Cry No More (28 page)

“I know.” He looked up at her, studying her face as intently as he’d studied the pictures. “I didn’t know you, afterward,” he murmured. “I was devastated, but the basic
me
didn’t change. You . . . you turned into . . .” He paused as if searching for the right word. “An Amazon. I couldn’t keep up with you, couldn’t even touch you. You were so fierce, so determined, that you left me in the dust.”

“I didn’t mean to,” she said, and sighed. “But I couldn’t see anything else, couldn’t listen to anything else. I knew he was out there, and I had to find him.”

“I wish I’d had that conviction. I envied you your focus, your belief that he was still alive. I couldn’t believe it. I’ve had him dead and buried for years, and I thought I’d handled it, b-but now I know he’s alive and I feel like such a shit because I gave up on him.” He buried his face in his hands.

“No, don’t.” Moving swiftly to him, Milla put her arm around his shoulder. “My biggest fear was that he was dead, and I couldn’t stop looking for him because I had to know for certain. There was nothing you could have done that you didn’t do—”

“I could have looked for him! I could have been beside you, helping you.”

“Don’t be silly, of course you couldn’t. David, how many people would have died if you had stopped performing surgery?”

He considered that. “Maybe none. There are a lot of good surgeons in this town.” Then his natural surgeon’s ego kicked in. “Okay, maybe twenty or so. Or thirty.”

She smiled. “There’s your answer, Doogie. You did what you had to do. I did what I had to do. There’s no right, no wrong, no woulda coulda shoulda. So get off the pity train, and let’s talk about the future.”

Five minutes later, after she’d explained what she wanted, what they had to do, his face was once again white with shock.

26

The time with David was wrenching but necessary. When she walked out of his office, Milla knew she would probably never see him again, so she told him good-bye, kissed his cheek, and wished him a wonderful life. “You can stop with the alimony payments, too,” she’d said, smiling at him through her tears. “There’s your reason for practicing medicine: you funded the search. I couldn’t have done it without you in the background, supporting me and making sure I had the financial freedom to look for him.”

“But what will you do now?” he asked, looking troubled.

“The same thing, I guess. Look for lost kids. I’ll have to draw some kind of salary, though.” The truth was, she had no idea what she was going to do. For so long her life had revolved around one thing, finding Justin, and now that she had, she felt as if she had hit a wall that she couldn’t see over. She was exhausted in every way, mentally, physically, and emotionally. She thought of going back to El Paso and felt nothing but blankness. So much had happened there, maybe too much. After she went back to North Carolina and handled matters there, then she would sleep for maybe a couple of days, and when she woke up she would feel better. Then she’d be able to think about the future. She was good at finding the lost ones. How could she stop now, just because she’d found
her
lost one?

David caught her as she started out the door, and fiercely hugged her to him as if he, too, knew that the last tie binding them had been severed. “Now you can move on, too,” he said.

Move on to where? she wanted to ask. Maybe one day she would know. For now, all she could focus on was what she had to do next.

She had booked a return flight to Charlotte late that afternoon, and by the time the flight landed she wanted nothing more than to check into her hotel, crawl into bed, and not move for at least twelve hours. Instead she ordered room service and unpacked while she was waiting for her sandwich to be delivered. She even had time to iron the outfit she planned to wear tomorrow.

After she ate, she put the room service tray outside the door and paced around the limited space, getting her thoughts in order. Finally, cell phone in hand, she looked up the Winborns’ number in the local telephone book and dialed it.

A woman’s pleasant voice answered on the fourth ring, with the particular
ooo
sound to her
o
’s that Milla already recognized as Carolinian. “Hello?”

“Mrs. Winborn?”

“Yes, it is.”

“My name is Milla Edge. I’m the founder of an organization called Finders, which helps locate lost or kidnapped children.”

“Yes, of course,” Rhonda said kindly. “That’s such a worthy cause; I’ll be glad to donate—”

“No, this isn’t a telemarketing call,” Milla quickly interrupted. “It concerns your adopted son.”

There was utter silence on the other end. She couldn’t even hear Rhonda breathing.

“What do you mean?” Rhonda finally choked. “How can it concern—He’s
adopted
,” she said in a fierce whisper. “We went through a lawyer to make certain everything was legal. Don’t you dare—”

“It’s a complicated matter,” Milla said, and hurried to reassure her. “There’s some paperwork that needs to be done. Could I make an appointment to meet with both you and your husband tomorrow? I promise it won’t take long.”

“What kind of paperwork?”

“Legal,” Milla said, unwilling to go into more detail on the phone. She didn’t want to spook the Winborns into grabbing Justin and disappearing in the middle of the night. She knew that’s what
she
would do, rather than risk her son. “It’s just some signatures. No one is questioning the adoption.”

