Cry No More (10 page)

“Unless something comes up,” Milla said. “Where and when?”

“Twelve-thirty. Dolly’s.”

Dolly’s was a trendy little café that served chick food and was always busy at lunch, packed with women who wanted something lighter than the usual fare. A few businessmen ate there, but for the most part men stayed far, far away from the dainty chairs and tables in Dolly’s.

As Milla hung up, Joann stuck her head in the door. “I haven’t mentioned him,” she said in a low voice, and she didn’t have to elaborate. “He called first thing this morning. At least I think it was him. His voice gives me the creeps, and I got big-time goose bumps with this call, so I’m pretty sure who it was.”

Milla wasn’t even hearing his voice, and her skin roughened with a chill. Absently she rubbed her arms. “What did he want?”

“He didn’t say. He asked if you were here. I said no, told him what time your flight would be in and what time I expected you, and he hung up.”

“Did you give him my cell phone number?”

Joann looked worried. “No. I started to, but I didn’t know if you wanted him to have it.”

Since he probably already had her home phone and address, thanks to her slipup of using her real name instead of her business name, Milla couldn’t see how giving him her cell phone number could hurt. “I’ll give it to him when I see him again.”

“See who?” Brian asked from the doorway.

Their office could use a tad more formality, Milla thought as she looked around. On the other hand, Finders was a partnership of people dedicated to what they did, not a corporation. She was the figurehead and the operational head, but other than that, the structure was very loose, and she had encouraged that feeling. While she might tell Brian about Diaz later—she wasn’t sure how to explain how she had entered into an agreement with a man who was essentially a vigilante, and that was being charitable—she wasn’t ready to tell him now, so she deflected him by changing the subject.

“Brian, I know you’re only teasing when you start ragging on Olivia, but I’m not certain
she
knows. I don’t want the office upset—”

“She knows,” he said, stuffing his fingers into his jeans pockets and grinning at her, that wide, white aw-shucks-I’m-just-a-country-boy grin that he used to keep people off guard. “We’re having fun.”

“If you say so,” Joann said doubtfully. “From the way things looked a minute ago, you were about to get clocked.”

“Nah. She’s a pacifist; she doesn’t believe in hitting.”

“Unless you push her to her limit,” Milla said. “And I think you’re getting close.”

“Trust me.” He winked at her. “What did you say to Mrs. Hatcher? She looked like a woman marching off to war when she left here.”

“I convinced her to change her bank account and see a lawyer.”

“Thank God,” Joann said. “She should have done that as soon as she realized he’d taken half their money.”

“She wasn’t ready to hear it. The shock had to wear off before she could listen.”

“I hope he comes crawling back in a few months and finds out she’s divorced his ass,” Brian said. “The shithead.”

“Amen.” Milla looked at the pile of paperwork on her desk and sighed. “I’m having lunch with Susanna, unless something comes up. Is everything quiet?”

“Under control. First thing this morning I got a group in Vermont out looking for an elderly lady with Alzheimer’s who wandered away from home, but they found her within the hour. And some college kids hiking in the Sierra Nevada didn’t come home on schedule, so things are getting organized there.”

“How late are they?”

“One day. They were supposed to be home last night, but the families haven’t heard from them.”

“Let’s just hope they have sense enough to stick together.” And that none of them were injured. And that at least one of them had given their itinerary to a parent or a friend. Milla was always amazed at how many people set off into the wilderness without telling someone where they were going.

She told the staff the news about their new sponsor from Dallas, and the promise of a new computer system, then she settled down to wade through the growing stack of paper.

An hour later, Olivia stuck her head in the door to ask a question, and Milla took advantage of the opportunity. “If Brian’s teasing gets to be too much, just let me know.”

“I can handle him,” Olivia said, smiling. “It’s okay, really. He thinks he’s getting a rise out of me and I enjoy busting his chops. When he stops dancing around and works up the nerve to ask me out, I’ll make him forget about big hair and small brains.”

