Leslie'd found two rooms at a very cheap resort among what looked to be the oldest stretch of hotels in the city. It'd probably been old when the Love Boat had docked nearby. And no, it wasn't impressive that the only reference he had for Acapulco came from a TV show popular before he was born. His mom had enjoyed the reruns while she was going through chemotherapy. "Dreaming of all the places I'm going to go someday." Turned out the only exotic place she got to see after her diagnosis was the inside of the hospital.

And heaven, if there was one.

Unlike Nate, who was now on his way to La Capilla de la Paz with a woman who'd been a total stranger barely more than twenty-four hours before.

Luis drove them through the Technicolor world of resorts and fauna alongside the bluest ocean Nate had ever seen. They headed out of town amid the sounds of traffic and the local music playing on the radio.

The Chapel of Peace was located, according to Google, at the highest point above the city. A few times, Nate had already spied the giant cross that stood beside it, which was supposedly visible from everywhere in the city. He didn't doubt it.

Was this where Marisa had lived for the past eight years? Not a bad place, he supposed, and with her Puerto Rican coloring, she'd certainly fit in. Though Mexico had become increasingly dangerous through the years, the resort towns were generally considered safe. He would have chosen someplace less touristy. And he certainly wouldn't have chosen this oppressive heat. The only place he'd ever been that was hotter than this was Tunis. The African city had been just as hot but dry. Not comfortable, but at least his sweat had evaporated before it soaked his short hair.

He wiped his moist forehead and frowned. The fact that the Tunis trip, a necessity for a story he was following, had been the impetus that had led to his kidnapping and torture a few months earlier did not sit well. He boxed up that thought and stored it in a container labeled don't open 'til pigs fly in a frozen hell.

Leslie shifted beside him, and he glanced at her. A frown creased her face. When she noticed him looking, she smiled. "This seems like a decent place. I've wondered over the years what kind of life Marisa was living. Most of my guesses have made me think of... I don't know, slums I guess, but this doesn't seem so bad, right? I mean, sure, it's not New York."

Spoken like a true New Yorker. Most city dwellers seemed to believe living anyplace outside of the five boroughs was akin to choosing among different degrees of third-world nations. He braced himself for the inevitable next line—something about culture or diversity or education. But Leslie only turned back to the window.