“Then why—How is Finders involved?”

“That’s complicated, too. I’ll explain all of it tomorrow. What time would be convenient?”

“Just a minute.” Rhonda’s voice was faint; there was a clatter as she laid down the receiver, and Milla closed her eyes as she pictured Rhonda whispering to Lee where Justin—Zack—couldn’t hear her. Lee would pick up on his wife’s panic, alarmed that something seemed to be threatening his son, and he would hurry to the phone—

“This is Lee Winborn. What can I do for you?”

“I’m afraid I’ve frightened your wife,” Milla said apologetically, “and I didn’t mean to. It’s important that I meet with the both of you to explain something about your son’s adoption, and give you some legal papers.”

“You can explain over the phone—”

“No, I’m sorry, I can’t. It’s complicated, as I told Mrs. Winborn. You’ll understand much more when you read the papers. Is there a convenient time tomorrow? While your son is in school would be best.” She softened her voice. “Please. It’s nothing threatening.”

“All right,” he said abruptly. “One o’clock. Do you need our address?”

“No, I have it. Thank you for seeing me. I’ll be there at one sharp.” She clicked off the phone and closed her eyes, and realized she was shaking in every muscle. She’d done it. Now all she had to do was hold together through the next step. Since she had been able to get an appointment so early, she called the airlines and managed to get on a six o’clock flight out of Charlotte. Tomorrow night, she thought as she went to bed, she would be back in her own home for the first time since . . . she couldn’t remember, exactly. Longer than a week, she thought.

The next day she slept as late as possible, ate a late breakfast, watched some morning talk shows, showered and washed her hair and took extra care styling it, as well as with her makeup, keeping the effect subtle. It was vain of her, but she wanted to make a good impression.

She dressed carefully, in a trim navy skirt and a fitted, long-sleeved blouse in seafoam green, with matching navy buttons. The outfit was both feminine and professional. It was an old trick; the more nervous she was, the more attention she paid to how she looked. By concentrating on her clothes, she could ignore the screaming of her nerves, the nausea that knotted her stomach, the tension that pounded in her temples. She had learned how to remain calm in the face of unspeakable pain, and she did so now, at least on the surface—and that was all that mattered, anyway. The mirror reflected back a face that was almost expressionless, like Diaz—No, don’t think about him, she thought fiercely. He was out of her life.

The Weather Channel said Charlotte’s high temperature today would be sixty-three, but with a brisk north breeze, so she laid her camel coat aside as she packed. She did the video checkout on the television, and then it was time. Twelve-fifteen. She took a deep breath, made certain her lipstick was even, left the room key on the bedside table with a tip for the maid, then checked once more that all the necessary papers were in her briefcase. Satisfied that she hadn’t left anything undone, she squared her shoulders, balanced her coat and briefcase on top of the suitcase, slung her purse on her shoulder, and opened the door. And stopped dead, all her momentum lost.

Diaz leaned against the wall beside her door.

So many thoughts and emotions stormed through her that she could scarcely focus on any of them. Shock was uppermost; she’d thought, hoped, that she would never see him again. And, somehow, she’d forgotten all over again how powerful his physical impact was, what it was to have those cold, dark eyes leveled on you.

They hadn’t been cold when she was lying naked beneath him, whispered the animal in her, and she wrenched her thoughts from that dark pathway.

My God, why hadn’t someone called hotel security? Men didn’t just lurk outside hotel rooms for God only knows how long without
someone
noticing. Even if another guest hadn’t been suspicious, the hotel maids definitely should have been. She glanced wildly up and down the long corridor; a housekeeping cart was parked about a third of the way down the hall to the right. With just the one maid on the floor, perhaps he’d been able to avoid detection. Or perhaps he’d had a quiet word with her and scared the hell out of her, and she was hiding in that room waiting for him to leave.

“What are
you
doing here?” she asked, her tone cool and hostile, not at all like the tumult going on inside her.

He straightened and shrugged. “Curiosity. Like rubbernecking at a car wreck.”

“How did you know where to find me?”

“That’s what I do.”

And that was explanation enough, she supposed. He’d known where Justin was, and that gave him a start. Even though Charlotte was a city of half a million people, he’d found her—probably with a few phone calls. The hotel wasn’t supposed to give out room numbers, either, but he’d been waiting outside her door. How did he know where she was going? And how did he know she was going today? She burned to know the answers, but she would bite off her own tongue before she asked him. She didn’t want to talk to him at all.