Ask her out?
Milla’s eyes opened wide. Was that what was going on? “He’s ex-military,” Milla blurted. “He’s conservative. He’s macho to the max—”

“He’s also ten years younger,” said Olivia, the smile widening to a grin. “Sounds good, doesn’t it? I doubt we’ll get around to discussing social issues, but if we do, I can hold my own with him. Who knows? I might convert him to my way of thinking.”

Bewildered, Milla stared after Olivia as she walked away with a real bounce in her step. Sexual chemistry was an amazing thing. She had to adjust her thinking to see Olivia and Brian together, but in an odd way they meshed, because they were both strong-minded enough that neither could be dominated by the other.

Well. This had been an interesting morning.

Lunch with Susanna was as pleasant as usual. Susanna always asked about Finders; from the beginning she had shown real interest and occasionally turned up at fund-raisers. She never pried, never rehashed that awful day when Justin was taken, but she always asked how things were going. If Milla had any new leads, she’d tell her about them, but for the most part she had nothing to tell. Today, she did, but when Susanna asked, Milla just shook her head. Because Susanna sometimes attended fund-raisers, she was in the same general social circle with True Gallagher, and Milla didn’t want to take the chance her friend might say something to him. Even if she asked Susanna to keep the news private, Milla knew it wouldn’t be. Susanna would tell Rip, Rip would tell someone, and before Milla knew it, True would be on the phone raising hell and Diaz would disappear. She couldn’t risk that, so she kept quiet.

The meal was almost finished when Susanna dipped her spoon into her papaya sorbet and casually asked, “Are you seeing anyone lately?”

Milla burst out laughing. The rumor mill had certainly been efficient! “If you mean True Gallagher, the answer is no.”

“That’s not what I hear.” A tiny smile was playing around Susanna’s well-shaped mouth, and her blue eyes were laughing.

“He asked, I refused. That’s all there is.”

“I hear he walked you to your car Saturday night.”

“But that’s all he did.”

“For goodness’ sake, why won’t you go out with him? He’s a . . .” Susanna paused, and gave a delicate little shiver. “He’s a
man
, with a capital
M
.”

“I know. He’s also one of Finders’ sponsors.”

“Which means?”

“That I won’t do anything to jeopardize our funding, whether it’s from True or someone who wouldn’t like the way it looked if I dated one of the sponsors.”

“You didn’t take a vow of chastity,” Susanna said, annoyed.

“I know. It’s my own choice. Finders is more important to me than my social life, even if the man in question wasn’t part of our funding.”

“Is that why you keep breaking up with the guys you date?”

Milla smiled. “Actually, they broke up with me, not the other way around. And there have really only been two since David and I divorced.”

Susanna’s mouth fell open. “Two? You’ve dated only two men?”

“I didn’t say that. I’ve dated, some, when I can. Which isn’t all that often, and not at all lately. But there’ve been only two quasi-relationships. Do you remember Clint Tidemore?”

“Vaguely. You dated him once or twice.”

“More than that. He was one of my quasies.”

“Cute guy.”

“Yes, he is. He wanted me around more than I could manage, and I wasn’t willing to delegate, so we parted ways.”

“You didn’t say anything. I thought he was just a casual date.”

“There wasn’t any point in rehashing everything when I wasn’t willing to compromise.”

“But you have to.” Susanna’s gaze turned serious. “Sooner or later, you’ll have to. Everyone compromises. It’s the only way to get along.”

“Maybe someday,” Milla said. Someday when she’d found Justin, and the devil was no longer flicking his whip at her heels. Until that day, she couldn’t rest, couldn’t let anything else matter to her.

“Make it sooner rather than later,” Susanna advised as she glanced at her watch and picked up her bill. “I have to run. Appointments start at two.”

Milla stood also, and they hugged. Then Susanna dashed off, her mind already on work. Milla lagged behind, gathering her bag and leaving the tip, since Susanna had forgotten. Two other patrons got between her and Susanna at the cash register, and when Milla finally emerged from the café, Susanna’s red Mercedes was already two blocks down the street. Milla crossed the street to where she had parked her Toyota SUV, her head down as she searched the bottom of her bag for her car keys. Usually she just put the keys in her pocket, but the slim skirt she was wearing today didn’t have pockets.

