He set the paintings back on the shelf and turned. "I'm sorry. I was curious."

"I don't mind. How do you think I did?"

He shrugged. "Very good, considering how little you had to work with."

She nearly smiled, but it faded fast. She found a plastic sack in the dingy kitchen and returned to the bedroom.

Was painting how she'd survived here? Not just survived, but from all accounts, she'd thrived. His respect for her grew even more.

He went back to the bedroom door. "Did you get socks and warm shoes?"

"Don't have either. I gave a lot of stuff away. Is it cold there now?" She stuffed her things into the thin plastic bag.

"It's March. Do you have more warm clothes?"

She shook her head.

"We'll figure it out."

"I have no money."

"Don't worry about it, Marisa. Just grab what you need."

From the bottom drawer, she pulled out a small, carved box, which she rested on the bed and opened. She lifted out the engagement ring she'd been wearing when Nate had met her. She closed the lid and shoved the box in her canvas bag. "My valuables."

"Anything else?"

She looked around the space, shook her head. He stepped back into the living room, and she passed him and headed for the kitchen.

"You need a bathroom?" She pointed to a door on the far side of the kitchen. "It works, most of the time."

"That's okay. I'll wait."

She spun slowly, obviously wondering if she'd missed anything.

The door banged open, and a man stepped inside. He wore dark jeans and a T-shirt that stretched across his overly large muscles.

Nate stepped between Marisa and the door, facing the man. His legs itched to run, but he wouldn't leave her unprotected.

A second man stepped in behind the first. Smaller, beady-eyed and mean-faced.

Not exactly how Nate had planned to die.

The first man crossed the room and stopped a foot from Nate. "¿Quién es usted?"

Nate knew enough Spanish to answer. "I'm a friend of Marisa's. Who are you?"

"Marisa." The man sidestepped Nate. "¿Estás bien?"

"I'm fine." She turned to Nate. "It's okay. Ramón is a...friend."

Nate could tell the word friend had been a stretch. He feared Ramón had heard the hesitation, too.

Nate crossed his arms. "You always barge into women's houses in the middle of the night?"

Ramón stepped toward him until they were nose-to-nose. "You no belong, gringo."

"Like I said, she's my friend."

"Ramón," Marisa said, "it's fine."

He turned back to her, eyes narrowed. "You want I take care of him?"

"Please... I'm okay. Nate's doing me a favor."

"¿Necesitas algo?"

"I don't need anything. But thank you."

"¿Dónde está Ana?"

Nate turned and saw tears fill Marisa's eyes. "Ana's been...taken. I have to get—"

"¿Quién se la llevó?"