Twisted Lies Page 26

  Rae gave him a look that had him clamping his mouth shut. She turned to Marisa. "I'm glad he's going to help."

  "He said he'd call back as soon as he was finished." She handed the phone back to Nate.

  He made sure the ringer was on and slid it in his pocket. "Now we wait."

  Nate could see by the anguish in Marisa's face that the last thing she wanted to do was wait for Julio to call back. "How about we take a walk?"

  "But if he calls back—"

  He pulled his cell phone from his pocket and wiggled it. "It works outside, too."

  "Let me just get some shoes on."

  To be polite, Nate turned to his friends. "Anyone else?"

  Sam and Rae shared a look and smiled. "You two go ahead," Rae said. Seemed they thought there was something romantic going on between Marisa and him. Not likely. Not ever.

  He turned to Brady, who shook his head. "I have work to do."

  Marisa returned wearing the jacket and shoes Rae had loaned her. "Thanks again for the clothes."

  "Don't mention it. Least I could do."

  "I don't think so. I think you have all done far more than anybody could have asked."

  Rae joined Marisa by the bedroom door. "I know how hard it is to have to depend on others in a situation like this. Just know, we wouldn't be anywhere else."

  A lump of emotion rose in Nate's throat as he watched his friends encourage Marisa. How had he gotten so lucky, to call these people his friends?

  He didn't know what he'd do without them. Amazing, considering a year before, he'd barely known Brady and wouldn't have been able to pick Sam out of a lineup.

  Funny how life worked out.

  Marisa squeezed Rae's hand and looked at him. "Ready?"

  "Yeah." He slid on his coat and pushed open the back door for her.

  The air was crisp. The sun glittered off the glassy lake like a sea of jewels. The birds twittered a frivolous melody. Under different circumstances, today would be the perfect March day. Marisa stepped onto the dock. Not much of a walk, but Nate didn't care. As long as he was with her.

  And that was the kind of thought he needed to banish.

  The cabins on either side had similar docks, but this was the only one connected to the patio and the house. The other cabins hadn't been built so close to the water. He imagined a summer evening when everybody was out. Kids swimming, grown-ups sipping cocktails, a radio piping nostalgia across the airwaves, the scent of grills and burgers tickling noses and setting stomachs to grumbling.

  None of that today, though. Just he and Marisa and the singing birds.

  Marisa leaned her elbows against the railing and looked out at the lake beyond. The water reflected the deep blue of the sky. The tall pines joined maples and oaks that stretched empty arms to the sky. Puffy clouds drifted on a slight breeze above. In the distance, the zzzm of a motorboat barely reached them.

  "It's beautiful," Marisa said. "I wish I had a sketchbook. I'd love to try to capture this place."

  "Try to? I've seen your work, Marisa. It's amazing."

  "It's just a faint reflection, though. Nobody knows the real colors, the true shadows and lines. We see it through our own..." Her words faded, and she turned to face him.

  All the beauty around him, and he couldn't take his eyes off her.

  "We see the world through our own prisms," she said, "separating perfect oneness into different categories like a prism separates light. Doing that helps us understand things, I think. But it also takes away from the whole. Back in art school, professors would teach us techniques for capturing what we saw and transferring it into whatever medium we were using. It was helpful—don't get me wrong. But it was separating a beautiful still life into lines and colors on a palette. That's what we do as humans."

  Nate tried to concentrate on what she was saying and ended up staring at her perfect lips as they formed the words. He shook his head and looked at the railing, the water. "I'm not sure I follow."

  She turned her focus back to the lake. "Vinnie took me to Paris once, just for a few days. We were walking across one of the bridges near the Notre Dame, and there was this line of artists, all sketching the great cathedral. I looked at their canvases. They were all different, every one. As if the artists were seeing completely different scenes. But they were all painting the Notre Dame." The wind picked up a few tendrils of her dark hair and blew it in her face. She combed it back. "Nobody really knows what anything looks like." She looked out at the water and chuckled. "Carlita would say only God knows."

  "Do you believe in God?"

