Twisted Lies Read online

  Marisa couldn't tell Leslie or the people who'd threatened her anything that Nate and the FBI didn't already know. But if somebody thought Marisa had the money, then whether she had it or not didn't matter. Leslie was in danger.

  And there was nothing Marisa could do to help her. She'd been over what she knew a thousand times, hoping for some way to prove who'd taken the money, because if she couldn't figure it out, she'd never be able to go home again, not while Charles believed she'd done it. Charles had resorted to murder once. She had no doubt he'd do it again to get his money back, even from prison. So she was stuck, unable to help without more information, and how could she get more information without exposing herself?

  She turned over, twirled one of her daughter's curls in her finger. A tangible reminder that there was more at stake than her own safety and Leslie's.

  Her thoughts spun until they nearly made her dizzy. But she still had no new ideas about who'd threatened Leslie.

  Meanwhile, Leslie had fallen asleep almost immediately in the other bed. Of course, she'd traveled all night, so exhaustion must have helped.

  Finally, little Ana's gentle breathing beside Marisa lulled her to sleep.

  She woke early to discover Leslie had slipped out of the room. Ana was awake and bouncing on Leslie's bed.

  "Look at me, Mama!" She jumped high, pulled her legs up, and landed on her bottom.

  Marisa smiled but shook her head. "We don't jump on beds."

  "Why not?"

  "You'll break the springs."

  Ana tilted her head to the side, a twinkle in her eye. "But I'm just a little bird, right?"

  "A hungry bird, I bet."

  Ana nodded, and the two dressed and headed to the restaurant. Marisa's meager funds wouldn't keep them here for long, and she needed to hold onto enough money to get back to Chilpancingo, where they'd hitch a ride with some folks from her village who worked in a factory there. And Marisa should offer to cover some of the cost of gasoline. Money was always tight for the folks in her village.

  Nate looked up from his seat in the small restaurant when they walked in. He waved them over. "They have a delicious buffet. You two hungry?"

  Ana had already spied the long, colorful table covered in chafing dishes and glass trays filled with goodies. She gaped at it with awe. "Mama, can we? Look at all that food! Look, the fruit. And eggs! And... What are those?" She pointed to a tray of pastries.

  "Cinnamon rolls." She turned to Nate. "But the buffet must be expensive, and we can't really—"

  "We'll take care of it."

  Marisa looked around. "Is Leslie here?"

  "She was when I got here, but she just went back to the room."

  "Oh. We must have missed each other on the elevators." Marisa remembered what he'd said. We, meaning him and Leslie. "Are you and my sister together?"

  Nate laughed, caught himself, and shifted into a neutral expression. "No. I just meant that, between the two of us, we can manage your meals."

  Marisa pretended her relief had everything to do with the ability to eat and nothing to do with the handsome man. "Have you eaten?"

  "I was waiting for you."

  Marisa and Ana filled their plates while Nate followed, making suggestions and explaining the different items to Ana, who took at least one of everything on the long table.

  The three of them enjoyed their breakfast feasts, and Marisa didn't even make her daughter eat the eggs. Good thing, too, because Ana filled up on cinnamon rolls, sausage, and bacon—all delicacies she'd never had—a fact that left Nate speechless.

  When Ana's plate held nothing but uneaten eggs, she stood to get more.

  "No more, pajarita. You'll make yourself sick."

  "Please? One more cinnamon roll? I might not ever have them again."

  The thought made Marisa want to cry, but she smiled instead. "One more."

  The girl skipped back to the buffet table, and Nate chuckled. "She's adorable."

  "I am very blessed."

  Nate seemed about to say something, then reached for a grape off his plate instead.

  "Be careful with the fruit."

  He tilted his head. "Fine time to tell me that, now that I've finished off the cantaloupe and mangoes."

  "You've been eating cut fruit. It's washed on the outside, but it's peeled, and the outsides are tossed away. You eat the outside of grapes."

  "And...?"

  "They wash it in local water, and the water will make you sick. Some say it's a myth, but I believe it. It took me a long time to become accustomed. At the hotel"—she shrugged—"perhaps it's filtered, but I wouldn't count on it."

