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LESLIE. MURDERED.
The words weren't making sense, because her sister couldn't be dead. She couldn't be. Leslie had been Marisa's caretaker, her confidant, her companion. The idea that she could be gone...
Thank God it wasn't Ana.
Ana.
"Oh, my God. My baby."
"There's no sign of her," Garrison said.
"He's going to kill her."
Nate reached for her, but she angled away and focused on Garrison. "Did they find anything that made them think...?" She closed her eyes to block out the image of her daughter's beautiful body, dumped in an alley, dead and deserted. Gone.
Nausea rose to her throat, and she jumped off the truck and stepped a few feet away before losing her breakfast. After emptying her stomach, she staggered further into the grassy area and fell to her hands and knees.
Leslie was dead. Dead, dead, dead.
Forever.
And maybe it was Leslie's own fault for getting involved with that guy. Maybe she'd let greed and envy rule her. Maybe she'd gotten in over her head.
No chance for redemption now.
Dead, dead, dead.
And Ana... Sweet Ana, if she was still alive, she no longer had someone to care for her. What was that man doing to her? Had Leslie died trying to protect her? From him? From pain? From death?
Marisa sat up, stared at the park, imagined the city beyond it, the state, the country. Her daughter was out there somewhere. They were no closer to finding out who stole the money than they had been at the beginning of this nightmare, and even if they did figure it out, would the kidnapper—the murderer—really exchange Ana for information? And risk being caught?
Why would he, when the only person left alive who could identify him was a four-year-old girl he couldn't care less about? A little Mexican girl, just a pawn with no value. A pawn who could destroy him.
And there was nothing Marisa could do. She'd adopted Ana to give her the best chance for a good life, and all she'd done was sign her death warrant. A Mexican orphanage was no place to grow up, but at least her daughter would've had the opportunity to grow up. To fall in love and have children. To learn and live and laugh. Now, Ana would have none of that. And Marisa... Marisa wouldn't survive this blow. She didn't want to.
The men waited behind her. She heard a car door open and close a minute later. Neither of them spoke.
Marisa didn't care. She just wanted to lie down on the cold grass and drift away. She ignored the moisture seeping through the denim. The soft blades of grass beneath her fingers seemed a perfectly good place to rest. Should she? How long would she be able to lie there before she froze to death? Was it cold enough at night to kill her?
If only she could run away from it all. Not face it. Like she'd run away eight years before. Except now... Now, the child of her heart, her love, would be the one to bear the burden. Marisa couldn't run. She could only go forward and face it. Ana was worth whatever price she had to pay.
Marisa would find her daughter, or she'd die trying. Right now... Right now, she just had to do the next thing, like Nate kept saying. Stand up. Wipe her tears. Breathe.
Keep going.
She returned to the truck, brushing slivers of grass off her hands and onto her wet jeans along the way.
"You okay?" Garrison asked.
It was a stupid question. She didn't answer.
He held out a stick of Trident and a bottle of water. She took the gum and popped it in her mouth.
"Why don't you sit down again?" Nate asked.
She would argue, but her knees were too weak to support her any longer. Nate and Garrison lifted her onto the tailgate. Garrison popped his trunk, found a fleece blanket, and slipped it over her shoulders. "I usually keep it with me, just in case."
She didn't know what to say.
Nate said, "You probably have all sorts of emergency preparedness supplies in your trunk, too, right?"
"Flashlight, first aid kit, auto-repair kit, jumper cables, and flares. And granola bars and bottles of water."
"I knew it."
"Hungry? Thirsty?"
Nate glanced at Marisa. "We're okay right now."
They were kind to make conversation while she regained her sanity. She feared they'd need to talk a lot longer, but sane or not, she had to go on. "I'm okay." She looked at Garrison. "When did she die?"
"Their first guess, sometime last night."
Nate touched her hand tentatively. She gripped his back like it might keep her from slipping away. She felt a modicum of comfort.
Nate squeezed her hand. "Let's give her time to process—"
"No." She shook her head and nodded to Garrison.
Garrison continued. "They found her body in an alley in Chelsea, but that's not the murder scene."
