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MARISA ALL BUT RAN to the truck. It was all she could do to contain her excitement while they'd questioned Mrs. Gray.
Nate climbed in beside her. "What was that all about?"
"The man in the picture. Richard. He's the same guy from Jessica's house."
Nate's eyes narrowed. "From Jessica's—"
"The soccer coach. Remember. I asked if he was the father? And she laughed and said no, he was her son's soccer coach. It was Richard Gray."
He hadn't looked at the photograph at Jessica's, but the man had seemed familiar to him, too. "You're sure?"
"We have to ask Jessica, but I'm almost positive. Call her."
"Wait a second. Let's think this through. What if she's in on it?"
Marisa excitement waned. What if she was? "But would she have a photograph of him in her living room if they were doing something illegal? You saw her face when I asked about him. She wasn't at all nervous."
He nodded as if he agreed. "We should call Garrison, see what he thinks."
"No." Marisa had been thinking a lot about Garrison since they'd left him that morning. "He's a good guy, and he's been really helpful, but his loyalties lie with the FBI. I told the kidnapper no cops, and I'm not about to let Garrison get the feds involved."
"But maybe—"
"She's my daughter, Nate. If you don't want to help me—"
"I didn't say that." He blew out a frustrated breath. "I just don't want to misstep here, and I think Garrison could help us."
He was right, of course. Garrison could help them. He had a lot more experience than either of them did. Why didn't she want to call him? He'd done nothing but help. But he'd also told them he'd have to get the feds involved soon. And she couldn't risk that. "I know he wants to help, but the last time the FBI got involved in my life, I had to flee to Mexico. They were wrong about everything. And I'm not saying they would be again. But I just... I don't trust them to make Ana a priority."
"They would, though."
"Maybe. But—"
"Okay. She's your daughter. We do what you want. We can always bring Garrison in later."
She nodded as if she agreed. "Should we go straight to White Plains?"
"Let's call Jessica. If she agrees to see us, if she's cooperative, that'll tell us a lot." He pulled out his notebook and flipped through it until he found the numbers and dialed. A moment later, her voicemail picked up.
Nate left a message.
"What if she doesn't call back?"
He put the car in drive. "We'll give it an hour, then we'll drive up there. Okay?"
An hour was a long time to wait. What would happen to Ana in the next hour? "Maybe we should just—"
"Eat. I'm starving."
"But—"
"And you have to be, too. It's been hours since breakfast."
She'd left her breakfast in the grass at the park.
"Greek food? I know you love it."
She sighed. "Fine. As long as it doesn't take too long."
"Honey, you're in good hands."
Nate drove to a garage in midtown, where he had a friendly conversation with the attendant. Marisa watched, amazed, as Nate talked the Middle Eastern man into letting them park for free. "Just for an hour, though," the man said in a heavy accent. "And if my boss finds out—"
"Your boss loves me," Nate said.
The man laughed and nodded. "Is true."
Nate waved and drove up to the second floor. "I interviewed him and his boss a year or so ago."
"Do they owe you?"
"'Course not. I just let them tell their story."
"How come they're so willing to do you a favor?"
He shrugged. "I treated them with respect. Unfortunately, I think that's rare, especially for guys like him and his boss."
She regarded this man she'd spent so much time with and thought about how he'd treated her, all those years ago. A crazy woman on the bus, but he'd listened to her. He'd taken her at face value when a lot of people might've just written her story off as the ramblings of a crazy person. "You're a good guy, Nate Boyle."
He opened his door, came around the car, and opened hers. "Shall we? I'm starved."
She was halfway through the best Greek salad she'd had in years when Nate's cell rang. He looked at the number and said, "It's Jessica."
She swallowed a black olive while he answered the phone. The little shop was loud, crowded with customers, and she didn't blame him for not putting it on speaker, but she wished she could hear the woman's voice.
"We had another couple of questions for you," Nate said into the phone. "We thought we'd head your way..."
He listened, nodded as if the woman could see him, and said, "That'd be great. Where do you want to meet?"
He told her where they were eating lunch, then waited through another pause, writing something in his notebook. "Perfect. See you soon."
He ended the call. "She's in Manhattan with a client. She said she could meet us in half an hour."
Marisa pushed back from the table. "Let's go."
"We have time to finish our lunch. We're meeting at a park about five minutes from here."
She sat reluctantly. "What if she doesn't show?"
