Twisted Lies Page 8

  If only Ana had a father like that.

  Any father at all.

  Marisa checked her watch—not even the quality of a Timex. It was nearly time to meet back at the restaurant. Marisa had assumed Nate would eventually find her—she wished he had—but when he didn't show, she figured she'd wait for Leslie and Ana and head back with them.

  The two were walking back toward the road now, shoes and shopping bag hanging from Leslie's hand. Ana kept stopping to pick up shells. The two made a beautiful picture against the fading light of the setting sun. If only Marisa and Ana could return to the States. They could all be a family.

  And there was Nate, on the sidewalk on this side of the street, right below her. He must have left from a different entrance and been circling. He spotted Marisa, and she waved and pointed at Ana and Leslie just as they reached the crosswalk.

  Though the light hadn't turned red, a van stopped suddenly on the street in front of Leslie and Ana. Another car's horn blasted, and the car barely avoided crashing into the back of the van.

  Nate had turned back to Marisa. She pointed at the van. He glanced at it, then back. His eyes widened, and he opened his mouth to yell.

  Someone grabbed Marisa from behind. She turned to look, but a man pulled her close, wrapped his arms around her, and covered her head with a heavy coat. He yanked her toward him, and she lost her footing and crashed against his chest. Her nose filled with the scent of body odor and raw power.

  She fought to get away, but his arms squeezed her like a vice. He pulled her with him, and she stumbled along, trying to fight, unable to do anything.

  She screamed. The sound was muffled inside his heavy coat. They'd gone just a few feet when she heard Nate's voice. "Let her go!"

  The man did, yanking his heavy coat with him.

  Marisa gasped in fresh air, stumbled, and banged her shoulder into the stone face of the market. She turned just as Nate reached her.

  The pounding of the man's footsteps faded as he rounded a corner in the market and disappeared.

  Nate gripped her arms and looked into her eyes. "Are you okay?"

  Marisa nodded and turned to check if Ana had seen. She hoped she hadn't. How it would scare her to watch her mother accosted.

  But her daughter wasn't there.

  "Leslie and Ana." Marisa peered down the stairs. She peered at the crosswalk. She peered at the sidewalk. Her sister and her daughter had been there just a moment before. They should have been staring back up at her, waving, smiling.

  But the place they'd stood was empty.

  Chapter 7

  NATE SCANNED THE AREA. Leslie and Ana had to be close by. They had to be.

  Only seconds had passed since he'd seen them.

  His heart still raced after seeing that man grab Marisa. What had his endgame been? If his plan had been to kidnap her, it had been flawed, considering that without going down the many stairs to the street, he wasn't going to get far with her. Maybe he'd planned to drag her into a dark room. Nate didn't want to think about what might have happened next.

  He glanced at Marisa, whose gaze was still darting around. "Where are they?" The pitch of her voice rose to near-panic mode.

  He stepped closer and placed a hand on her shoulder, trying to calm her down. "They have to be here somewhere. Maybe they..." He tried to come up with a plausible explanation. But beyond the street was just the sand, and beyond the sand was just the water. He studied the beach in the fading light, but none of the silhouettes looked like them.

  "What?" Marisa stepped away and turned to him. "Maybe they what? Where could they be?"

  "Maybe they forgot something on the beach."

  She started walking down the steps. "We should go over there."

  He took her elbow. "We have a great vantage point right here."

  She climbed back to the top of the steps and looked like she was going to walk back down. In the yellow lights of the plaza, he could see her face pale. "The van. Where did it go?"

  He looked back to the street. The van was gone.

  "Someone took them!"

  "Why would somebody—?"

  "Oh, my God. We have to call the police. Do you have a phone?" She looked around frantically, as if a cop might materialize.

  A phone rang. She looked at him, but the ring wasn't familiar.

  "That's not my phone," Nate said. "It must be yours."

  "I don't have a phone." She looked around, but there were no people within ten yards of them.

