If only they could've been a real family. At least her sister'd had the opportunity to meet her daughter. It would have to be enough.

Dinner was enjoyable, but beyond the laughter and stories, the seriousness of their visit hung over them like steam from the fajitas the servers carried by. They smelled so good, Marisa almost wanted to order some of those, too. When they got home, she would miss the variety of delicious food she'd sampled on her visit to Acapulco. It had taken her a long time to get accustomed to the local diet. Now she'd have to do it all over again. Totally worth it, she thought, as she bit into her cheeseburger. She ate every bite.

Ana scarfed down her french fries. "These are yummy, Mama! We should make them every day!"

"You know Carlita doesn't like to fry foods. It's not healthy."

"Maybe we can make them at home. Miss Carlita won't even know!"

Marisa giggled. "We'll see, pajarita."

Ana pointed to the fountain. "Can I go play, please?"

Marisa looked around and saw mostly families, tourists, wandering by. The fountain was only a few feet away, just beyond the half-wall between the restaurant and the market. And Ana was very well behaved. "Promise to stay where I can see you, okay?"

"Sí, Mama."

"Remember, if you can't see me—"

"Then you can't see me. I know, I know."

Sometimes, her daughter seemed four going on fourteen.

"Okay. Be good."

Ana skipped away, and Marisa turned back to Leslie, who was pulling out her credit card.

The waitress cleared the table. "You want anything else?"

"No, thanks," Leslie said.

Nate had twisted in his seat to watch Ana, who'd climbed on the edge of the fountain and was walking around it as if it were an oversize balance beam.

"Nate?"

He turned to her. "You really think she's okay?"

Marisa's seat faced her daughter, so she could keep her in view. "She's fine. Have you talked to Leslie about what you think she should do?"

Leslie looked at Nate. "What?"

He leaned forward and blew out a short breath. "You're not going to like it, but you don't have any choice. You're going to need to go to the police."

Leslie pushed back in her chair, scraping it loudly against the tile. "No. No way. They said they'd kill me."

Marisa leaned toward her. "But what choice do you have? The police can protect you."

"Says the girl living in Mexico."

Marisa sat back, kept her eyes on Ana. She hadn't trusted the police to protect her, true. "But they thought I stole the money, too. I was afraid they'd throw me in prison. Or, even if they did believe me, by the time I convinced them, Charles and his guys would have killed me."

"I know. I understood at the time, anyway. But running made you look guilty. Maybe you should've stayed, proved—"