They meandered up the walkway and peered in the windows of the chapel. "Mid-century modern," Leslie said. "Not my favorite style. And for a church?"

"It has its charm." Nate led the way toward the gardens, where they followed the path for a few minutes, both of them scanning the area for Marisa, before they discovered what Luis had been talking about.

Las Manos de la Hermandad was a giant sculpture of two hands, fingertips touching as if in prayer. The sculpture stood near the foot of the giant cross Nate had seen from town. Nate read the sign, printed in both English and Spanish. "The Hands of Brotherhood."

Leslie nodded and studied the intriguing sculpture. "Or sisterhood," she said.

"Of course."

They moved on. The chapel was open in the mornings and again in the evenings, but closed between one and four. Siesta. And what intelligent person would choose to be outside right now? He wiped the dripping sweat from his temples, as if that would help, and continued looking for Marisa. Was she here yet? Had something kept her from making it today, or perhaps, had she changed her mind?

They strolled through the gardens and all manner of flora—palms and flowers and spindly plants that had grown high on each side in this particular part of the garden, so Nate and Leslie could hardly see ahead more than a few feet at a time. The effect made him claustrophobic. He focused on the beauty, the scent of the flowers and the twitter of exotic birds, and tried to push the growing fear away

Suddenly, a little girl dashed around a bend toward them, giggling and looking over her shoulder. She had brown skin and shiny black curls. Nate would have guessed she was Mexican until she turned and called over her shoulder, "You can't catch me, Mama," in perfect English.

No more than four, she froze when she saw them. Her baby-toothed smile faded as she looked up into Nate's eyes.

"Hi, there," he said.

Leslie smiled at the girl.

"Hola," the girl said. "I'm Ana."

"Nice to meet you. Where's your Mama?"

As he said it, a woman rushed around the corner. "Ana, don't run off like that. You scared me!"

Leslie gasped. Nate's reaction was quieter but no less shocked. So focused on the little girl, the woman hadn't looked at them. Her hair was longer, and her braid had fallen over her shoulder and nearly reached her waist. Her build was slender, her face a little more mature, though not at all wrinkled. If anything, Marisa had only grown more beautiful in the years since he'd seen her.

Leslie seemed to pull herself together. "Marisa."

Marisa looked up from the little girl, and he caught the first glimpse of her eyes. Oh, he'd forgotten those eyes. Big, innocent eyes like... What was that princess's name from his little brother's favorite Disney movie? Jasmine—yes, that's who she'd always reminded him of.