She disconnected the call and looked at Nate.
"Well?" Brady said.
"Leslie's body was found in Chelsea."
Brady slapped his thigh, started to stand, but settled back down. He looked across the table at Marisa. "We have to call the police. They can raid that place and get your daughter back now. Like in the next few minutes."
She turned to Nate, who nodded and said, "It's the best plan."
The police. If Rick found out she'd gotten them involved, would he kill Ana? But if they didn't involve the police, he could be gone before she and Nate were able to get there. And even if they could get there, what were they going to do? Go in, guns blazing? She didn't even know how to shoot a gun.
"Marisa?" Nate's voice was so patient and tender.
She looked at Brady. "Okay. Call the police."
Marisa felt like, if she did anything to disrupt the moment, it would all fall apart.
This could be it. They could find Ana. Soon.
Brady stood and pulled his phone from his pocket.
If it went well, Richard Gray could be arrested in the next few minutes. If it went well, Ana could be released, and it could all be over.
If the address led them to Richard.
If Richard was there.
If that's where he was keeping Ana.
Too many if's.
Maybe in a few minutes, Marisa would learn that Ana was safe and sound, had indeed been well cared for. Or maybe she'd discover she'd lost her daughter the way she'd lost her sister and her mother and her father and Vinnie.
Nate's phone chimed, then again, and again.
He picked it up and tapped the screen. "Photos from Julio." He shifted so she could see. She turned toward the screen, though she felt nearly in a trance with fear and anticipation.
Nate took her hand. "It's going to be okay."
"How do you know?"
He shrugged. "Hope." He nudged her shoulder with his. "Let's see these photos." He scrolled through the pictures. The apartment looked just like Julio had said. He'd snapped a few of the boy in photos in Rick's office.
"Hunter," Marisa said.
"I thought so," Nate said.
He scrolled through more. An ordinary bed, an ordinary kitchen, an ordinary living room. Nobody would guess a murderer lived there.
Ana had been there.
They got to the photos of the trash. A Ben and Jerry's cup and crumpled napkins. There was the photograph of the paper with the scrawled address. It had a brown smudge on it. Chocolate ice cream, presumably.
Ana loved chocolate.
And just like that, they had something to go on.
Nate reached the end of the pictures. "I didn't see anything else, did you?"
She shook her head. "I haven't had Ben and Jerry's in years."
"I'll get you some."
She'd like that. Maybe. With Ana.
Rae scooted over to see what Sam was looking at on her laptop. She pointed at the screen and looked at Marisa.
"Want to see?"
"What is it?"
"The apartment building," Sam said. "I can't get pictures of that exact unit, but I found another unit in the same building for rent."
Marisa nodded, and Sam stood and rounded the coffee table. She knelt beside Marisa on the floor and turned the laptop to face her.
On the screen, Marisa saw what looked like an average red brick building. Six stories. Nothing remarkable at all.
She thought of the moment they'd been driving from Manhattan to White Plains, of all the buildings. Structure after structure. Millions of corners and alleys and rooms. She'd believed they'd never find her daughter. Yet, somehow, they'd located Rick's hideaway.
It seemed like...like a miracle or something. If only Ana would be there, safe and sound.
Sam placed a hand on her knee. "I'm still praying. Constantly praying. We have to trust God."
Marisa had been praying, too, desperate for help from somewhere, anywhere. Would God help her now? Maybe not for her sake, but for innocent little Ana's? She could only hope.
Sam clicked the laptop. "This is a different apartment in the building." She scrolled through the pictures.
Empty rooms. Wood floors, old appliances. White walls. Few windows.
There were probably closets just big enough for a four-year-old, though the pictures didn't show them.
When they reached the end, Sam closed the laptop. "I don't know if it helps, but..."
"It does." Marisa covered her mouth to hold in the emotion. "If that's where she's been kept... I mean, who knows how the man has...what he's done. But that place looks normal."
"It's kind of dingy," Sam said.