  She turned and looked up at him. "I believe... I believe in Ana. I believe in you and your friends and Garrison. The way you've all helped me. I believe in the way I feel about my daughter. I believe... I believe in love."

  He hadn't planned to pull her into his arms, but a moment later, there she was. He paused an instant to memorize her wide eyes, her slightly opened mouth. And then he brushed his lips against hers.

  He knew she'd pull away. Of course she would. But she didn't, so he drew her closer and deepened the kiss, allowing his heart to lead. He slid his fingers over her silky braid, which he'd longed to touch for a week. When Marisa touched his own curly strands, his body nearly exploded with desire. He never wanted to let her go.

  She tensed, and he ended the kiss, but he didn't release her. He leaned back to study her face, but she looked down. "Hey. You okay?"

  When she looked up, tears filled her eyes. "What kind of mother—?"

  "No." With all his will power, he let her go. "What kind of man takes advantage like that? I'm sorry."

  "It's not..." She turned toward the cabin, seemed to falter. Poor thing had nowhere to go to get away from him and his mauling mitts.

  "I'm sorry," Nate repeated. "It won't happen again."

  He expected to see anger in her eyes, though she hadn't fought the kiss, and if he had any instincts at all, he'd say she might have even enjoyed it. But when she finally met his gaze, it wasn't anger he saw. Only sadness. "I hope..."

  Her words trailed off. Nate desperately wanted to know what she'd been about to say.

  "Hey." She held his hand, and her soft skin felt perfect there. "We're okay, right?"

  "Of course." Nate leaned against the railing and tried to calm himself. Every nerve seemed on fire, ever synapse begging for answers. For her. He took a deep breath and tried to remember what they'd been talking about. Art. Right. "Do you remember the picture you gave me?"

  She nodded. "This was the lake you described? The place you'd escape to, if you had to?"

  The place he'd been planning to escape to just nine days before. Nate looked around at the quaint cabins. "Yeah. This is perfect."

  "I agree."

  "What about Mexico?"

  "It was fine. I could have lived there forever. But it wasn't ideal. Too hot."

  Nate imagined the little village she'd lived in. "And the poverty."

  "I didn't mind that. That's how most of the world lives. And the people there have food and shelter. It wasn't the poverty that bothered me. It was the crime. The drugs. The disappearances. There are people who volunteer every weekend to comb through fields known to be dumping spots, looking for human remains, so they can tell the families what happened to their loved ones. As if that'll bring them peace."

  Nate swallowed the disgust that rose. He didn't know what to say.

  "But what peace can there be?" she said. "The families of those who'd disappeared, they want their loved ones back. Knowing they're dead... It just kills hope."

  "But maybe not knowing is torture, too."

  "It is." She sighed, and her shoulders slumped a little. "It is. But at least... To think Ana's still alive. It's all I'm living for right now."

  He let go of her hand and slid his arm around her back. The move was so natural, but he worried she'd pull away. Would the kiss they'd shared change things between them?

  He hadn't needed to worry. She leaned into him. He waited for sniffing
or tears, but she seemed spent.

  "If Mexico wasn't your ideal place to live, what is?"

  She took in the vista, the tall trees on the small mountain in the distance. She turned and stared, for just a moment, into his eyes. Then she dropped her gaze. "Wherever Ana is, that's where I want to be."

  Chapter 25

  MARISA STARED IN SILENCE at the scene in front of her, hardly seeing it.

  Nate had kissed her. And she'd kissed him back. And she'd liked it.

  What kind of mother thinks of romance when her daughter is missing? If she never got Ana back, could she ever open her heart to anyone again? Eight years had passed since Vinnie died. She hadn't kissed a man, hadn't even been on a date, in eight years. And then Nate had walked into her life, and she suddenly felt like a foolish schoolgirl.

  While her daughter was missing. While her sister rested in a morgue.

  But Nate had been with her through it all. He'd held her while she'd cried, strengthened her when she'd been on the verge of crumbling to pieces, and dug into the truth with her, for her, to find a little girl he barely knew. This thing with Nate didn't feel like some random romance. It felt like...like safety.

