And this wasn't one of those false trigger moments, either. Somehow, he'd landed smack dab in the middle of another life-or-death situation. He squeezed his eyes closed, hoped against reason that he'd manage this one better than he had the last.

He just had to get through this minute. The next, he'd handle in sixty seconds. Marisa needed him. Leslie and Ana needed him. He would do this. It might destroy him, but he'd do it.

At the hotel, Nate led the way to her room. "Get all of your sister's things. I'll wait."

"Why?"

"Just do that, okay?"

She walked inside slowly, like she might collapse from the weight on her shoulders. He held the door open and waited while she did as he'd told her. She gathered her own, too, shoving them in the ugly canvas bag. Tears dripped from her eyes as she lifted Ana's clothes and held them to her face. She pushed them in the bag, too, and stepped into the bathroom.

He'd seen Marisa like this before, after Vinnie died. The way she'd shut down sometimes, when the fear overwhelmed her—he'd feared for her safety. Not that she might commit suicide, but that, in her grief, she might do something to expose herself to Gray's men. There was only so much a mind could take.

Didn't he know it.

She emerged from the bathroom carrying the clothes she and Ana had worn the first day, dry now. She stuck them in the bag. "I'm ready. Now what?"

He stepped in the room, lifted the bags, and led her to his room. He got her settled in the desk chair, where she stared, still crying, at the wall.

"You want to turn on the TV?"

She shook her head.

"A drink? Anything?"

She didn't say anything.

He searched Leslie's things. Sure enough, he found a folded piece of paper bearing the confirmation code for their return tickets. Their flight was scheduled to leave at eight o'clock, two mornings later. He dug some more and came up with her passport.

He grabbed the phone, started to dial, and stopped. The pit in his stomach hadn't moved since that phone had rung at the shopping plaza. Right now, it expanded. "Marisa?"

She blinked and looked at him.

"Do you have your passport?"

Her eyes narrowed and she shook her head. "Yes, but no, not here. I have it hidden at home."

"How far do you live from here?"

"The bus is an hour and a half, and then we hitch a ride—"

"If I rent a car, how far is it?"

She shrugged. "I've never... Probably two hours or so."

"Okay." He used the hotel phone to call the airline. It took some finagling, but he managed to switch his flight and make a reservation for Marisa for the next morning. He checked his watch—about twelve hours from now. Well, it wasn't like they'd get any sleep, anyway.