  His heart sunk into a deep crevice that felt frighteningly familiar. "Look in your bag."

  She shook her head. "I don't have a phone, and we don't have time..."

  It rang again. The sound was clearly coming from her new colorful bag.

  "Maybe that guy dropped it," she said.

  A stone formed in Nate's stomach, twisting and expanding as the seconds passed. "Please answer it, Marisa."

  She dug through her bag and pulled out a cheap phone. He looked, saw the number was blocked. She pressed the button. "Sí."

  She listened for a moment. "Yes." Her expression confirmed his fear.

  He leaned in.

  "By now..." The man's voice was marked by a heavy New York accent. "You must realize we have your sister and your daughter."

  Marisa crumpled. He wrapped his arm around her and helped her sit on the stairs.

  "Marisa," the man said. "You need to answer me. You understand I have them, right?"

  "Yes."

  "Do you want to see them again?"

  "Please, whatever you want me to do. Just... Please, let's do a trade. You can take me and let them go."

  "If I wanted to take you, I would have you. You understand?"

  She looked at Nate, eyes imploring. He nodded, and she said, "Yes."

  "That man who's with you, Nate. Is he listening?

  Nate nodded again, and Marisa said, "Yes."

  "Okay, good. You two need to get the money that was stolen from Charles Gray's account. Two million. You have one week. We'll make the trade in the States."

  "Wait, but—"

  "Keep that phone with you, and I'll call with the details."

  "But I don't know where the money is."

  "I would prefer small bills."

  "I'm not lying. Please, I'll do anything to get my daughter back—"

  "Get me the money or show me who has it. That's the deal."

  "Who are you?"

  "Money or proof. Do you understand? Yes or no."

  She opened her mouth, but Nate shook his head. He put his hand over hers on the phone and leaned it toward him. "We need to talk to Leslie and Ana, make sure they're all right."

  A moment passed, and Nate feared the man had hung up. But then Leslie's voice said, "Marisa?"

  "Oh, thank God." Marisa angled the phone toward her. "Are you okay? Is Ana okay?"

  "We're fine. Please just do as he says."

  "Can I talk to Ana?"

  A second passed before Ana said, "Mama?"

  "Baby, are you all right?"

  She didn't answer into the phone, but they could hear her crying over the man's voice when he spoke again.

  "One week. Get me the money or proof, and don't go to the police. You understand?"

  "I understand."

  The line went dead.

  NATE GUIDED MARISA to rest on the step and sat beside her. He wrapped his arm around her back, whispering words of encouragement that he didn't believe. Because how in the world were they going to come up with two million dollars in seven days?

  The phone still gripped in Marisa's hand, she crossed her arms, laid them on her legs, and dropped her head on top. Her shoulders shook from her sobs.

  "Shh. It's going to be okay."

  "What if they hurt them? What if they...?"

  "Don't think about it. It won't help you to think about it. We just have to focus on doing the next thing."

  She looked up. "How can you say that? How can I not worry?"

  "I know you can't sto
p, Marisa. But I also know worry and fear aren't going to get your daughter back. We have to go."

  "But..." The word floated on the humid air while Nate watched her process the information she had. He knew when she got there by the determination he saw in her eyes. "I have to go back. I have to go back to New York."

  "To the States, yes. We can't do this from here."

  She pushed herself away from him. "Do what?" she demanded. "What are we supposed to do?"

  "We have to figure out who took the money."

  "I have no idea. I never knew. Oh, my God, he's going to kill them. He's going to—"

  "Marisa, stop."

  She blinked and nodded.

  "Let's go back to the hotel."

  "But how—?"

  The words of his therapist fell off his tongue. "We're going to do the next thing. We're not going to worry about what comes three or twenty-three steps down the road. Right now, we're going to go to the hotel. Can we just do that, please?"

  She stood. Silently, they went down the steps to the street. She was in no shape to walk, so Nate hailed a taxi.