Marisa couldn't help her laugh. "You should see my house in Mexico. That"—she nodded at the closed laptop—"that was luxurious. They had a microwave and everything."
She chuckled again and looked at Nate. "What's wrong with me?"
"You know we're close. We're finally close. I can feel it."
Brady stepped back inside, phone to his ear. "Yeah. As soon as you..." He listened, gave Marisa a thumbs-up, and turned toward the kitchen, speaking into the phone. "Promise me. The second you know anything." He paused again. "Okay, thanks." He ended the call.
"Garrison's on it. Coordinating with his partner, and they're working with the NYPD. They should know something soon."
"If only we could see what's happening," Marisa said.
Sam tilted her head to one side. "Hmm. We could if we—"
"You're not hacking the NSA." Brady glared at her, and she laughed.
"I was just kidding." She turned to Marisa. "I wouldn't have the slightest idea how to redirect a satellite."
Brady's heavy sigh made Marisa giggle. Nerves, she knew.
"One of these days, you're going to get caught." Brady sat beside his wife. He set his cell phone on the coffee table.
Sam batted her eyelashes. "Will you testify at my trial? Tell them I only use my powers for good?"
He cracked a smile.
Little Johnny leaned toward his father, and Brady pulled him into his lap and lifted him in the air over his head.
"I wouldn't do that," Rae said. "He just ate."
Brady set the boy on his lap. "Good point." He turned his attention to Marisa. "How you holding up?"
"Am I holding up? I'm not sure."
"You're doing great." He bounced Johnny, whose squeals of delight filled the room.
Marisa stared at the boy's pretty face. She'd heard enough of the story to know Johnny wasn't Brady's son—not by blood, anyway. That was clear in the kid's caramel coloring. He had some of his mother's features, but Rae's fair freckled skin and red hair weren't among them. But in every way that mattered, Johnny was Brady's son. Like Ana was Marisa's daughter.
The baby giggled and cooed, and Marisa couldn't help but smile.
"When did you adopt Ana?" Rae asked.
She forced her attention away from the baby. "I've had her almost since she was born. But the adoption's not final yet. Who knows when it will be? Assuming I even go back to Mexico. Now that we're out, the government won't miss one little girl."
Sam returned to her chair. "Really? Won't somebody report her missing?"
"Only Carlita cares enough about any of the orphans to miss her, to even know she exists, and she's complained more than I have about how long it's taking. It's a strange situation—an American adopting a Mexican, but not taking her back to America. I think they're trying to figure out how to get more money out of me."
"There's not like a set fee or something?" Sam asked.
Marisa couldn't help the chuckle. "There's really not a set anything in Mexico. Everything's up in the air."
"And who's Carlita?" Rae asked.
"She runs the orphanage where I work. She's a saint. Truly."
"And a friend?" Sam asked.
"Yeah. My closest friend there."
Rae asked, "When did you decide to adopt Ana?"
Marisa returned her
attention to Rae. She appreciated them trying to make small talk. Maybe it was helping. "She was left on the doorstep when she was an infant. She weighed about six pounds that day. And the first time I held her, I knew. She was mine."
"Was there a waiting list or something?" Sam asked.
Marisa shook her head. "Nobody even knew she existed. She came with nothing but a piece of paper tucked beneath her bottom that said her name was Marifer Ana Elbertina."
"Elbertina—that's her last name?" Sam asked. "Could you not find her family—?"
"That's a given name." Marisa laughed at Sam's grimace. "Not the prettiest first name in the world. And maybe it's a last name, too. I don't know. Didn't matter, though. Her family didn't want her. Probably couldn't feed her. They left her at the orphanage for a reason."
"Did you ever fear they'd come back for her?"
