After a nod from her mother, Ana raced ahead of them all, pushed open the door, and bolted to the pool.

Marisa was glad she'd borrowed a swimsuit for her daughter, which Ana wore under her clothes. She'd promised a dip in the ocean, but right now, the pool would do nicely. Marisa found a life jacket and put it on her daughter. She gave her strict instructions about where she could play in the water.

"If you disobey, you will get out. Comprendes?"

"Si." Her head bobbed, and she raced to the wide steps of the kiddie pool. Marisa watched a moment. Joy bubbled at her daughter's happiness, followed quickly by sadness. What American four-year-old had never been swimming? She shook off the thought and joined Leslie and Nate at a table beneath the thatched roof of the tiki bar. The area was deserted except for the waitress and bartender, who seemed deep in thought at the bar behind them.

"I hope this is okay," Nate said. "It seems like the best vantage point. And I do need the shade."

"Thank you. I promised her we'd walk to the beach, too, before we go back. She's never seen the ocean."

"Why not?" Leslie asked.

"We live pretty far inland."

Nate leaned forward, eyes narrowed. "Where exactly?"

Marisa opened her mouth. She'd kept the secret so long, she couldn't bring herself to same the name of her village. "You've never heard of it. We live in a little village about thirty kilometers from Chilpancingo."

He scowled. For the first time since she'd met up with them, the kindness disappeared from Nate's gaze. Now, it was hard and demanding. "Why in the world would you choose to live there? Do you have any idea how dangerous Mexico is?"

"Um, yeah, Nate. I live here."

"You escaped New York to save your life only to move to one of the most dangerous places on earth? I mean, if you lived near here—"

"It's a long story."

Leslie looked between them. "Is Mexico that dangerous?"

Nate ignored her. "Weren't those students from around there?"

She was impressed by his knowledge about Mexican issues. Not that the kidnapping and murder of forty-three college students hadn't made the international news. "That was years ago, and it took place in Ayotzinapa, about two hours east of Chilpancingo. We don't live—"

"It was in Guerrero, though."

"Wait," Leslie said. "What's that?"

Marisa turned to her sister. "That's the state we're in." To Nate she said, "Yes, it's dangerous, if you speak out. If you make waves or cause trouble. I don't do that. I teach English and help at the orphanage. I am well-liked, and I fit in."

"I didn't help you risk your life to tell your story so you could..." Nate seemed to falter, struggle with his words. Fatigue couldn't help, and he was getting pretty riled up. "Could risk your life..."

Marisa lifted her eyebrows. "Wasting my time?"

"Well, no, but—"