My heartbeat ticked faster.
“Not only,” I repeated.
Rosa’s gaze flicked to the door, as if she expected someone to walk in because she’d said too much.
“Girls who come for summer. The students, or sometimes the tourists. People say they leave. But…” Her voice roughened. “Some girls do not leave.”
My scalp prickled.
Priya.
Not the first. Just the one who didn’t fit the easy story because someone got careless and made a mistake.
I held Rosa’s gaze. “Is there anything else you’ve heard? Anything that comes up more than once?”
Rosa hesitated. “They say it happens to women who are alone.”
Rios’s jaw clenched.
“Alone.” I echoed, the word tasting like rot.
Rosa looked down again, fingers twisting in her shirt hem the way someone did when they were trying not to cry.
“Rosa,” I said gently, “you did the right thing telling us any of this.”
Her laugh was sharp and bitter. “The right thing is expensive.”
I felt that settle into my bones, because she was right.
“I know,” I said softly.
Rios pushed back from the table, not abruptly but decisively, like he had to move or he’d break something. He paced two steps in the tiny kitchen, then stopped, hands on his hips, staring at nothing.
His restraint was almost worse than anger.
Rosa watched him with wary eyes. “What?”
Rios turned back to her, expression controlled. “What I’m hearing is that even if we find the right questions, we have nowhere to take the answers without the risk of getting you hurt.”
Rosa didn’t answer. Because the silence was the answer.
I stood slowly, forcing my body to obey me. “We can’t promise you anything, but we can promise we’ll keep looking. We won’t forget this.”
Rosa’s eyes met mine, and for the first time there was something like emotion there—something that wanted to believe. “People forget.” The words weren’t unkind. Merely a statement of fact.
“Not this time.” I meant it enough to scare myself.
Rios stepped closer to the table, lowering his voice. “If you hear anything else—anything—don’t tell Miguel to follow us again.”
Miguel’s name made Rosa glance toward the door.
“Tell him to leave word with Kelsey,” Rios continued. “Or have her call—” He caught himself. He didn’t want her to have our numbers. A number could be found. Traced. Used. “No. Just… tell Kelsey to find me. At the marina. Quiet.”
Rosa nodded once.
I hesitated, then added, “And if you feel unsafe—if you see that man again, the one with the nice shoes—tell Kelsey. Tell Miguel. Tell someone.”
Rosa’s mouth twisted. “And do what? Stay inside forever?”