"It's a small village. Whoever left her wasn't from there. If she had been, we would have known, you know? Somebody's pregnant one day, not pregnant the next, and there's no child... You just know. But that didn't happen to anybody in our village. Whoever it was had probably heard of Carlita's kindness and dropped her off. I never worried her mother would come back to claim her, and even if she did"—Marisa shrugged—"she didn't really have any claim on the child, did she? At the orphanage, we have a lot of children whose parents brought them because they can't feed them. We care for the kids, make sure they go to school, but their parents are still involved. Ana's mother clearly didn't care about keeping in contact." Marisa sighed. "Truth is, I never worried, because from that first moment, Ana felt like my child. I hardly ever think about her birth parents. Now, I wonder what they'd think of me, putting their child in danger—"
"This isn't your fault." Nate leaned forward and faced her. "You didn't do this."
She wanted to believe him. Marisa had thought they were safe in Mexico. And they had been. Until Leslie had drawn her out.
She looked at Brady, who looked at the phone on the table in front of him.
Marisa stared at it, too. Willed it to ring.
A minute passed with no sounds but little Johnny's cooing.
She couldn't stand it any longer. She leaned forward. "Why haven't they called?"
"It's only been a few minutes," Brady said.
Nate wrapped his arm around her back, and she settled against him.
The clock ticked, the baby cooed, and the phone remained silent.
A hundred years passed.
And then, it rang.
Chapter 26
NATE WANTED TO HOLD Marisa close, to shield her from whatever bad news might come through that ringing telephone. But Marisa pulled away and stood.
Brady handed Johnny to Rae and snatched the phone. "Brady Thomas." A pause. "Okay."
Marisa scooted past Nate and paced in front of the breakfast bar while Brady listened. Her gaze kept darting to his face.
Brady gave no thumbs up. No smile. No reaction at all.
Aside from Brady's occasional cryptic words, the room was silent. Even Johnny seemed to be holding his breath.
Nate stood and leaned against the arm of the sofa so he'd be close if Marisa needed him. Not that he could do much if the news was bad.
He couldn't do anything to help her. A few weeks ago, all he'd wanted was security. Now he'd give everything, even his own life, to see Marisa reunited with her daughter. To see them both happy and healthy and protected. To heck with his own security. To heck with his own future. To heck with everything, as long as Marisa and Ana were safe.
Marisa paused in front of him, arms crossed, staring at Brady.
Nate pushed himself up and opened his arms. If nothing else, at least he could offer comfort. It seemed like such a little thing. Such an insignificant thing. But Marisa stepped into his arms and allowed him to hold her while Brady spoke.
Finally, Brady said, "Thanks. Let me know," and hung up the phone.
Marisa pulled out of Nate's arms and turned to Brady. "Well?"
"Why don't you sit?"
"Just tell me."
"They weren't there."
Marisa's hope seemed to crumble.
Nate guided her to the sofa.
Brady continued. "But it was definitely where he'd been holding her. Thing is, the place has been emptied out. Either the guy never had any personal stuff there, or he cleaned it all out. No clothes. No food except some yogurt in the fridge. No shaving cream or soap or any of the stuff a man would need if he were living there."
Marisa nodded. Tears streamed down her cheeks, but she made no move to wipe them away.
Nate snatched a tissue from the box on the coffee table and held it out to Marisa.
She looked at it like she had no idea what to do with it. "Did he know they were coming?"
"Doubtful," Brady said. "The cops only had the information for forty-five minutes before they acted on it. I think he just moved on."
"We're never going to find her."
"We know who he is," Brady said. "We know what he wants, and we can get in touch with him. Through the mistress, Jessica. Through his mother. Don't lose hope."
She stood and hovered in the space between the coffee table and the sofa.
"Where you going?" Nate said.
"I feel..." She wrapped her arms around her stomach, and her face paled. She bolted into her bedroom and slammed the door behind her.
Nate stood, stepped toward the door.
"Wait."
He turned to see Rae lift Johnny and stand. "I'll check on her." She laid the baby on a blanket on the floor, where he fussed in the silence. Rae snatched a rattle out of her giant bag and handed it to him. "Here you go."
Johnny grabbed the rattle and shook it and smiled.