"We know where she lives, Marisa. It's going to be okay." He nodded to her salad. "You need to finish your lunch."
* * *
MARISA AND NATE PACED near the fountain in Bryant Park. Marisa had never been to this little green haven in the middle of midtown. Under different circumstances, she'd enjoy it. The sun was shining, and it seemed everybody who could be out today was taking advantage of it. She'd always loved springtime in New York, when even the hardest folks would thaw from their winter gloom, crack a smile occasionally. People in suits and jeans and skirts and all manner of attire munched their lunches at the many round tables that rimmed the grassy area. A few children played tag, and two rode small bikes with training wheels. The sounds of birds chirping and children laughing and cars passing and people talking all mingled in a discordant symphony, while the scents from the hot dog vendor on the corner brought back memories of happy times. All around them, buildings stood like sentinels. The sun was shining on the park for now, but the skyscrapers would block it soon enough.
The scene was perfect, and her fingers itched to sketch it. Anything to take her mind off the truth, if only for a second. The sounds, the scents, they should all calm her nerves. They didn't.
She looked at Nate. "What time is it?"
He glanced at his wrist patiently, though she'd asked the question three times already. "She was coming from an appointment."
"Where was she?"
"With a client on Madison Avenue."
Marisa turned toward the famous street. "That's just a block from here."
"It's a long street. Let's not worry yet."
"Easy for you to..." She glanced at his raised eyebrows and stopped. "Sorry."
Nate led her to nearby table. "Shall we sit?"
"I can't. We're close. Don't you feel it?"
He nodded slowly. "We shouldn't hang all our hopes on this. You could be wrong."
Adrenaline pumped through her veins, and she clenched her fists. "You think I'm wrong?" She couldn't be wrong. She couldn't. Wrong meant they were no closer to Ana. Wrong meant her daughter would die.
Nate pulled out a chair. "I'm just saying—"
"We have nothing else! If I'm wrong..."
He reached for her hand, but she stepped away. He dropped his arm. "I don't think you're wrong. I'm just saying, let's not get our hopes up too high."
When she didn't sit in the chair he offered, he leaned against the table and pulled out his phone. She couldn't see what he was looking at, but his eyebrows scrunched up, and his mouth formed a frown. She'd been with him enough to know he was thinking pretty hard about something, and she was about to ask what it was when she spotted Jessica.
The woman was still a block away, walking quickly toward them. Her blond hair was down, fluttering in the breeze. She wore a fitted gray business suit with a teal camisole beneath and carried a leather laptop case. Makeup made her pretty features striking, the perfect image of a Madison Avenue executive. Such a contrast to the pajama-clad, messy-bun-sporting woman they'd seen two days before. Jessica smiled as she entered the park and approached. "Sorry I'm late. I ran into an old friend. I didn't want to be rude."
Nate looked up from his phone and indicated a chair. "No problem. Thanks for meeting us."
Jessica sat. Marisa did too, though she'd have preferred to stand. Nate chose the third chair.
Jessica settled her bag on the round metal table. "I'm glad you caught me before I headed home. Lucky, I guess."
Lucky? Marisa allowed herself to believe it. She could use all the luck she could get.
"Definitely," Nate said. "And we think we've had another bit of luck." Nate pulled his notebook and pen out of his shirt pocket. "The other day, you told us your son—it's Hunter, right?"
Her smile faded. "What about him?"
"His soccer coach. You said the man had taken an interest in Hunter."
"Yeah. Well, not just Hunter, I think. He hangs out with other boys."
"Not just Hunter?"
"I think my son is his favorite." She glanced back and forth between Marisa and Nate. "What does Rick have to do with anything?"
Rick. Marisa swallowed the name, a morsel of truth in the mess that had become her life.
Rick was Leslie's fiancé's name.
Richard was Charles Gray's third son.
Despite what Nate had warned, her hopes soared.
"Did you ever meet Charles's kids?" Nate asked.
"Of course not." Jessica glanced at Marisa before settling her attention on Nate. "I mean, we would have done that, eventually. But when we were together, I was still, you know..."
Nobody finished her sentence. Jessica continued. "What does any of that have to do with..." Her eyes widened. "Wait. Are you saying...?"
Nate turned his phone so Jessica could see it. "Is that Rick?"
"That's him. Yes. Why?"
She asked the question, but the way her skin had faded to deathly pale told Marisa that Jessica already had an inkling of the answer.
Marisa leaned forward. "You didn't know?"