  Kissing Nate hadn't been about fun or even escape from the evil reality she was living. Kissing Nate had felt as natural as crying for Ana. Nate felt like home.

  How she'd love to ponder a future with him, the three of them living here, skipping rocks in the lake, tucking Ana into bed, reading her a book together. She'd love to dream about a safe world for the three of them.

  A cloud covered the sun, and the breeze increased. She crossed her arms and shivered, thankful Nate couldn't read her thoughts.

  "You want to walk?" he asked. "It would warm us up a little."

  The last thing she needed was to spend more time alone with him.

  She turned, looked around, and sighed. "I don't have the energy."

  Nate led her to the door, his arm still lightly around her back, as if she might collapse at any moment. Or maybe as if he didn't want to let her go any more than she wanted him to.

  And there she went again. She couldn't help those thoughts. She felt connected to Nate. It was wrong, and if the worst happened, she'd never forgive herself. But she didn't have the will to fight it right now.

  Inside, she slipped off her coat and draped it on the hook near the back door. Somebody had cleaned the kitchen. She should have done that. They probably all thought she was the laziest houseguest ever. She just couldn't seem to think of anything but Ana.

  And Nate, apparently.

  She sighed and pushed the thought away. Brady and Sam were seated in the living room. Rae was feeding little Johnny in his car seat, which she'd set on the kitchen table. The adults had been talking but quieted when Nate and Marisa walked in. The only sounds came from little Johnny, happy sounds that belied the situation.

  "Beautiful out there," Nate said. "But chilly."

  Rae scraped green baby food off Johnny's chin with the tiny spoon. "No news yet?"

  He shook his head and met Marisa's eyes. "Can I get you anything?"

  "I'm fine." She couldn't look at Johnny. He reminded her too much of her own daughter. She settled onto the love seat, slipped off her shoes, and pulled her feet up beneath her.

  "Coffee would warm you up," Nate suggested.

  He was always thoughtful. "I'll make it."

  "You look comfortable. Let me." He was in the kitchen before she could protest.

  The others made small talk until Nate returned with two cups of fresh coffee. She sipped hers, tasted the sugar, and smiled at him. Perfect.

  Brady leaned forward. "Nate, you think we could use this Jessica woman to draw the kidnapper out. What's your plan?"

  Nate sat beside Marisa. "Jessica said Rick is really attached to Hunter. I thought if she could tell him Hunter was hurt or injured, maybe even up here, we could get him to come up—"

  "To Nutfield?" Brady asked, eyebrows raised.

  "Well, you're here, and I thought—"

  "You want to bring a murderer to my town?"

  "To catch him, yeah," Nate said. "I thought we could set a trap."

  "I think it's a good idea," Sam said.

  "You would," Brady said.

  In the kitchen, Rae sighed, and Marisa almost smiled at their predictability. Brady and Sam seemed close enough to be siblings.

  Rae cleaned her son's face with a washcloth. "Nate, the problem is, how do we guarantee he'll bring Ana? If he doesn't and something happens to him—"

  "We'd never find her." The thought had Marisa's hands trembling. She set her mug down.

  "I hadn't quite worked that out yet," Nate said. "I can't imagine how he'd leave her unattended."

  "It's not like he's going for parent of the year," Rae said. "He could tie her up."

  "Or lock her in a closet," Brady suggested.

  Marisa stifled a sob, and Nate took her hand. He met her eyes. "I'm sure he's taking good care of her. Remember what Brady said? Most people, the vast majority of people, treat children with tenderness and care."

  Yes, but Rick was a murderer. She swallowed and looked down. Nate was sweet to try to alleviate her fears, but she knew the truth. There was no way to know if Ana was being cared for, or if she was even still alive.

  How could Marisa go on, never knowing the truth? Suddenly, the fields of bones in Mexico and the volunteers who combed through them made sense to her. God, please...

  Rae settled in next to Brady, the baby over her shoulder. "Sorry, Marisa. We're just—"

  "It's okay." She met Rae's eyes. "I understand."

  Rae patted Johnny's back. "Chances are good we could set a trap for him. We could get him to tell us where Ana is."

  "The cops could get the DA to reduce his sentence," Sam said.

