Marisa considered the money Leslie had given her to escape. A few thousand dollars, a drop in the bucket compared to what she'd stolen, but because of it, Marisa had been able to escape.

And because she'd run, she'd looked guilty. And Leslie had gotten off scot-free. She'd continued to build her business, and she'd been smart, never taking too much. It was as though she'd taken the money not to get rich, but to prove something. To get back at the world for dealing her such a rough life. To get back at Charles for using her and discarding her. To get back at Marisa for what?

It didn't add up.

Marisa turned back to the room. "If Leslie has the money, why doesn't she just tell the kidnappers, offer to pay them off in exchange for their freedom?" She looked at Sam. "She hasn't spent it all, right?"

"Assuming this is the only bank account she's using, she should still have plenty."

Marisa couldn't sit still. She stood and stepped back to the fire, warming her hands in the heat. She turned to Nate. "How do you explain that?"

Nate looked at Brady before he stood and joined Marisa by the fire. He took her hand, and she resisted the urge to yank it away.

"What I'm about to suggest—it's sort of good news for Ana."

"What?"

"We believe"—he nodded to his friends—"that your sister always believed you had stolen Charles's money. Remember what she said back in Mexico—'just give it back to them, and I'll be safe.'"

She did remember. "Okay."

"For whatever reason, your sister decided she wanted to get her hands on the rest of the money. I don't know why. I don't know what prompted it. But I think your sister lied about those people in her room that night. I think...we think her kidnapping was staged."

Marisa tried to step back, bumped into the hearth, and stumbled. "No." She righted herself, pushed past Nate, and stalked to the bar. She turned to look at them, all watching her.

"No."

Nate stood and started to step toward her, but Brady shook his head, and he stopped.

Nobody else moved.

"Leslie wouldn't do this," Marisa said. "She wouldn't..."

Marisa stomped to the back door, yanked it open, and stepped outside. Cold damp air shocked her system, but she didn't care. She couldn't be inside with those people, with Nate. Couldn't listen to their terrible lies about her sister. Terrible lies that, God help her, made too much sense.

No.

Maybe Leslie was a thief. The facts lined up like chisels, chipping away at her battered heart.

But to kidnap a four-year-old girl, to smuggle her out of the country? To terrify Marisa? To harm a helpless child, all for the sake of money?

No, Leslie couldn't sink that low.