They got to the photos of the trash. A Ben and Jerry's cup and crumpled napkins. There was the photograph of the paper with the scrawled address. It had a brown smudge on it. Chocolate ice cream, presumably.

Ana loved chocolate.

And just like that, they had something to go on.

Nate reached the end of the pictures. "I didn't see anything else, did you?"

She shook her head. "I haven't had Ben and Jerry's in years."

"I'll get you some."

She'd like that. Maybe. With Ana.

Rae scooted over to see what Sam was looking at on her laptop. She pointed at the screen and looked at Marisa.

"Want to see?"

"What is it?"

"The apartment building," Sam said. "I can't get pictures of that exact unit, but I found another unit in the same building for rent."

Marisa nodded, and Sam stood and rounded the coffee table. She knelt beside Marisa on the floor and turned the laptop to face her.

On the screen, Marisa saw what looked like an average red brick building. Six stories. Nothing remarkable at all.

She thought of the moment they'd been driving from Manhattan to White Plains, of all the buildings. Structure after structure. Millions of corners and alleys and rooms. She'd believed they'd never find her daughter. Yet, somehow, they'd located Rick's hideaway.

It seemed like...like a miracle or something. If only Ana would be there, safe and sound.

Sam placed a hand on her knee. "I'm still praying. Constantly praying. We have to trust God."

Marisa had been praying, too, desperate for help from somewhere, anywhere. Would God help her now? Maybe not for her sake, but for innocent little Ana's? She could only hope.

Sam clicked the laptop. "This is a different apartment in the building." She scrolled through the pictures.

Empty rooms. Wood floors, old appliances. White walls. Few windows.

There were probably closets just big enough for a four-year-old, though the pictures didn't show them.

When they reached the end, Sam closed the laptop. "I don't know if it helps, but..."

"It does." Marisa covered her mouth to hold in the emotion. "If that's where she's been kept... I mean, who knows how the man has...what he's done. But that place looks normal."

"It's kind of dingy," Sam said.

Marisa couldn't help her laugh. "You should see my house in Mexico. That"—she nodded at the closed laptop—"that was luxurious. They had a microwave and everything."

She chuckled again and looked at Nate. "What's wrong with me?"

"You know we're close. We're finally close. I can feel it."

Brady stepped back inside, phone to his ear. "Yeah. As soon as you..." He listened, gave Marisa a thumbs-up, and turned toward the kitchen, speaking into the phone. "Promise me. The second you know anything." He paused again. "Okay, thanks." He ended the call.

"Garrison's on it. Coordinating with his partner, and they're working with the NYPD. They should know something soon."