  He dropped the grape. "That makes sense. Speaking of which, your sister didn't look very good this morning."

  "Is she sick?"

  "She didn't say so, but she didn't even finish a cup of coffee before she took off."

  "Uh-oh. Maybe I'd better go check on her."

  Nate glanced at Ana, who was making her way back from the buffet table. "If you're finished with your breakfast, go ahead. I'll stay with Ana."

  "You sure?"

  "We'll take a walk in the garden. You'll find us there. Okay?"

  Marisa agreed, and five minutes later, let herself into their hotel room.

  She could tell by the nauseous odor snaking beneath the bathroom door that Leslie was not okay.

  Marisa knocked softly on the door. "Can I do anything for you?"

  A moment passed. The toilet flushed, the water ran in the tap, and the door opened. "It's probably just from traveling. You know how I am."

  Leslie didn't even like to go upstate. "This seems like more than that, though."

  "We didn't sleep at all the night before last," Leslie said, "and the night before that..."

  Marisa remembered the story, the intruders, the threats. "Right. You've had a rough couple of days."

  "And traveling doesn't agree with me—never has." She hobbled to her bed, bent with her arms wrapped around her stomach. It seemed an effort to climb in.

  Marisa pulled the covers over her sister and tucked them in, remembering their few vacations as children. Leslie had always gotten sick at least once.

  She brushed hair away from Leslie's forehead. "Try to get some sleep."

  "But we need to talk about this. Figure out—"

  "When you're better, sis. Right now, sleep."

  Leslie's eyes closed. "Okay. I'll try."

  Chapter 5

  NATE WALKED ALONGSIDE Ana, who stopped to admire every pretty flower in the hotel's garden. There were lots, even a few blue ones Nate and Ana agreed were the prettiest. He snapped photos of the girl, but as soon as she spied his iPhone, she lost interest in the flora. "Can I see?"

  She studied his smartphone with something like awe.

  "Have you ever seen one before?"

  "There are men in town who have phones like this, but they are"—she lowered her voice and looked around—"bad people. Mama says to stay out of their way."

  Why would Marisa live in a place like that? Had the woman no sense? Especially with a vulnerable little girl.

  Ana was watching him closely. "You'd better do what your mother says. You want to take a picture?"

  She nodded, so he showed her how. After that, she took photos of every flower they came across.

  It was still fairly early, so the gardens were quiet. Nate spotted a man up ahead of them, but the guy must've gotten a phone call, because he pressed his cell phone's screen and turned in the other direction. Nate stared after the guy. With his long jeans, he didn't seem to belong here. Nate's PTSD kicked his heartbeat into overdrive, but surely it had been nothing.

  Ana tugged on his hand, her soft grip pulling him away from his dark thoughts. He turned and smiled.

  "Let's sit down." She pointed to a park bench. He discovered that if he stood on top of the bench in just the right spot and looked between two hotels across the street, he could see Acapulco Bay. He lifted her so she could see, too, and she snapped a few more photos.


  They sat next to each other, and she filled him in on her life, her and Marisa's small house, the orphanage, and her schoolwork. Marisa had told him Ana was four, but the girl seemed so mature for her age. Not that he would know much about that.

  "Let's take a selfie," he said.

  "A what?"

  He explained it while he rotated the view of the camera. They spent the next few minutes taking silly photos of themselves. Her innocent giggles seemed to melt a long-frozen place in his heart, and he had a sudden urge to wrap his arms around her and hold her tight. To protect her from all the evil in the world.

  He'd probably scare the kid away.

  "There you are!"

  He looked up to see Marisa walking toward them.

  Nate stood. "How's Leslie?"

  "You were right. She's resting."

  "Stinks to get sick when you're traveling."

  "Typical for—"

  "Mama!" Ana tugged on her hand. "Uncle Nate and me took pictures. Wanna see?"

  "And I." Marisa's eyebrows lifted, and she looked at him. "Uncle Nate?"

