Her words trailed off while he flipped through the photos. There was a young Marisa, beautiful even as a child. And beside her in picture after picture, this woman.

"Okay, so you're sisters. Doesn't change anything. Like I said, the FBI—"

"They would have missed it. Did she give you anything? A painting or a drawing, a letter? Anything like that?"

She'd given him a little drawing. It was a pencil sketch of a cabin by a lake, created after he'd shared with her that if he had to run, he'd like to find a place like that. From his description, Marisa had drawn a work of art. She'd made him promise to keep it forever, a keepsake. And he had.

"A sketch."

She dropped the paper towel on the table. "Can I see it?"

"I think it's in the Pod."

Her pale brown eyes brightened, and she stood. "Let's go."

"Wait." He waited until Leslie sat again. What he wanted to tell her was that no, he wasn't going to help her find Marisa. No, he wasn't getting involved. And no, he didn't think it was a good idea to pull Marisa into whatever drama was unfolding in New York. But he couldn't miss the hope in Leslie's eyes, the fear just behind it. He knew what it felt like to be threatened, and he knew how he'd feel if it were someone he loved in danger, someone he loved who needed his help. He'd do anything for his brother. It wasn't his place to decide for Marisa what should be done.

"Let me bandage that wound."

Her foot tapped while he squeezed out the antibacterial gel. As he pressed the bandage to Leslie's forehead, he said. "I don't want her to get hurt."

"They threatened to kill me."

"I know. I'm not... It's not okay if you get hurt, either. But pulling your sister in puts you both in danger. How do you know they won't kill both of you? And besides, Marisa doesn't have the money."

"How can you be so sure?"

"She told me—"

"Stealing that money was a federal offense. You really think she'd confess to a reporter?"

"I protect my sources."

"How could she have known for sure?"

"She trusted me with her whereabouts. With her life."

Leslie stood. "I know. And I never thought she took it either. But this guy—he seemed really sure. And Marisa knew everything. She knew—"

"I know the story, Leslie. I wrote it, remember? I'm just saying, I never thought she stole the money."

"Maybe I want her to have it because if she doesn't, I'm dead." She lowered her gaze and covered her face with her hands. He barely heard her next words. "I don't know what else to do."

"And you want to find your sister."

She looked up. "I need to know she's okay."