"How did...?" Marisa's voice was weak. She cleared her throat and continued. "How did she die?"
"Again, it's just a guess right now, but based on...it looks like she bled to death."
She tried to process that. Bled to death. "From a wound, or...?"
"You don't need the details, Marisa."
Garrison was probably right. Still. "Was she shot?"
He shook his head and looked at Nate, who sighed. "Why don't we just—?"
"Please just tell me."
"She was beaten and stabbed," Garrison said. "A couple of times."
An image of her sister's body, bloody and broken, filled her mind. Garrison had been right. She hadn't needed that information. Nausea rose again, but she swallowed it back.
Garrison turned to Nate. "I thought you could identify the body."
"Of course. How did your partner find out about it?"
"Her fingerprints gave the cops her identity."
Nate considered that. "Why would they have her fingerprints?"
"She had a Certificate of Conduct for herself and all her employees. It's like a background check for NYC employees. I assume so clients would know they could be trusted."
"Ironic," Marisa said.
Nate glanced at her, and she looked away.
Garrison said, "My partner wants you two to come in and tell him everything."
Marisa shook her head. "This guy..." She swallowed hard. "We know now that this guy's a killer. No way I'm taking that chance."
Garrison looked at Nate. "Okay. You'll want to wait to ID the body, because they'll hold you up, and you don't want to lie to them."
"Do they know I'm involved?"
"My old partner, Simon, does, but he hasn't told the NYPD anything about the kidnapping. He's staying involved. If the police can figure out who killed her—"
"We'll have our kidnapper," Nate said.
"At that point, Simon will get involved."
Nate tilted his head. "Why isn't your partner handling the investigation?"
"He can't unless he tells them about the kidnapping, which I asked him not to do. He's pretty irritated with me for tying his hands like this."
"I bet."
"He understands the stakes. He expects me to contact him if we get any more information."
"Will you?" Marisa asked.
"The FBI is good at finding people. They might be your best bet."
"But this kidnapper just became a murderer," Nate said. "He'll do whatever he has to do to keep from getting caught."
"Yeah." Garrison turned to Marisa. "I know you don't want the feds involved, but I can't hold out much longer. If we don't get some information soon, Simon's making it official."
She kept her voice even, rational. "Then he'll kill Ana."
"Not if we find him first."
"But—"
"I know," Garrison said. "It still might be our best bet to catch this guy."
"I don't care about catching him." Marisa wiped a single tear. "He can escape to the outer rings of Saturn for all I care. I just want Ana back."
Nate was studying her, probably waiting for her to lose it. She sniffed and sat taller. Maybe she was in shock. Maybe she didn't care.
Nate sat on the tailgate beside her, and she cringed with the truck's movement. Tentatively, he scooted nearer and wrapped his arm around her. Part of her wanted to tell him to back off. Mostly, she needed his nearness.
Garrison said, "You okay?"
She stared beyond him. "We should go."
"Go—?" Nate asked.
"To Pamela Gray's house."
"I think you need—"
She pulled away from him. "I need to find Ana." She jumped off the tailgate, and Garrison stepped back just in time to avoid a collision. "Let's go."
"I don't know if..."
Her look silenced Garrison. "I don't have time to grieve my sister. My daughter is in the hands of a murderer. We have to find her. Now."
She walked to the passenger side of the truck and waited for Nate to unlock the door.
Nate stepped closer to Garrison and whispered something.
Garrison angled his body so his voice wouldn't carry to her ears. They spoke quietly for a few moments.
Marisa stalked back to where they stood. "What?"
"Nothing," Nate said.
She could call him on his lie, but she didn't have the energy. "Are we going?"
Nate glanced at her. "Just making sure we have all the information."
She looked at Garrison, eyebrows raised.
"Pamela Gray's as cold as they come. She won't give you anything if she doesn't see an angle in it for her."
"Even if she knows Marisa's daughter's been kidnapped?"
"She didn't care about Vinnie's murder. Maybe the years have softened her."
"Not according to her maid," Marisa said. "But it doesn't matter. We have to do the next thing. Right?"
Nate thanked Garrison and turned to her. "Let's go."