  He shrugged. He hadn't given Ana the idea, but he liked the title.

  Marisa sat beside her daughter on the bench. Nate sat on the far side, and together, they scrolled through the photographs while Marisa oohed and aahed. Finally, she laughed. "My goodness, how long was I gone? I think you've taken a thousand pictures."

  "Can I take them home with me, Uncle Nate? Abby has a picture in her room because sometimes she misses her mama and papa. I want to show her where we were. Oh, and can we take a picture of the pool?" She looked at Marisa. "We saw the beach"—the little girl pointed—"through there. Can we take pictures of the beach? Are we still going to the beach? Can we, Mama?"

  Marisa tweaked the girl's nose. "I promised, didn't it? But maybe not yet." She looked at Nate. "It's nice right now. I thought we might explore, go shopping or something, and go to the beach later when it gets hot."

  He wiped his brow and chucked. "When it gets hot?"

  "It'll get hotter still, trust me."

  He remembered the day before well enough. "Sure. Shopping sounds great. Maybe we can find a place to get those pictures printed. And you can show me around."

  "This is my first time to Acapulco."

  "Right." He'd forgotten.

  The concierge directed them to a shopping plaza designed with American tourists in mind. It was within walking distance. Nate had hoped it would be inside and air conditioned, but no. It was an open-air market. At least the stores were cool, and the shopping wasn't bad. The company, though—that couldn't be beat.

  He walked alongside Marisa while Ana led the way, talking nonstop and pointing in awe about every two minutes.

  "You'd think she'd never been shopping before," Nate said.

  Marisa watched with a smile. "There's a market in town, of course. It sells mostly local food. But other than that, she hasn't." She glanced at him, then away. "There are no malls in my village."

  "Where do you buy your clothes and stuff?"

  She watched Ana, who'd stopped at a fountain and was dipping her fingers in the water. "The orphanage gets donations. Most of them come from this church in Oklahoma that supports us. They send all sorts of stuff. Most of her clothes come from there."

  "What about yours?"

  Her cheeks pinked. "That's where I get most of mine, too. I order some things online. Like... Well, stuff you wouldn't want to wear hand-me-down."

  He could imagine.

  "It's amazing how little we need. I used to spend more money on makeup and lotions than I spend on food now."

  "Wow," he said. "A woman who doesn't shop."

  Marisa looked into his eyes. "I gave up everything, Nate. Everything." She turned back and stared at her daughter. "But I gained even more."

  He watched the sweet little girl play in the fountain. He'd seen that kind of sacrificial love last fall when his friend had been prepared to die to save her son. He didn't understand it—not personally. But he could appreciate it. In fact, on Marisa's face it seemed the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen.

  She turned and caught him staring. Rather than look away, she met his eyes and held his gaze.

  He itched to grab her hand. But would she recoil? Maybe not now, but if she understood what he'd done, how he'd almost gotten his friends killed, she certainly wouldn't want him to touch her. To be near her at all.

  "Mama, Uncle Nate, come on!"

  The moment shattered as Marisa turned to her daughter. "We're coming, pajarita."

  "What does that mean, pa-ha-ree-ta?"

  "Little bird."

  "Ah. It fits."

  They failed to find a place that could print the pictures, but Ana had forgotten about them already. Maybe if he could coax Marisa's address out of her, he could mail the photographs to Ana after he returned to the States.

  Ana and Marisa admired pretty things in every store, and Nate wished he could buy all of them for the two beautiful ladies. He couldn't buy them all, but he did take a yellow sundress for Marisa and a blue one for little Ana to the counter in one store, despite Marisa's protests.

  But he had an ace in the hole, having seen the small bag Marisa had brought to town. "You have a suitable dress for dinner?"

  She blushed and shook her head. "I thought we'd do something casual for dinner. We don't have a lot of money. And our clothes are fine. We washed yesterday's out last night, and we'll wash these tonight."

  "You travel light, huh?"

  She lifted the ugly brown canvas bag. "This is the only luggage I own."