  He held Marisa's hand while his own fear settled on him heavier than the scent of body odor and tobacco in the old car. Could Marisa hear his heart pounding? It was all well and good to tell her to focus on the next thing, but how could she do that? How could he? He couldn't stop thinking about what Leslie and Ana were going through. The memories all came back—the ropes chafing his wrist, the blood dripping from his head. The fear, the overarching, debilitating fear.

  And this wasn't one of those false trigger moments, either. Somehow, he'd landed smack dab in the middle of another life-or-death situation. He squeezed his eyes closed, hoped against reason that he'd manage this one better than he had the last.

  He just had to get through this minute. The next, he'd handle in sixty seconds. Marisa needed him. Leslie and Ana needed him. He would do this. It might destroy him, but he'd do it.

  At the hotel, Nate led the way to her room. "Get all of your sister's things. I'll wait."

  "Why?"

  "Just do that, okay?"

  She walked inside slowly, like she might collapse from the weight on her shoulders. He held the door open and waited while she did as he'd told her. She gathered her own, too, shoving them in the ugly canvas bag. Tears dripped from her eyes as she lifted Ana's clothes and held them to her face. She pushed them in the bag, too, and stepped into the bathroom.

  He'd seen Marisa like this before, after Vinnie died. The way she'd shut down sometimes, when the fear overwhelmed her—he'd feared for her safety. Not that she might commit suicide, but that, in her grief, she might do something to expose herself to Gray's men. There was only so much a mind could take.

  Didn't he know it.

  She emerged from the bathroom carrying the clothes she and Ana had worn the first day, dry now. She stuck them in the bag. "I'm ready. Now what?"

  He stepped in the room, lifted the bags, and led her to his room. He got her settled in the desk chair, where she stared, still crying, at the wall.

  "You want to turn on the TV?"

  She shook her head.

  "A drink? Anything?"

  She didn't say anything.

  He searched Leslie's things. Sure enough, he found a folded piece of paper bearing the confirmation code for their return tickets. Their flight was scheduled to leave at eight o'clock, two mornings later. He dug some more and came up with her passport.

  He grabbed the phone, started to dial, and stopped. The pit in his stomach hadn't moved since that phone had rung at the shopping plaza. Right now, it expanded. "Marisa?"

  She blinked and looked at him.

  "Do you have your passport?"

  Her eyes narrowed and she shook her head. "Yes, but no, not here. I have it hidden at home."

  "How far do you live from here?"

  "The bus is an hour and a half, and then we hitch a ride—"

  "If I rent a car, how far is it?"

  She shrugged. "I've never... Probably two hours or so."

  "Okay." He used the hotel phone to call the airline. It took some finagling, but he managed to switch his flight and make a reservation for Marisa for the next morning. He checked his watch—about twelve hours from now. Well, it wasn't like they'd get any sleep, anyway.

  Marisa watched him. When he hung up, she said, "What are we doing?"

  "Why don't you use my computer to figure out how to get to your home? We can send the directions to my phone after, okay?"

  "Your phone works here?"

  "I have an international plan. I used to travel a lot."

  "Okay." She crossed the room to his laptop.

  He dialed the concierge and asked for a rental car. The concierge apologized profusely but said they were hard to come by. "Maybe tomorrow?"

  Nate hung up. No cars. This was a problem.

  "What's going on?"

  "Nothing." He could hire a taxi or buy a car. Or maybe... He called Luis. After explaining who he was, he said, "I'll give you five hundred dollars if you let me borrow your car overnight."

  "I drive you," the taxi driver said. "Where you want to go?"

  Nate didn't want to explain the situation to Luis, and he didn't want to tell the man where they were going. No need to expose Marisa's home, in case she was ever able to return there.

  "You remember the pretty lady we met at the chapel?"

  "Muy hermoso. Very beautiful."

  "Well, I sort of have a romantic evening planned, but I can't seem to get a rental car."