Rae faced Nate. "Okay?"
Nate stared after Marisa. "Yeah. Okay."
Rae disappeared into the bedroom, and Nate sat back down.
He knew how Marisa felt. They'd been close. But they were too late.
Brady cleared his throat. "I didn't want to say this in front of Marisa, but there was blood all over the living room. That's the murder scene. And maybe that's why he left. He hadn't made any effort to clean it up. Maybe he couldn't."
"What do you mean?"
"The murder was gruesome. Not the work of a cold-blooded killer. He lost his temper and stabbed her. And then he had to live with it. Maybe he just couldn't stand to be around the reminders."
Nate looked at the closed door before turning back to Brady. "Do they think...?" He could hardly say the word. "Is there any evidence that he hurt Ana?"
"They're analyzing the blood now. Garrison's partner's there, and he says that, at first glance, based on the spatter, he thinks all the blood came from a single victim in the living room. There's no reason to believe Ana was involved."
"But they don't know for sure."
Brady's lips thinned. "It's not an exact science, and they haven't had enough time."
"Poor Ana." Nate tried to imagine what it had been like for the little girl. Had she witnessed her aunt's death? Had she heard the screams, the violence?
Brady continued. "Thing is, it was a two-bedroom place, and the smaller of the two bedrooms had fresh urine stains on the mattress. Could be Ana's."
The girl was potty trained, of course, but under those circumstances... What child wouldn't regress?
"Fresh urine means she's alive," Brady said, "or at least she was when they left. That's good news."
"You need to tell Marisa that," Nate said. "But not the rest." He glanced at Sam, who'd been oddly quiet throughout the exchange. Her elbows were on her knees, her head in her hands. Her eyes were closed, and tears dripped off her cheeks. He slid to the far end of the couch and touched her knee. "Hey, you okay?"
She looked up and swiped a tissue. "My heart just breaks for them."
He couldn't speak for the emotion. He nodded and dropped his head.
Sam lowered her head and resumed praying. If there were a God—and Nate had never wanted more to believ
e—then if anybody could reach him, it was Sam.
They needed all the help they could get.
Chapter 27
MARISA BRUSHED HER teeth, sat on the bathroom floor, and leaned against the wall, spent. She hated vomiting. She'd rather have fever and chills for a week than throw up once.
But she'd trade her health, her hope, her everything if only she could get her daughter back.
"Knock, knock." Rae stood outside the open bathroom door and peeked in. "You okay?"
She started to nod but stopped. She wasn't okay. She'd never be okay.
"Stupid question." Rae stepped inside. "What can I do?"
"Nothing."
"Water?"
"Maybe in a few minutes."
"Okay." Rae sat beside her and folded her legs. "All is not lost."
Marisa sighed. "I know. Intellectually, I know. But it feels... I thought they were going to get her."
"Yeah."
Marisa waited for Rae to encourage her, to offer platitudes. She didn't, though. She sat with her and waited. A few minutes passed before Marisa said, "What are they talking about out there?"
"I'm sure they'll fill us in."
They would. At least whatever Marisa insisted on knowing. Which, at this point, might be very little. She couldn't take any more bad news. Unless they had some hope, maybe she didn't want to know.
She thought again about Mexico's fields of bones. Oh, to never know your loved one's fate. What did she want more—hope or closure?
Neither. She wanted Ana. And she wasn't going to get her daughter back by hiding in the bathroom.
She pushed off the floor and stood. "We need to figure out what to do now."
Rae stood beside her. "Agreed. Let's go."
When Marisa stepped into the living room, Brady, Sam, and Nate all looked at her. Nate's concern was palpable from across the room.
"I'm okay. My stomach..."
"What can I get you?" Nate asked.
She sat beside him and patted his knee. "I'm okay. Really. We just need to make a plan."
"I agree." Nate turned to his friends. "The kidnapper said he'd call today. We haven't really talked about what to say. I guess we'd hoped..."
Twisted Lies Page 27
