Nate turned onto 9A and headed north as the map program on his smartphone directed him. Marisa was continually amazed at what the little devices could do.

"As sure as I can be," Nate said. "Garrison told us she was a graphic designer. This Jessica English owns a graphic design business. You read her website—it said she worked on Madison Avenue before she opened her doors. Why are you convinced it's not?"

"Because..." She stared out at the Hudson on her left as she considered her answer. Finally, she said, "Because the woman I saw didn't seem the suburban type."

"Maybe she's miserable in White Plains." Nate glanced at her and smiled.

"I wish we'd asked Garrison to help us track her down. He'd be able to tell us for sure."

"You're the one who said not to call him."

"He seemed distracted, and he was driving. But what if this is a fool's errand?"

"We're already on our way. It'll take us less than an hour. If this isn't her, we'll regroup, figure out our next step."

"Any idea what that'll be?"

"I think Jessica English is our next step. If this isn't her, we'll call Garrison. He'll be able to find her."

"What if she's moved out of the country or something?"

"Remember what we said back in Acapulco? Do the—"

"Next thing. And then the next thing." Her voice rose. "And then the next. We're just going to keep doing the next thing until Ana and Leslie are dead."

"We have to trust—"

"What? Trust what?"

He seemed to falter. A moment passed before he said, "Trust that it's going to be all right."

"Why would I believe that?"

"Because if you don't, the worry will drive you crazy. And we need to think straight if we're going to figure this out."

Right. Except they weren't going to figure it out, and even if they did, why would the kidnapper release Ana and Leslie? Marisa wouldn't be able to give him the money he obviously wanted. Would proof of who stole it really satisfy him? And how could Marisa and Nate figure out something the FBI had failed to learn in eight years?

They continued north until the road turned inland. The landscape changed from the pretty view of the river to the ugliness of the harbor buildings, warehouses, then apartment buildings. Millions of people, millions of places to hide.

Ana could be anywhere.

A phone rang.

Nate glanced at her, and she fumbled for the phone in her pocket as Nate exited the highway.

She took a deep breath and connected the call. "Hello?"

"You got the money?" The man's voice was clearer than it had been the day of the kidnapping. And scarier. His local accent came through perfectly. As if that narrowed the search.

Nate screeched into a parking lot and slammed on the brakes. He leaned over to hear.

"We're working on it," Marisa said.

"Don't tell me you spent it all."