"I don't know if she was always like that and I never saw it, or if something changed her. Maybe I was wrong about her feelings all those years. I thought she loved me, but now...everything's wrong." She stared at nothing while she tried to imagine the girl her sister had once been. "I guess it doesn't matter. When I was a little girl, Leslie was kind to me. Despite everything, I still don't think she'll hurt Ana, and right now that's all I care about."

"You're right. But at the same time, I think the questions you have about your sister do matter. She's your family, your history. Just remember, what your sister thinks about you—what anybody thinks about you—that doesn't define you."

"What does define me?"

He shrugged. "That's a good question. I don't know the answer. I do know that you're an amazing woman. I always thought you were beautiful—nobody could deny that."

She'd heard that her whole life, as if it was something to be proud of. As if she'd sculpted her own face and spun her own hair. As if she was supposed to feel proud of her beauty instead of recognizing it as the accident of genes that it was.

Nate continued. "But it's who you are on the inside that I find beautiful now."

That was the sentiment she'd longed for, always. "You're a good man, Nate Boyle."

He looked out the windshield and watched a passing car before turning back to her. "At least we can be sure of one thing."

"What's that?"

"Ana is with Leslie, so she's still safe. Your sister's a lot of bad things, but nobody is all bad. You saw her good qualities growing up, and those are still there. She'll take good care of Ana."

But what about the man Leslie was working with? He was a wild card. Who knew what he'd do?

* * *

MARISA WATCHED HER childhood neighborhood grow smaller and disappear in the rear window.

Nate headed toward Pamela Gray's Upper West Side brownstone to wait for the woman to get home from her trip. Why wait for a call from a maid when they could watch the front door? They'd just turned onto Grand Central Parkway when his cell phone rang. He answered it, and Garrison's voice came through the speakers.

"Where are you guys?"

"Queens," Nate said. "We're on our way to Manhattan. What's up?"

"Can you meet me? We need to talk."

The solemn tone in his voice made Marisa's heart pound. "What happened?"

"Nate," Garrison said, "what's your location."

"Almost to the Triborough Bridge."

"Okay. Hold on."

Marisa glared at the dashboard as if that would make Garrison explain himself. She glanced at Nate. He kept his eyes on the traffic-heavy road.