"What?" She looked back at Nate. "Who is that?"
"Richard Gray."
"No. No way. No." She looked up, shook her head, and swallowed. "No. It can't... Why in the world would he... Charles's son?" She looked back and forth between them. "I don't understand."
Marisa wasn't sure she did, either, now that they'd confirmed it.
Nate said, "Was he the coach before Hunter joined the team?"
Jessica took a deep breath. "No. Actually, I met him. I thought it was just a chance meeting. I was doing marketing work for the city, and he was there, applying for a permit or something. He started a conversation with me, and at first, it was like..." She brushed her hair away from her face. Her hands were trembling. "He was a bit of a flirt. A charmer. Honestly, he reminded me of.... Oh! Of course he did. He's his son."
The noises of the park seemed to have faded, or maybe everyone had paused to hear the rest of the story.
"I wasn't interested. He was young, and I had Hunter. My son wasn't with me that day, of course. I was working. But I probably told him about him." She blushed and looked down. "He invited me for coffee. It was flattering, really. I spend way too much time alone." Her words faded, and she looked up and started again. "He told me he wanted to get involved with kids, loved working with boys. I told him Hunter's team needed another coach. Rick used to play soccer." She stared beyond them. "Charles's son played soccer. I just never put it together." She met Marisa's eyes. "You have to understand, Richard was just a kid when Charles and I were together. Like, I don't know, sixteen or something. I'd seen photos, but he'd had long hair, and he was little and skinny and"—she waved at Nate's cell phone and the picture still displayed there—"nothing like that. It just never crossed my mind."
"Did you guys talk about Charles at all?" Nate asked.
"No. Never."
"How about money? Did he ask you about that?"
"He came to my house a couple times to pick up Hunter or just to hang out with him. I told him Hunter's father had paid for it, but maybe... I don't remember exactly how I said it, but I often sort of make a joke of it. Like, 'amazing what a few trinkets can buy, if you sell them right.' Maybe I said that. But money is still tight. Always tight, because... Obviously, it's expensive to live in White Plains. So maybe..." She looked at the photo, and her words faded out.
"Maybe," Nate said, "he assumed you didn't have the money because you weren't living as though you did."
"He asked me about my BMW once. I laughed and told him how old it was. Charles bought me that, too. Feels like decades ago."
Marisa marveled at Nate's abilities to cut right to the heart of the issue and get the truth. And do it in a way that made Jessica feel comfortable.
He looked at Marisa. "Maybe Richard assumed Jessica"—he nodded to her—"had the money, but when he saw how she was living, decided she must not."
"At which point, he moved on to Leslie," Jessica said.
"But Leslie did have it," Marisa said. "And considering all the updates Leslie had done on her house, Richard probably figured he'd hit pay dirt. Her business was successful, but that successful?"
"Right. But she only had the G&K money."
Only the G&K money? It was millions. "Surely that was more than what Charles had in his account."
"Right," Nate said. "But wouldn't Richard consider Charles's money his?"
Marisa remembered the man's words from their phone call two days earlier. Nobody's going to get hurt if I get my money, he'd said. My money.
"This isn't just about money," Marisa said. "It's about getting what he believes he deserves."
"Exactly. Which is why he was willing to consider taking proof of who stole it instead of the money itself. For him, in his weird way, this is about justice."
Marisa couldn't help an angry chuckle. "Because there's justice in kidnapping a four-year-old. In..."
Nate rested his hand on her knee, and she stopped before she said too much. Nate was probably right. There was no need to tell Jessica about Leslie's murder.
Jessica looked between them, eyes narrowed. "The thing is, he was good to Hunter. He really seemed to care about him. He hung around, coached soccer, spent time with him. He was like..."
After a moment, Nate said gently, "Like a brother?"
"Oh." She sighed. "Yeah. Just like a brother."
Nate scribbled something in his notebook. "He found you to feel you out, see if you had the money. He stayed because he cares about Hunter."
"I guess," Jessica said.
"Okay. Good. Now we just need confirmation. Do you have the guy's phone number?"
Her eyes widened. "I do, but—"
"If we can confirm who he is, that would make all the difference. Can you call, just make up a story?"
She looked between them. "Like what?"
Marisa reached across the table and took Jessica's hand. "I know it's scary. But if we're right, this could mean the difference between finding Ana or never knowing what happened to her."
"Of course, I understand." Jessica turned to Nate. "But what should I say?"