  He thought of the Pod at home stuffed with all his worldly goods. His life seemed suddenly bathed in riches. "But surely you left New York with a suitcase or something."

  "My duffel bag was in rags by the time I settled."

  He pulled a bag of candy Ana was staring at off the rack and snatched a pretty beach bag he'd seen Marisa admire and set them on the counter. "These, too," he said to the shopgirl. He turned to Marisa. "Now you have dresses for dinner and slightly nicer luggage."

  "You really shouldn't."

  He handed the girl across the counter his credit card. "I really should. And it's rude to refuse a gift."

  The girl behind the counter nodded as she ran his credit card. "He's right, you know." Her accent was thick, her smile wide.

  Marisa seemed to consider it before she smiled. "Okay. I guess I can't argue with your logic."

  "Can we put them on now, Mama? Please?"

  "After the beach, okay?"

  At the reminder of the beach, the girl couldn't get there fast enough. After a quick stop at the hotel, the three of them splashed and played and rode the waves—small as they were in the bay—until Nate and Marisa were exhausted. The girl had energy reserves Nate lacked.

  After giving her daughter strict instruction, Marisa fell into the lounge chair beside his with a sigh. "She'll be okay, right?"

  "Between the life jacket and the lifeguard"—he pointed to the attentive man who seemed to have his eyes everywhere at once—"and you and me watching, I think so."

  "She loves it."

  "What's not to love? It's wonderful."

  Marisa sat back and sighed, her smile fading. "We haven't talked about the threat all day."

  "I know."

  "Who do you think they were? Leslie said it was a man and a woman. I've been racking my brain trying to figure it out, but I have no idea. Charles is still in prison, right?"

  "Unless he busted out."

  Her eyes widened.

  "Just kidding. He didn't. He's still safe and sound at Sing Sing."

  "Sheesh. Scare me, why don't you?"

  "Sorry."

  "We should ask Leslie how old she thought they were."

  "I did," Nate said. "On the plane. She said she didn't know, but she'd guess middle-aged. She also said she thought the man was tall, over six feet, and built. The woman was shorter but not short, according to your sister, and thin. It was dark, and they
wore ski masks, so she didn't get eye or hair color. They both wore black."

  "Thorough description. I can imagine you asking all the right questions to get that much out of her."

  He shrugged.

  "I remember that. You're good at getting people to remember things they didn't even know they knew."

  "It's what I do." Did, but he didn't mention that.

  A big wave created by the wake of a speedboat headed toward Ana. Marisa started to stand, but Nate touched her hand. "She's okay."

  He itched to keep his hand there, to take hers.

  Marisa looked at Nate's outstretched fingers. He pulled them back.

  Ana jumped over the wave and looked at her mom, who clapped. "Very good!" Marisa leaned back again. "What are we going to do?"

  An excellent question, one he'd been mulling since they'd found Marisa the day before. "You can't really do anything. Nothing has changed for you. You need to stay hidden, and you seem to have a life here. Though if you want, I could certainly help you find a safer place to live, maybe get you a job—"

  "I have a job. If I can't go back to the States, I'll stay where I am."

  "Ana said something about dangerous men in your village. Maybe you should consider—"

  "Don't."

  He shut his mouth, reluctantly.

  "Besides," she said, "Ana's adoption isn't final. We have to stay where we are until it is."

  "You can't move to a safer town?"

  "Ours is pretty safe."

  "When will the adoption be final?"

  She shrugged. "This is Mexico. There's no telling. It's already been four years."

  Ridiculous, but she was right. Mexico was not a paragon of efficiency and justice in the world.

  Marisa pulled a bottle of sunscreen out of her old, ugly bag. She'd refused to bring the new one to the beach, lest it get dirty. She squeezed lotion onto her hand and rubbed it over one long, brown leg. Apparently, she didn't own a swimsuit, so she'd been swimming in gray shorts and a loose pink tank top. She could have worn sweatpants, and he'd still find her beautiful. Maybe she should have worn sweats, because he couldn't stop staring at her legs as she flipped her long braid over her shoulder and got to work on the other one.