There they were. She was almost at the Toyota when she finally spotted them. She pulled the keys out, looked up, and barely choked back a startled shriek when she almost collided with the man who had appeared out of nowhere and was now between her and her vehicle.

“I’ve been waiting,” Diaz said.

9

“Don’t you know you shouldn’t walk with your head down like that?” he continued, his dark eyes narrowed in the shadow of his hat brim. “And you should always have your keys in your hand before you leave a building.”

Thank goodness she was wearing her sunglasses, she thought a trifle wildly, so he couldn’t see how her eyes had bugged out with fright. Her heart was still galloping, and a cold sweat had broken out on her skin. She had to stop reacting to him like this, before he realized she practically jumped out of her skin every time he moved a muscle.

That wasn’t to say he didn’t already realize it, because she saw the tiniest twitch of his mouth. The twitch could never have been called a smile, but maybe it wanted to be one.

“I usually do,” she found herself explaining as she tried to fit the key into the lock. Her hand was shaking slightly and she had to try again before she succeeded. The next vehicle she bought, she promised herself, would have remote-operated locks. As she opened the door, she said, “Joann said you called.”

“Yeah.” He leaned past her and hit the unlock button that released all the locks, then went around and got into the passenger seat.

Evidently he was riding with her. Either that or he didn’t want to talk while standing on the sidewalk. Taking a deep breath, she got behind the wheel and started the motor, then turned the air-conditioning on high and lowered the windows to help dissipate the stifling heat that had built up in the closed vehicle.

He’d had to remove his hat when he got in, and he twisted to toss the dark brown Stetson onto the backseat. Then he buckled his seat belt.

For a moment she was so startled by the image of an assassin wearing his seat belt that the significance of his action escaped her. She blinked as she realized that he wouldn’t have fastened the belt unless he expected the vehicle to be moving soon.

She put her bag on the back floorboard and fastened her own seat belt. “Where to?” she asked, in case he had any specific ideas about their destination.

He shrugged. “You’re driving.”

“I was going back to the office.”

“Fine.”

“Where’s your car?”

“In a safe place. I’ll tell you when to let me out.”

She shrugged, checked her mirrors, and when she saw a gap in traffic, she pulled out of her parking space. The air blowing from the vents was becoming cool, so she raised the windows, sealing the two of them inside the small private space. She’d never before realized just how small and just how private a vehicle was, but even though Diaz was the most
still
person she’d ever met, he had a way of taking up space and making it his own. She felt both crowded and smothered, even though he was doing nothing more than sitting quietly beside her.

“Why did you call?” she finally asked, since he wasn’t volunteering any information.

“Pavón isn’t in the area now. He’s gone to ground somewhere.”

Disappointment hit her in the stomach like a sledgehammer. She tightened her hands on the steering wheel. “You know that already?”

“Yes. Don’t worry, he’ll turn up. Did you tell anyone about me?” He was checking the side-view mirror, she realized, keeping watch on the vehicles around them. He wasn’t overt about it, but he hadn’t relaxed his guard one iota since getting into the SUV with her.

“No, and I told Joann not to mention you, either.”

“Can you trust her?”

“More than most.” Until the moment those words left her mouth, Milla would have said she trusted Joann absolutely. But Diaz wouldn’t believe in absolutes; to him people would be more trustworthy or less trustworthy, but not completely trustworthy. And he was right, she thought. As much as she trusted Joann, there was always the possibility something would slip during conversation.

He continued to watch the traffic, and she watched him as much as she could while she was driving. He was a neat man; his clothes weren’t stained, his fingernails were short and clean. Today he was wearing dark brown jeans and a T-shirt that looked as if it had once been beige but had been washed so often it had faded to a soft cream. He wore a wristwatch, one of those highly technical things that looked as if it could plot a course to the stars, but no other jewelry. His hands, resting quietly on his thighs, were strong and lean, with prominent veins that laced upward on his arms.

