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MARISA'S PHONE RANG.
She pulled it out of her pocket while the others gathered around the kitchen table where they'd been eating an early dinner.
The few bites Marisa had taken of the lasagna Sam had brought turned in her stomach as she met Nate's eyes.
"Go ahead," he said.
She connected the call. "Hello."
"Did you get my money?"
"Almost."
"Almost doesn't cut it."
"I want to speak with Ana."
"You talk to her when I say."
Her heart raced, but she wasn't backing down. "You won't get a penny if I don't talk to my daughter."
"Have you forgotten who makes the rules? I do. You don't speak to your daughter until—"
"If you want to see one red cent of that money, you'll put my daughter on the phone. Now!"
Her entire body trembled. She glanced at her friends. Their wide eyes and open mouths told her she'd gone too far.
Silence on the other end of the phone. Had he hung up? Had she killed Ana?
"Whatever," Rick said. "Hold on."
Marisa's heart restarted. Barely. She met Nate's eyes and nodded.
His hand slid around her back, and he leaned in to listen. Marisa glanced at the expectant faces around the table and attempted a smile. She stared back at the table and begged God as she listened to sounds coming through the phone. A door closed—sounded like a screen. Then it was quiet. Then a door creaked.
"Come here, kid. Talk to your mother."
"Mama?"
Ana's little voice drifted from far away.
The man's voice came back. "Did you hear that?"
Marisa wasn't settling for that. It could have been a recording. "Put her on the phone."
"You can talk to her when I get my money."
"Put her on the phone right now, or you'll get nothing. For all I know, you recorded her voice."
"Pretty demanding for someone holding none of the cards."
Her ire rose. She waited until she knew she could speak calmly. "I'm holding two million cards. Put my daughter on the phone."
Nate met her eyes and mouthed, good job.
She looked back at the table and waited. Just a second passed before she heard the most beautiful voice in the world.
"Mama?"
"Ana, baby, are you okay?"
"I want to go home. I don't know where Aunt Leslie is. The man said she left. Why would she leave without me?"
Marisa's eyes filled with tears at her daughter's sad voice. "I'm sure she didn't want to, pajarita."
"Mama, he says I have to go. I love you."
"Love you, too."
Nate tapped her back, and she turned to him. He mouthed, Leslie.
She nodded as, through the phone, a door slammed. The man's voice came on. "Satisfied?"
"Where's my sister?"
"Like your kid said, she had to go."
"What did you do to her?"
"Your daughter's all right. If I were you, I'd focus on that."
Marisa let the moment drag, let the man think she was considering that.
"So you got my money?" Rick asked.
She took a breath and rehearsed the story they'd decided to tell. "I spent most of the morning at the bank trying to get it today, but there are rules about these things. It's in a mutual fund—"
"You put my money in a mutual fund?"
She swallowed and looked at Nate. He seemed to be asking if she needed help, but no. She could handle this.
"I never had the money," she said. "The person who took it put it in a mutual fund."
"Right. And they're just giving it to you out of the goodness of their heart."
She tempered her reply. "Some people care about children."
"I care about children. Just not little Mexican brats."
Her blood pulsed through her veins. She'd never been a violent person, but if this man were standing in front of her right now, Marisa would kill him. She tamped down the rage and said nothing.
"You spent the morning at the bank?" he asked.
"The money will be deposited into my account on Monday, they said first thing in the morning."
"I thought you wanted your kid back ASAP. You couldn't get them to expedite it for you?"
"Probably, if we'd called the police. But you said not to do that."
Silence. It stretched until Marisa started to say something else. Nate shook his head. Wait.
So she waited.
After a minute, he said, "Fine. I'll be in touch Monday."
"Are we going to make the exchange in New York?"
"Like I said, I'll be in touch."
The line went dead.