"How do I tell?"

He talked me through it and had me set the course so we could meet his boat faster.

"We're not too far. Hold tight. Don't panic. Help is on the way."

"Thank you." I let out a deep, shuddering breath.

It was happening. I was getting rescued. I was going to make it through this dark tunnel of hell and high water; I was going to make it back to three kisses; I was going to have more Pancake Sundays with all the toppings I could dream of. Suddenly, I was filled with a deep longing to hear my father's voice again, to let him know I was alive.

I dialed his number and waited.

"Hello." He sounded groggy and tired. It must have been late where he was.

"Dad?" I wanted to weep, but I didn't want to alarm him, so I clenched my throat to choke back the sobs.

It was so quiet at the other end-stillness-when everything around me was rolling and churning.

"Skye?" He fumbled. I knew he was looking for his glasses, as if putting them on would make my voice more real.

"Skye? Is that you?" He was completely alert now, completely awake.

"Dad." I couldn't keep my voice from cracking.

"Skye." This time it wasn't a question. He grabbed on to my name like he'd been flailing around for a lifeline and now he'd found it.

"I'm okay, Dad." I sobbed.

Neither of us could find the words to say anything else. I'd never heard my father cry before.

"Tell me where you are," he said.

"I'm on a boat. I don't know exactly where, but I'm being rescued. I'll be in touch whe-" The call got cut off before I could finish.

"Hello." I paused. "Hello?"

The battery was dead. I hugged the phone to my chest, knowing my father was still at the other end.

Stay with me.

Stay with me just a little longer.

The wind had died by the time I put the phone away. The storm was starting to pass. The dinghy had held, but the waves remained strong. Damian was still out, his body rocking with the motion of the boat.

I grabbed the first aid kit from the deckhouse. Then I went back and got Damian's gun. I cleaned and dressed his wound, with the gun tucked firmly in my pants. I wasn't taking any chances. The cut was deep. Damian needed stitches, but all I knew was the basics, so I covered it up with thick gauze. It didn't take long before the blood had seeped through. I held a towel to his head, hoping the pressure would slow it down.

We were drifting on autopilot when the radar started beeping.

My rescue was almost here.

I pushed Damian's hair away from his forehead. It was caked with blood.

Why, Estebandido?

I wanted to weep because someone I loved had died in that face, and I didn't know when or how, and I never got to mourn him. And now they were going to take him away, the boy inside the man.

Lightning split the sky and for a second, I saw him. Esteban. His fingers were stained, his smile was wide, and he had just tasted strawberries for the first time.

What happened to you?

What happened?

I cradled his head and rocked back and forth.

And then the other boat was upon us, and a man was climbing aboard.

"It's okay. Everything is going to be all right," he said. "You can let go of the gun."

I didn't realize I'd been holding it until he pried it away.

He took the towel from my hand and inspected Damian's wound. It was soaked in bright red.

Damian's eyes flickered open. "Rafael," he whispered, when he saw the man.

The blood chilled in my veins. I knew that name. I'd heard Damian talking to him on the phone.

Did you get that? Damian had said to Rafael, the man on the other end, who had been recording my screams.

"I'm here, Damian," said the man I thought had come to rescue me. "I'm here."

WE SAILED PAST COVE AFTER cove along the coastline, with Rafael manning Damian's boat, and his friend, Manuel, following behind on the other one. I sat with Damian's head on my lap, as he bled out in the night. A couple of times, he opened his eyes, but they were glazed over. Each time, a raw, primitive grief overwhelmed me because there were flashes of Esteban in those eyes. Whatever he was feeling, whatever he was thinking, Damian was lying bare before me now. I could feel his pain. Not the kind that was slowly seeping out of him, but the torment that was bottled up inside. It was rattling up against the iron cage of his heart, with no way out. Damian tossed and turned as I tried to contain him.

"Shhh. Shhh." I don't know when I started humming MaMaLu's lullaby. I don't know if it was for him or for me, but it seemed to comfort him and he stopped thrashing around.

The water was calm now, but it was cold, and we were both soaking wet. Damian was shaking. I held him closer and he shifted in my lap, burying his face in my stomach.

He thinks he's a little boy. He thinks I'm MaMaLu.

I wanted to hold him tighter. I wanted to push him away. How could I even think of comforting Damian? How could I not?

I sang to him until the sun began to rise, until we anchored at a small island with forested hills that sloped seaward to meet sandy white beaches. As far as I could make out, there were no buildings on the island, no roads, or cars, or telephone lines.