  More finagling, but Luis finally agreed when Nate promised to have it back to him by seven in the morning. He didn't mention that he'd probably be leaving it at the airport. For five hundred dollars, Luis could manage a little inconvenience.

  When he hung up, Marisa said, "Are you going to tell me what the plan is?"

  "We're going to get your passport. We're on a flight tomorrow morning." He paused, closed his eyes, and said, "Is your passport still valid?"

  "Sí. I renewed it before it expired."

  He blew out a long breath. "Thank God."

  "You believe in God?"

  He went into the bathroom and filled his shaving kit. He returned and threw it in the suitcase.

  "Do you?" she asked.

  "I don't know. Right now, I..." He looked around. Was he missing anything?

  His phone charger. He unplugged it and stared at it. His phone was almost dead, but they didn't have time to charge it. He'd have to buy a car charger in the store in the lobby—if they had one.

  "Your phone won't work."

  He looked up. "What?"

  "Once we get out of Acapulco, it probably won't work. The service is spotty. Maybe we can print these directions."

  Seemed he wouldn't need a charger after all.

  "Figure out how to print them. Call the concierge if you need to." Not that he couldn't do it in half the time the way she was moving, but he needed to keep her busy.

  "Okay." She made the call, and he finished packing. When she hung up, she told him where the printers were located.

  Fifteen minutes later, he left Marisa in the hotel room with all their bags—one didn't need luggage for a romantic date—and went to the lobby. He printed the directions to Marisa's village and met Luis in front of the hotel. Nate had withdrawn enough money from his savings account to make up the five hundred. Luis pocketed the money with tears in his eyes. "This will help us. You don't know."

  Nate clasped him on the shoulder. "I promise to take good care of your car. I'll call you when it's back, okay?"

  "Sí." He winked. "Have a good time."

  When Luis was out of sight, Nate ran up the stairs and got Marisa and all their stuff. They left without checking out.

  IT WAS NEARLY ELEVEN and too dark to see much by the time they pulled into Marisa's village. The village seemed to be a couple of streets of one-story, flat-roofed buildings. The main street was gravel, but the rest looked like packed dirt. On the right was an
old Spanish mission with an arched facade, an ancient door, and what looked like a belfry on top.

  "That's the orphanage," Marisa said.

  "It's beautiful."

  "It's old. They've remodeled it over the years, but the chapel is still intact. The rest is offices, a cafeteria. They've built dormitories on the back."

  He drove slowly past and wished he could see it in the daylight. Wished he were there as a tourist instead of this.

  "Make a U-turn. We'll park on the other side."

  He did, and she pointed to a house directly across from the mission. "Right there."

  "Um, just...on the street?"

  "Yeah. That's my house."

  He took in the squat, concrete building that shared walls with the houses on either side. There was no driveway, no sidewalk. He pulled over where she directed, and they both stepped out and stretched after the long drive.

  "Quiet town," he said.

  "People work hard here. They sleep at night."

  "Of course. It's...quaint." Well, he thought it might be, anyway.

  "The people are wonderful."

  She pushed open the door and flipped on the overhead light, which glowed yellow in the dark space.

  "It's not locked?"

  "It doesn't have a real lock." She stepped inside and showed him a jury-rigged lever that pivoted into a wooden support on the door frame.

  "At least you're safe when you're at home."

  "Normalmente."

  He smiled at her slip into Spanish.

  "Sorry. Usually."

  "I figured it out."

  She squatted on the floor and lifted one of the rotting boards. She dug inside the hole and handed him the items she retrieved. A passport, a wallet that held her expired New York driver's license, and some old credit cards. He checked the passport, just in case. Not expired, thank God.

  She stood and brushed off her dress. "I told you."

  "Just double-checking. Were you planning to come home?"

  "I always hoped... I never imagined this, not in my worst nightmares."

  He couldn't tell if she was holding in her emotion or had become numb to the situation. "Why don't you get some clothes and whatever else you need? I can buy you another bag on the way."