NATE PARKED ACROSS the street from a brick brownstone in Carnegie Hill on the Upper East Side and glanced at Marisa for a reaction. She didn't seem impressed.

In Nate's days covering the financial world for the Times, he had been to some swanky areas. This neighborhood ranked among the nicest. Just a couple of blocks from Central Park, the five-story house had to be worth close to ten million. A drop in the bucket for too many Wall Street types.

Back in the day, Gray'd had another house in the Hamptons, an apartment in Manhattan, and a vacation home in Colorado. During Nate's investigation of the mortgage scandal, he'd learned that the federal government had seized all of those properties. Pamela had managed to hang onto this brownstone because she'd brought it into the marriage, and because the house had been owned by a trust. Her wealthy grandfather had fixed it so that Charles had never had access to it. Maybe the old man had known something the rest of them had missed.

Marisa opened her door and stepped out before Nate could stop her.

He jumped out of the truck and called over its bed. "If she were here, the maid would have called."

She glanced at the house. "Maybe she forgot."

"It's not even eleven yet. She was flying in today. Let's not spook Rosa."

Reluctantly, Marisa slid back into the truck. "Can you at least call?"

He slid in, closed his door, and unlocked his phone. He found the woman's number in his notebook and dialed. When the Hispanic housekeeper answered, he took the phone off Bluetooth and handed it to Marisa.

While she conversed with the woman in Spanish, Nate's mind drifted to the events of the morning. Leslie was dead. Nate tried to wrap his mind around it. A week ago, Leslie had shown up in his house, battered from the purse thief and desperate for help. Or so he'd thought. And now, she was gone. Just like that.

Life was fragile, even for a tough woman like Leslie. What had happened? Had the kidnapper simply grown tired of her? Had they fought? Had Leslie been trying to protect Ana?

Nate glanced at Marisa and wondered if she'd had the same idea. He hoped not. She was right to keep moving forward. Her forward motion was probably the only thing keeping her sane.

A few tears dripped down her cheeks. What was she telling this housekeeper? Could the woman be trusted?