His profile was tough, contained, a little grim. His jaw was still covered with stubble, his lips compressed as if he found nothing in his life to be joyous. Maybe there wasn’t anything joyous, she thought. Joy came from people, from the web of relationships that bound people together, and Diaz was profoundly solitary. He might be sitting right beside her, but she felt as if part of him wasn’t there at all.

“Did you find out who called me Friday night?” she asked after the silence had stretched several minutes beyond comfortable.

“No. I hit a dead end.”

Did he mean that literally? Was his contact now dead?

“I’ll find him eventually,” he continued, and she blew out a tiny breath of relief.

Her cell phone rang. He looked around, located her bag, and hauled it up from the back floorboard. “Thanks,” Milla said, fishing the phone out of its pocket. The office number was showing in the window. “Hello.”

“We’ve got a missing four-year-old boy,” Debra Schmale said without preamble. “He lives close to the state park. He’s been missing from home for at least two hours.” She gave his address. “The police department are the first responders. The family and neighbors looked for the boy for two hours before they called. The PD called and asked for our assistance. We’re getting people in the street as fast as possible. Most of the office staff are on their way.”

“I’ll meet them at the boy’s house,” Milla said, and ended the call. She glanced at the traffic and changed lanes, accelerating to catch the next traffic signal on green. She hung a right, then another right, and headed in the opposite direction. “Where should I let you out?” she asked Diaz.

“What’s wrong?”

“Lost four-year-old, close to Franklin Mountains.” The string of hundred-plus temperatures had continued today; unless the little boy found shelter from the sun, he could die of heatstroke. And if he had found shelter, that could just make it more difficult to find him.

Diaz shrugged. “I’ll go with you. I know the area.”

Somehow she’d never expected that. Not only was he putting himself out, but a lot of people would see him. She had thought he would shun crowds.

“What’s your name?” she asked. “If you want to keep your identity quiet, I shouldn’t call you Diaz.”

He had a way of not answering questions immediately. He always paused a second or two, as if considering both the question and his possible answers. That little pause was unnerving.

“James,” he finally said.

She punched the Toyota into passing gear and powered ahead of a sports car. “Is that your real name?”

“Yes.”

Maybe it was, maybe it wasn’t. But as long as he answered to the name, if it was his real one or not didn’t matter.

She was glad the police department had called them. In cases like this, Finders always worked under the direction of either police departments or county sheriffs, depending on who had jurisdiction and were the first responders. Searches did better when they were organized, rather than having a bunch of panicked people taking off in all directions without anyone knowing where they were going. Both the city and the county had search-and-rescue teams, but when manpower was short and time was critical, sometimes they would call Finders. Her people knew how to search, how to follow orders and stick to the grid.

The street where the little boy lived was clogged with cars, both official and private, and people walked up and down both sides of the street calling his name. A cluster of people was in front of his home, and Milla saw a distraught young woman sobbing into an older woman’s shoulder.

Her stomach clenched. She had once been that young woman. No matter how many times she saw a sobbing mother, no matter how many times a child was found safe and returned home, for one horrible moment she always flashed back to that little open market and the last time she’d heard her baby’s cry.

She found a place to park, jumped out, and retrieved her emergency kit from the back. The Finders all carried a change of clothing with them, because they never knew where they would be or how they would be dressed when a call came in. She climbed into the backseat and hurriedly stripped off her skirt, then pulled on a pair of cargo pants and put on her socks and sneakers. While she was changing, Diaz planted himself at the door with his back turned to her, blocking anyone from seeing in and surprising her with his consideration.

Baseball cap and sunglasses went on, then she filled her pockets with a few items: one of the walkie-talkies that all the Finders carried, a whistle, a bottle of water, a roll of gauze, and a pack of chewing gum. The whistle was to alert anyone nearby in case the radio failed, and the other items were for the little boy. He might not be hurt when they found him—she never let herself think that he might
not
be found in time—but he would definitely need water, and would probably like some chewing gum.

Her group had spotted her SUV and were coming toward her. Brian was in the lead, and even though he was wearing sunglasses, too, Milla could tell his attention was riveted on Diaz.

She climbed out of the backseat and locked the doors, slipping her keys into her front pocket. “This is James,” she said by way of introduction, before Brian could ask any questions. “He’s going to help us. Who’s in charge?”