The men carried Damian from the boat to a small villa hidden among the palm trees. Damian groaned as they lay him on the flamingo colored couch. I was amazed he'd lasted through the night. No one could lose that much blood and survive. Rafael seemed to think otherwise.

"You're going to pull through, Damian. You hear me?" he said, even though Damian had turned pale and unresponsive. He sent Manuel off on the boat to obtain medical supplies, while he rifled through the first aid kit.

He had the same dark complexion as Damian, but that's where the similarities ended. Rafael was a few inches taller with light hair and green eyes. He didn't wear ugly, generic clothes. His t-shirt was made of fine, pure cotton and the seams were zigzagged to lie flat and straight. His watch cost more than Damian's boat, and his shoes . . . his shoes reminded me of the ones I'd seen on Damian when he'd abducted me. Soft, hand-tooled, Italian leather.

I tried to make sense of what had happened. It occurred to me that Damian had been talking to Rafael when the storm hit. It was possible that the two of them had already planned this meeting point. Rafael had been close enough to intercept us, and this location was too remote to just be chanced upon. When I'd called on the radio, it was set to the channel they'd been using to communicate, but anyone could have tuned in, so Rafael had asked me to switch to the phone.

"He should have finished you off." Rafael looked at me pointedly as he stitched up the gash on Damian's head.

"He was taking me to see MaMaLu." If Damian died, I knew I was in bigger trouble with Rafael. I didn't know who he was or how they were connected, but I needed to find a way to keep afloat. The one thing I had going for me was the call I'd made to my father. He knew I was alive, and satellite phones use GPS. It wouldn't take long to trace the number and narrow down the search area.

"Damian was taking you to Paza del Mar?" Rafael's brows shot up. "He never takes anyone to see her."

"You know MaMaLu?" I asked. At least I knew where she was now.

"I've known Damian since he was twelve. We grew up together. There's nothing I wouldn't do for him."

"So if something happens to him . . . if he dies . . . you'll keep his promise? You'll take me to MaMaLu?"

Rafael finished stitching Damian up before replying. "Do I look like your chauffer?" He took a step towards me. "Your butler?" Another step. "Your fucking concierge?" He spat down at me. "You don't give a shit about Damian or MaMaLu. So don't pretend you want to see MaMaLu when all you're trying to do is save your own ass. You live in your high and mighty castle with your high and mighty head in the clouds. The only person you look out for is you, because you're nothing but a spoiled brat. Well, guess what?" He pulled out his gun and held it to my temple. "I'm not going to let Damian take the fall. He might have gone soft on you, but your luck just ran out, Ms. Skye and Mighty Sedgewick. We're going to end this. Right now." He nudged me towards the door.

"But, I-" My eyes drifted to Damian. He was lost in uneasy sleep.

"He can't save you now, princess," said Rafael. "March. Out back."

We walked through the wraparound verandah, past the coconut palms and into the jungle.

"Stop. Right here," said Rafael, when we came to a small clearing.

I was facing away from him, looking down at my shadow on the sandy mound. It was long and thin in the setting sun. Rafael stepped behind me. Together we looked like long-limbed aliens, with one ready to zap the other into another galaxy.

It was almost a relief, to let go, to resign, to accept. Hope is a hollow backbone. It can't always carry the weight of reality. And I was tired of propping it up. I was tired of mending it each time it snapped. You can only cheat death so many times; you can only fight so long, so hard.

"Just one thing before you shoot, Rafael." I turned around and looked him in the eye. "I need to know. Tell me what happened to Esteban. Tell me how he ended up as Damian."

THE FIRST TIME ESTEBAN SAW Skye, it was through a set of wooden bars. He didn't know whether they were there to keep her in, like the dangerous animals at the zoo, or to keep him out, like the display windows he pressed his nose against when he went to the big city with MaMaLu.

"Why is she in a cage?" he asked.

"It's not a cage." MaMaLu laughed.

"It's a crib," said Adriana Sedgwick. She was the baby's mother, and she looked like she had stepped out of the glossy magazines she read.

Esteban was four years old. He had never seen a crib. He slept with MaMaLu, in a small room in the staff wing. He liked it much better than when they'd stayed with MaMaLu's brother, Fernando. Some days Fernando came home drunk to find MaMaLu had locked him out. Those nights, he yelled and cursed and banged on the door. Other times, he bought them elote, boiled corn on the cob, and rowed them out to sea in his panga. Esteban could never tell what kind of day it was going to be, so he'd constantly walked on eggshells around his uncle.

One evening, Fernando brought home a friend.

"Come, Esteban." He waved the boy over. "Say hello to my buddy, Victor Madera."