Marisa pulled her hand back. "Are he and Hunter close?"
Jessica focused on her. "Very."
Marisa swallowed the rising excitement. "Does Hunter ever call him?"
"Yes. I'll have to tell him not to."
"You should, yes. But maybe... Could you call to tell him Hunter is sick? Or maybe to cancel something they'd planned?"
"They have no plans."
"Wait." Nate scrunched up his eyes again. "How much does he care about Hunter?"
"A lot. I think. And maybe more than I realize, because of the brother thing."
"Would he come if you asked him to? What if you told him...?" Nate stared at the park. Another few beats passed before Nate focused on Jessica. "I need to formulate a plan, but right now, can you tell him you're going out of town for the weekend? Maybe tell him something like Hunter wants to see him, maybe next week. Maybe you could do it this weekend, but you're getting out of town. Something like that."
Jessica narrowed her eyes. "Why?"
"We need to plant the idea that you won't be in White Plains."
Marisa tilted her head. "What are you thinking?"
"That I need my friends, and you don't want to tell Garrison."
Brady. Of course. But how would it work? She wanted to question Nate, but first things first. They needed to confirm their suspicions.
Jessica watched the exchange suspiciously. When both Marisa and Nate turned to her, she said, "What exactly do you want me to say?"
Marisa spoke. "Tell him Hunter misses him, and see if he might be able to get together with him next week. Say he'd do it this weekend, but you guys are going out of town. It doesn't matter if he can do it or not."
"But what about the out-of-town thing?"
Nate took a deep breath and leaned toward Jessica. "Are you willing to help us save Ana?"
Jessica swallowed. "I mean, yeah. Of course. I just... I have to protect Hunter."
"Richard loves Hunter," Marisa said. "He's his brother. And he has nothing against you."
"Not now. But what if he figures out I helped you?"
"He'll go to prison," Nate said. "It won't matter."
"Assuming what you're planning works. But what if he gets away?"
Marisa looked at Nate, because that was the question that had been niggling at the edges of her mind since they got here. What if it didn't work out? Ana would die. And what would happen to Jessica? Would drawing her in put her life in danger? Her son's?
Nate kept his focus on Jessica. "If he gets away, he'll know we know who he is. He'll run. And we'll get the FBI involved. They can protect you."
He didn't look at Marisa when he made that statement. Fortunately, neither did Jessica, or the woman might've seen her skepticism before Marisa had the opportunity to hide it.
Jessica nodded. "I'm not sure. I'll have to think about it."
Tears prickled Marisa's eyes, and she turned away. Finally, someone who could lead them to the kidnapper, and she wouldn't help.
Nate's hand settled over Marisa's, but she didn't look at either of them.
"Can you at least call him?" Nate asked. "That way, we can confirm it's him. And you can plant the idea that you're going away for the weekend. If you do decide to help us—"
"I can do that."
Marisa looked in time to see Jessica pull out her cell phone and put it on speaker. "This way you can hear his voice." It went straight to voice mail.
Jessica's tense shoulders relaxed.
"It's Rick. You know what to do." Richard Gray's voice sounded so pleasant, even lighthearted. Nothing like the killer Marisa knew him to be.
Jessica took the phone off speaker and lifted it. "It's Jess. Hunter was asking about you. We're thinking about getting out of town for the weekend, but I was hoping you could carve out some time for him next week. Maybe just ice cream or something? Call me when you get a chance."
She ended the call and set the phone on the table. Her hands were trembling, but her voice had been steady as spring rain.
She looked at their faces and attempted a smile. "I take it by the look on your faces that was him."
Marisa couldn't speak for the wave of affection that rose for this woman, and the hope that carried it in like a tsunami. Jessica had been afraid, but she'd helped them anyway, and that one phone call might have made all the difference.
Marisa could only nod.
Nate reached across the table and took Jessica's hand. "Thank you. Even if you can't do anything else, you just gave us our first real advantage. Do you mind giving us that phone number?"
"Of course." Jessica showed Nate the phone, and he jotted the number down.
"Do you know his address?" Nate asked.
"I know where he lives, but I couldn't tell you the address. I can drive by it later—"
"That's okay," Nate said. "We can probably figure it out. If not, we'll call you."
Jessica nodded, looked from one to the other. "I don't know if I can do more. If it were just me, I'd do anything to help you, but I have to protect my son."
Marisa took Jessica's other hand. "I know exactly how you feel."