  "So he doesn't pay for Leslie's death?" Marisa slid her feet to the floor and sat up straighter. "He gets away with what he did?"

  "Not completely," Sam said. "It's not like they'd set him free. And you'd get your daughter back."

  Marisa would do anything, agree to anything, to get Ana back.

  "We may not have another choice," Nate said. "This can't go on much longer."

  Marisa turned to Nate. "Why don't we set a trap for him when we're supposed to make the exchange? He'd definitely have Ana with him."

  "But we lose the element of surprise," Nate said. "He'll be expecting that. But if he came up here to see Jessica, he wouldn't be expecting us."

  "It's a risk," Brady said.

  Nate ran his hand over his curly hair. "Whatever we do, it's a risk. I've been round and round this same line of reasoning all night. There are no guarantees."

  No guarantees. Marisa tried to imagine a scenario where Ana was returned to her, safe. Unscarred. She pictured setting a trap, somewhere near here. Pictured a trade. A thousand images, possible scenarios, flitted through her mind. But in not one of them did Ana emerge alive and healthy.

  "You need to get the police involved," Brady said.

  His words seemed to come from far away as more thoughts assaulted Marisa. Her daughter and that...that evil man. What was he doing to her? Maybe the best scenario would be that her daughter was locked in a closet. Maybe at least then he wouldn't hurt her. But her sweet pajarita, afraid of the dark, crying and alone.

  Nate twisted to look into Marisa's eyes. "Hey, why don't you go lie down for a while?"

  She tried to shake the fears off, though the awful images wouldn't go away that easily. "I'm fine." She glanced at the coffee. No way she could pick it up without spilling it everywhere. She focused on Brady. "No cops. Please."

  "Your choice, but..."

  Nate's phone rang. He slipped it from his pocket and checked the caller ID. "It's Julio." He held the phone to her, but she shook her head. "Put it on speaker. I can't think. I need you guys to hear."

  Nate did and then set the phone on the coffee table. Marisa answered.

  "He wasn't there," Julio said in Spanish.

 
"Can we speak English? My friends are here."

  "Okay." He shifted the language. "I knocked, and nobody answered. I gave it a few minutes, but when nobody came, I let myself in."

  Brady's frown told them what he thought of that. Marisa didn't care. "Did you see any sign of my daughter, any clues—?"

  "I took many photos. The place was pretty clean. There were two bedrooms. The master bedroom was normal. But the other one he used as an office. Lots of photographs of a young boy in there. Also, a lot of information about a company called G&K, newspaper clippings, financial statements, stuff like that."

  "That makes sense," Marisa said. "This whole thing goes back to that scandal."

  "I didn't see anything that made me think a kid was there."

  Marisa's heart sank.

  "Except the stuff in the trash can." Julio sounded curious suddenly. "See, the guy's kind of a health food nut. Had all sorts of grains and seeds and crap. Even had kale in the fridge. And those fruit drinks that health food stores sell. But in the trash, there are wrappers from those frosted things that go in the toaster, and more wrappers from packaged cookies. Oh, and a spent cup and napkins from an ice cream shop.

  Marisa turned to Nate. His eyes were as wide as hers must be. Ana had told them she'd had ice cream. "They were there."

  "Yeah," Julio continued, "looks like it. And there's one scrap of paper. I mean, this is why I shred everything. It's amazing what you can learn from a trash can."

  Brady's eyes narrowed.

  "What was on the paper?" Nate asked.

  "Maybe an apartment?" He rattled off an address. "I checked it on my phone. It's in Chelsea."

  Chelsea. Marisa and Nate looked at each other again.

  Brady said, "What?"

  Nate shook his head and nodded to the phone.

  "Can you read that address again?"

  Julio did, and Nate and Rae wrote it down. Sam typed on her laptop.

  "Otherwise, the apartment was just what you'd expect. I will send you the photos."

  "That'd be..." Marisa's voice faltered as something rose in her heart. Hope. She swallowed. "You've helped us so much, Julio. How can I ever thank you?"

  "No need to thank me. A friend of Ramón's is a friend of mine. Call if you need anything else."