What was going on? Garrison sounded serious, and not happy. If it were good news, he'd just tell them. Which meant it was bad. What would be so bad that Garrison would get involved? He was no longer with the FBI. Whatever was going on, how did he find out? She was about to blurt out her questions when he spoke.

"Can you meet me on Randall Island? You know where that is?"

Nate nodded. "I've seen it."

"There's a park right under the bridge. Meet me there."

Marisa couldn't wait. "What happened?"

"I gotta go," Garrison said. "I'll be there soon."

The line went dead.

She looked at Nate. "Ana's dead. He doesn't want to tell me over the phone, but—"

"Let's not jump to conclusions."

"Why wouldn't he just tell us?" Her voice was rising. "If Ana's fine, why wouldn't he—?"

"Maybe it's not about Ana. We were working a lot of angles. Maybe he got a lead." Nate reached across the car for her hand, but she shifted away.

"Don't. I need to know what's going on."

"Garrison is working. He's in FBI mode. It doesn't necessarily mean good news or bad. Just news. News is good."

"Not always." Not usually. She thought of the moment she'd learned Vinnie was dead. His mother had barely been able to speak through her tears. A moment later, another woman's voice came on the phone. Vinnie's sister explained that his body had been found. He'd been beaten to death.

That was the moment Marisa's life had shattered. She'd spent eight years trying to put it back together, and now it was about to shatter again.

She wasn't sure if she'd survive this time.

Nate followed the traffic onto the bridge. She'd been on this road a thousand times—happy moments with her mom and Leslie, commuting to college and work, going on dates with Vinnie. A thousand times she'd seen the New York skyline from here. A thousand times she'd ridden beneath the steel towers, passed between the thick cables that ferried millions of cars from one side of the East River to the other. Today, those cables seemed pretty thin. One snap, and it would all be over.

They exited onto the Bronx Shore Road on Randall Island. A few minutes later, Nate parked, stepped out of the car, and opened her door.

"Let's walk until Garrison gets here."

She didn't get out of the truck. She felt nearly paralyzed with fear. "What is he going to tell us, Nate?"

He took her hand and squeezed. "I have no idea. Let's try not to worry."

"Easy for you to say."

He met her eyes. "No. It's not."

She blinked and looked down. Nate had done nothing but help her. Whatever was going on, it wasn't his fault. She looked back up. "Sorry."

"No reason to be sorry. Come on."