Cold fear dripped down Marisa's spine, and she shivered in the heat. A death threat. She'd experienced the feeling of knowing there were human beings, not so different from herself, people with minds and bodies and hearts, people who wanted to destroy her. Marisa had faced two choices—stay and risk it or run. She'd chosen to run. Chosen this life, however meager, over a violent death.

Marisa had been gone from New York for years before she'd let herself get comfortable again. Let herself believe she might actually get to live a long, healthy life. Maybe not what she'd planned, because living in an impoverished Mexican village had never made her list of goals when she'd been a child in Queens. But to live beyond twenty years old, to make it to twenty-two, twenty-five, now twenty-eight. She'd allowed herself to believe the danger was all behind her.

But she'd been wrong. So wrong. Because they were catching up with her now, those human beings who wanted her dead. Because Leslie's life was in danger, and it was Marisa's fault. Could she turn her back on her sister? No, of course not. So what choice did she have? She had to find a way to meet them without exposing the only home she had. She couldn't go on the run again. She had Ana to think of.

Their home and Ana needed to be protected.

What to do?

She had to meet them, but not here.

She returned to the computer and typed, How soon could you get to Acapulco?

Mexico?

Marisa didn't respond to the stupid question. Finally, her sister typed again.

Hold on. We're checking.

While Marisa waited, she clicked to a travel site herself and checked the bus schedule from Chilpancingo to Acapulco. The website said the buses ran hourly. She rarely found anything in Mexico to be so organized or consistent. But at least she could get to Acapulco eventually, assuming she could hitch a ride to Chilpancingo.

The inbox dinged.

I can be there tomorrow morning.

Leslie alone, not with Nate? Her fingers rested on the keyboard, and she closed her eyes. What should she do?

The answer was obvious, but they weren't going to like it.

I want Nate to come, too.

Why?

Marisa struggled to formulate an answer that made sense.

The next message arrived.

It's Nate. I'm sorry, but I can't.

She'd checked his column in the Times enough to know he was no longer with them. You got a new job?

Long story.

You can tell me when I see you, she typed.

You don't need me, Marisa.

She wanted to argue, because she did need him. Even now, whenever she felt the slightest bit of danger, she longed for Nate. We may need your help.