Nate drove to a garage in midtown, where he had a friendly conversation with the attendant. Marisa watched, amazed, as Nate talked the Middle Eastern man into letting them park for free. "Just for an hour, though," the man said in a heavy accent. "And if my boss finds out—"

"Your boss loves me," Nate said.

The man laughed and nodded. "Is true."

Nate waved and drove up to the second floor. "I interviewed him and his boss a year or so ago."

"Do they owe you?"

"'Course not. I just let them tell their story."

"How come they're so willing to do you a favor?"

He shrugged. "I treated them with respect. Unfortunately, I think that's rare, especially for guys like him and his boss."

She regarded this man she'd spent so much time with and thought about how he'd treated her, all those years ago. A crazy woman on the bus, but he'd listened to her. He'd taken her at face value when a lot of people might've just written her story off as the ramblings of a crazy person. "You're a good guy, Nate Boyle."

He opened his door, came around the car, and opened hers. "Shall we? I'm starved."

She was halfway through the best Greek salad she'd had in years when Nate's cell rang. He looked at the number and said, "It's Jessica."

She swallowed a black olive while he answered the phone. The little shop was loud, crowded with customers, and she didn't blame him for not putting it on speaker, but she wished she could hear the woman's voice.

"We had another couple of questions for you," Nate said into the phone. "We thought we'd head your way..."

He listened, nodded as if the woman could see him, and said, "That'd be great. Where do you want to meet?"

He told her where they were eating lunch, then waited through another pause, writing something in his notebook. "Perfect. See you soon."

He ended the call. "She's in Manhattan with a client. She said she could meet us in half an hour."

Marisa pushed back from the table. "Let's go."

"We have time to finish our lunch. We're meeting at a park about five minutes from here."

She sat reluctantly. "What if she doesn't show?"

"We know where she lives, Marisa. It's going to be okay." He nodded to her salad. "You need to finish your lunch."

* * *