She pulled the hotel door shut and walked down the carpeted hallway to the elevator, pulling her suitcase behind her. Diaz fell into step beside her, as she had known he would. She didn’t waste time trying to talk him out of going. She couldn’t evade him, couldn’t convince him to butt out; all she could do was ignore him, so she did—as much as one could ignore a wolf.

Details of his appearance registered with her. He had shaved, and he wore a decent suit in a dark blue-gray; his hair actually looked brushed, instead of looking as if he’d run his fingers through it and left it at that. Some people might think he looked respectable. She knew better, knew that the cold, enigmatic dark eyes in no way reflected the streak of violence that ran just beneath his surface. He probably had a knife strapped to his leg, a pistol holstered in the small of his back, and God only knows what other weapons hidden on his body.

But why
was
he here? This didn’t concern him. They had parted on bitter terms, and he was the last person Milla wanted with her during the wrenching hour she faced. She was still so
furious
she could barely tolerate being this close to him. She felt the rage bubbling up all over again, tightening her throat. How
dare
he—?

She stopped the thought before it could completely form. Going over and over things wasn’t going to change what he’d done, wasn’t going to make her change her mind. Oh, she could try explaining things to him, but what would that accomplish? He had totally misjudged her, he was wrong, and even if he apologized she doubted she could ever forgive him. He knew—
knew
—how important Justin was to her, knew the hell she’d gone through searching for him, and still he’d kept her son’s location secret from her. How could she ever forgive him?

It enraged her even more that Diaz was still convinced she was in the wrong. She wanted to slap him so hard his teeth rattled. Instead she ignored him.

“Do you need to check out?” he asked.

“No.” If she had to talk to him at all, it would be as briefly as possible.

They left the hotel by the front door, and she started to give her car receipt to the parking attendant, but Diaz said, “Leave it here. I’ll drive.”

“I don’t want to ride with you.”

“You can do it the easy way, or the hard way. Up to you.”

She didn’t even glance at him, just continued walking beside him as he led the way to a dark blue Jeep Liberty. The easy way was hard enough; she didn’t want to contemplate what the hard way would do to her. The north wind the weather forecaster had talked about bit through her clothes, and she wished she’d put her coat on before coming outside; she concentrated on how chilled she was, anything rather than think about him or what she was facing.

He put her suitcase in the back with his battered duffel, then opened the passenger door and put her inside. The sun had warmed the interior of the Jeep, and once she was out of the wind she was comfortable. She preferred being chilled, preferred being anywhere else, with anyone else. She prayed for strength, for control, for help in doing this right. She had to put Diaz out of her mind and concentrate on Justin, or she’d never be able to do this.

“Do you know where they live?” she asked distantly as he got behind the wheel and started the motor, then put the vehicle in gear and pulled out of his parking slot.

“Yes. I drove by there yesterday.”

So he’d been a day behind her. She was surprised he hadn’t been closer, that he hadn’t shown up at her hotel in Chicago. But unless he was here to prevent her from talking to the Winborns, why bother? She went rigid as it occurred to her she was now locked in a vehicle with him, helpless to do anything but go where he took her. Stupid!

She whipped around as far as her seat belt would allow, her gaze lethal. “If you take me anywhere but to the Winborn house, I swear I’ll—”

“That’s where I’m taking you,” he said grimly. “Though it’s a little late for you to think of that, if I’d decided otherwise.”

“So I’m not as good at being dirty and underhanded as you are,” she snapped, and turned back to face the windshield. She paid close attention to the turns he took, making certain she didn’t look up and find herself on a highway heading out of Charlotte. If he took one wrong turn, she would scream, she’d hit him, she’d pull on the steering wheel—anything to attract attention.

Though if he really intended to kidnap her, she realized, none of that would stop him. He’d just knock her out and do as he’d intended. But what use would that be, unless he intended to keep her locked up somewhere for the rest of her life? She was never going to change her mind about seeing the Winborns. She had set her course, and she would keep to it.

The rest of the drive was made in silence. At twelve fifty-seven he pulled the Jeep into the Winborns’ short concrete driveway. Rhonda’s champagne Infiniti SUV was in the right bay, Lee’s more serviceable extended-cab Ford pickup in the left. Milla’s heartbeat suddenly doubled, leaving her feeling weak and light-headed. Don’t let me faint, she silently begged. Please don’t let me faint. She took slow, deep breaths, forcing her heart rate to calm.

Diaz got out and came around to open the door for her. His dark eyes narrowed as he surveyed her, but he didn’t say anything, just took her arm and all but levered her out of the seat. If it hadn’t been for him, she didn’t know if she’d have had the strength. She grabbed the briefcase but left her purse on the floorboard. Diaz noticed, of course, and locked the doors behind them.