Just then, MaMaLu came in and Victor Madera's gaze was quickly averted. "And this is . . . ?" he asked.

"My sister, Maria Luisa," replied Fernando.

Victor couldn't keep his eyes off her. He had heard about Maria Luisa. It was his business to keep track of everyone and everything. Fernando had told him things about her that he should probably have kept to himself, but when a man has a weakness, be it gambling or alcohol or women, you can always get him to talk.

"Fernando tells me you're looking for a job," said Victor.

"I am," she replied. Her dress was stretched tight across her bosom "I might have something for you." Victor wanted nothing more than to see her naked.

That night, he went to Adriana Sedgewick, and told her that he had found her a nanny.

"Tell her to come see me tomorrow for an interview," she said.

Victor had worked as a bodyguard for her father, a wealthy businessman who dealt with the Mexican underworld. His family's safety was of prime concern. Victor had been employed by her father for many years, but he made Adriana uneasy. She wished her father had not insisted that Victor accompany her when she married Warren, but that had been one of his conditions. The other being that Warren entered into the family business.

"What was that about?" asked Warren. He circled his wife's pregnant belly and nuzzled her neck.

She didn't answer, choosing instead to entwine her fingers with his and lead him to where the baby was kicking. "Do you ever regret it?" she asked.

"Regret what?"

"Marrying me. Leaving San Diego for Paza del Mar. Getting involved with my family."

"Adriana, we've been over this before. Besides, they're not directly involved and neither am I."

"Laundering money for the cartel is direct involvement, no matter how many people separate us from them. I know you did it for me. My father-"

"Your father saw a young American punk in love with his daughter and offered me a choice. He saw someone who could get money out of Mexico and I saw an opportunity to give you the things you're used to. We collect our cut and in a few years, we get out. That's the plan, baby. Short and sweet." He kissed her. "So what did Victor want?"

"He says he knows someone who would make a good nanny."

"Victor is recommending nannies now?"

Adriana laughed. "If she's anything like him, I don't think I'm going to like her."

But Adriana was pleasantly surprised. She had been expecting someone older, colder, but MaMaLu was sharp and vibrant and intelligent. She was bilingual and switched easily from Spanish to English. What Adriana liked best was that she came in with her son on her hip.

"This is Esteban," she said, as if he was her proudest accomplishment.

Adriana asked questions, but more than that, she watched the two of them interact. By the end of the interview, she knew. If anyone was going to help raise her child, it was MaMaLu. She was a nurturer, but she wasn't afraid to discipline. She knew when to yield and when to give. She was full of stories about everything, and real or made up, there was something enthralling and magical about them, about her.

"The baby isn't due for another week, but I'd like you to get oriented. Can you start tomorrow?" Adriana asked.

And so began a deep and abiding friendship between two unlikely women.

Adriana died when Skye was three years old. She was in the city, visiting her father, when it happened. Everyone knew the bullet was meant for him, over a dispute he'd had with the cartel. After he buried his daughter, he gave up all his dealings with them, but he couldn't get his son-in-law out. The cartel wanted someone with a U.S. passport, and they wanted him enough to threaten Skye. It took Warren six years to get out and in that time, MaMaLu made sure that Adriana's daughter never felt the loss of her mother. She loved her like her own. When Skye woke up, MaMaLu was the first person she saw, and when Skye went to sleep, it was to the sound of MaMaLu's voice.

Esteban resented the little girl who had stolen his mother. He wanted all of MaMaLu's smiles and all of her lullabies. At night, he waited for her to come home, and when she didn't, he climbed the tree to Skye's window and sat there and sulked. Skye had outgrown the crib and MaMaLu sat beside her in bed, putting her to sleep. Sometimes MaMaLu called Esteban over, but he always shook his head. He was pretty sure the little girl wasn't real. Her hair was the color of the halos he'd seen on paintings in church, and the light from the bedside lamp made it look like soft, golden feathers. Esteban wasn't fooled. He knew that one day she was going to fly away, but until then, she was pretending to be real so MaMaLu would stay and look after her.

Esteban came to Skye's room every day to catch bits and pieces of MaMaLu's stories. Pretty soon, he was climbing inside and sitting on the floor so he could hear what she was saying. He inched forward, bit by bit, until he could lean against MaMaLu's leg. One night, she sang him the lullaby she used to sing when he was little. Esteban knew it was for him because Skye was sleeping, but as soon as MaMaLu stopped singing, Skye rolled over.

"Again, MaMaLu," she said.

"No!" Esteban got up and wrenched MaMaLu away from her. "That's my lullaby!"

"Ban?" She rubbed her sleep drenched eyes and looked at him.