He'd managed to eat his sandwich before they'd hit Londonderry, before the traffic really slowed them down. Her sandwich lay on the paper it had come wrapped in, resting on her lap. She'd been picking at it for twenty minutes. She took the final bite, balled up the paper, and dropped it in the McNeal's sack. After she'd finished the bite, she said, "Thing is, it could have been much worse for me, but since I already spoke Spanish and I'm half Puerto Rican, moving to Mexico was easier than it would have been for someone like your friend Rae, for instance. Trying to fit in with her complexion and red hair—that would have been tough."

"You'd be surprised, though. Rae's able to fit in about anywhere she goes. She dyed her hair dark brown when she lived in Africa. It wasn't very pretty, but she stood out less."

"Tunisia, she said."

"Right." A little ball of apprehension settled in his stomach.

"She told me I should ask you about why she moved home. She gave the impression there's a story there."

His palms started to sweat just from the thought of sharing the story. He wiped his right hand on his jeans, then his left. He adjusted the heater. It suddenly seemed very warm.

"You don't want to tell me."

He glanced at her, saw a flicker of hurt in her eyes, and focused on the road. They were moving faster now, but it would take another three hours before they got to Queens. Not like he could pretend there wasn't time. He took a deep breath. "It's not easy to talk about."

"Okay." The one word held both question and resignation. She wouldn't push it. Which made him feel worse. Could he get through it without losing his breakfast? More importantly, what would Marisa think about him when he'd finished the story?

He could hear his therapist's voice echoing in his ears. Your prison bars are only as solid as your secrets. Fine. If Marisa thought less of him, at least she'd know the truth about the person she'd trusted to help her through this. Maybe she'd decide to leave him out of it, and he could go back to the solitary life he'd planned.

He glanced again and saw her watching him. What would she think of him? But it couldn't be helped. She'd learn the truth eventually. Rae or Brady or Sam—one of them would certainly tell her before this was all over. Of course, if he let one of them tell it, Nate would come out looking like a hero instead of the coward he was.

So yes, he should tell her. But, under the circumstances... "It's a pretty ugly story, Marisa. It has nothing to do with the people who have Ana, but I don't want to make things worse for you."

"I think I can handle it."