"I don't know who took her." She sighed, started again. "Por favor, habla Inglés. You're making my friend nervous." At Ramón's scowl, she added, "He's helping me."

"Sí. Okay." He turned to Nate. "You helping?"

Nate's gaze darted from the small man back to Ramón. "I'm trying."

Ramón turned back to her. "I will help. We will have her back by tomorrow. You no need this gringo."

"They've taken her to America."

"Sí. Tengo"—he glanced at Nate—"I have friends. Where you going?"

"It's okay, Ramón." Marisa nodded as if she were confident.

"You think I cannot help? I can help. I know many people. Give me paper."

Nate got the distinct impression that Marisa didn't want his help. Nevertheless, she scooted past Ramón and Nate and took a sketchbook and pen from the bookshelf. She handed them to him.

He wrote something on it and handed it to her. "You call me if you need me. Also, I put Julio, a friend in New York. His phone number is there. You need anything, you tell him Ramón said give you whatever you need. Money or..." He glanced at Nate. "Whatever. Sí?"

She took the paper. "Gracias."

With a nod to Nate, Ramón and the other man left.

"Seems like a nice guy," Nate said after the door closed. "I can see why you lock the door."

"He's my protector, so I don't fear him. Well, I don't only fear him, if that makes sense."

"Can I have that sheet of paper?"

Marisa dropped the sketchbook on the table. "We don't want his help. He's the drug dealer—"

"I gathered," Nate said. "You never know what kind of help we'll need."

"Fine." She grabbed the sketchbook, tore the paper out, and handed it to him. He slipped it in his pocket.

She wrote something in the sketchbook, tore out a second sheet, and stepped outside. He watched her jog across the street. She folded the note and slipped it under the mission door before she jogged back. "A note for Carlita, so she doesn't worry."

"What'd you tell her?"

"That I was going to be gone longer than I'd thought, and that I'd call her soon. And to pray for us." Marisa looked at the bookshelf, then toward her kitchen. "I don't need anything else."

"You sure?"

She shrugged. "I'm not sure about anything. I just want Ana back."

Chapter 8

THE FLIGHT FROM ACAPULCO to Mexico City took barely long enough to take off and land again. Marisa couldn't help thinking about the last time she'd been on a plane, when Vinnie had flown her to Montreal to celebrate the anniversary of their first date. That's where he'd proposed. She'd only been twenty at the time, probably too young to get married, but she'd been in love, and Vinnie had been the perfect man. Kind, generous, handsome. He'd lavished her with gifts the same way her father had.