all the time. And nothing had really happened to me. I'd just been afraid, and it was awful."
"I feel like I'm in AA. Maybe I should be—do they have AA for control freaks?" The joke fell flat. "I'm worried I won't be able to handle it, yeah. That's why I need my friends and Garrison to stay involved. You need somebody you can count on if things get dangerous."
"I can count on you."
"No, you can't. You think you can, which is why I'm telling you this. I am..." He really didn't want to go on, but she needed to understand who he was. Even if it painted him in an ugly light. She needed to know he was not worthy of her trust. "Remember when that guy grabbed you in Acapulco?"
"Not the kind of thing a person forgets."
"Ever ask yourself why it took me so long to react?"
When she didn't say anything, he glanced at her face. She seemed more confused than anything. "You were there right away."
"I wasn't. I paused. I stood on the bottom step and stared for, I don't know, a few seconds, anyway. The instinct to help seems to have been replaced with the instinct to run away like a little kid."
"A second, two seconds—that's normal."
"It's not. A real man—"
"Don't be ridiculous. You think you're not a real man because you paused for a second? After what you've been through, a lot of people would have bolted. But you didn't. You rescued me."
"Not really. The guy took off as soon as he heard me. And anyway, he'd only been trying to stick the phone in your bag and create a diversion. He ran when he heard the tires squeal. I did nothing. Just like last time."
She sighed. "You're insane."
"There's that, too."
"That's not... Nate, the man you describe, this coward you think you are, would not have stuck with me through all of this. He wouldn't have gotten involved from the very start. He'd never have left Queens."
He wasn't sure what to say. He'd just been caught up in it, but he wouldn't be able to convince her of that. At least he'd told her the truth. Funny, though. His prison bars still seemed just as solid.