“Baxter,” said Brian.

“Good.” Lieutenant Phillip Baxter was a veteran of these searches, a steady, commonsensical man who could be counted on to be thorough.

“What’s the little boy’s name?” She could hear people calling what sounded like “Mac” or “Mike,” and she wanted to be certain.

“Max. He’s in general good health, but wasn’t in day care today because he has an ear infection and was feverish. His mother thought he was taking a nap while she did laundry, but when she went to check on him, he wasn’t in his bed.”

Children did that, wandered outside to play without telling anyone. Milla had once searched for an enterprising toddler who had watched his parents latch the door, then had waited for his moment, pushed a chair over to the door and climbed up on it, and used his toy truck to help him reach the last few inches he needed to push up the latch. They knew all that only because after he was found, he proceeded to make another bid for freedom and demonstrated his tactic. Children were horribly inventive, and oblivious of danger.

It was worrisome that little Max was ill; a fever would make him even more susceptible to the heat. They needed to find him really fast. She had been out in the heat only a few minutes, and she was already dripping with sweat.

They all went to the front yard and reported in to Baxter, who held a clipboard and was coordinating the effort so that no area would be left unsearched while others were searched over and over again by different groups. His men, steady professionals, were in charge of each sector.

Baxter gave her a nod as her group approached. “Milla,” he said by way of greeting. “Glad your group could make it. They waited such a long time before calling 911 that the kid’s had time to put some distance between home and wherever he is now. He wanted to go to his grandmother’s earlier, but because he was sick his mom said no, and he was mad.”

“Where does his grandmother live?”

“A couple of miles from here. His mother says he does know the way to Granny’s house, so we’re concentrating most of our efforts between the two points.”

Diaz, lurking behind her but always near, asked, “What door did he use?”

She was surprised that he’d brought attention to himself, but evidently he wasn’t worried about the El Paso cops seeing him. That was somewhat reassuring; the odds were he wasn’t wanted on this side of the border.

Baxter gave him a sharp look, then indicated the direction with his hand. “The back door. Come see.”

Milla was sure Baxter had already inspected the backyard, but if he was willing to take them back there, she wanted to see things for herself, too, so they went around the side of the house to the back.

The backyard was neat and enclosed with chain-link fencing. There was a swing set and slide, several toy dump trucks where the little boy had evidently spent a lot of time moving dirt from one place to another, and a plastic tricycle against the fence.

“I figure he climbed on the tricycle, got a handhold, then made it the rest of the way over the fence,” Baxter said. “It’s the only way out that I can see.”

Diaz gave an absent nod, his cold gaze inspecting the surrounding area for anything that would attract a little boy’s attention. “A dog, maybe,” he said almost to himself. “A puppy, a kitten. Hope it wasn’t a coyote.”

Milla’s throat tightened. She hoped it wasn’t any kind of predator, animal or human, that had lured the little boy from the safety of his backyard.

“You don’t think he was going to Granny’s house?” Baxter asked.

“Probably. But if a little dog or cat wandered by, he could have taken off after it. You know how kids are.”

“Afraid so.” Baxter sighed, his eyes worried.

Diaz went to the point of the fence where Max had climbed over, and squatted down as he surveyed the ground, then lifted his head and slowly surveyed the surroundings. It was something the Finders often did, got down on the missing child’s level, to see things as he saw them. Adults, looking down, would sometimes miss a hidey-hole or the interesting shape of a rock.

“A lot of people have trampled the ground here,” Diaz said, meaning they had obliterated any tiny sign he might have seen. “You have a dog on the way?”

“He’ll be here in about an hour.” To Baxter’s credit, he wasn’t getting sideways with Diaz’s questions. But then Baxter didn’t feel he had anything to prove; his goal was to find the missing child, nothing else. If Diaz could help, that was fine with him.

Diaz grunted. The little boy had already been missing for over two hours. Another hour to get the dog here, get him oriented, give him the scent—they could be looking at four hours for the little boy to be out in this heat, sick, no water.