Cry No More Read online

  It was a call to battle stations. Within seconds, they were all on the phone, raising their army of volunteers in the San Clemente and surrounding sectors, getting people on the freeways and highways, searching for the vehicle in question, a blue Honda Accord. According to witnesses, a man had grabbed a twelve-year-old girl in a fast-food parking lot and shoved her into his car. One woman had managed to get a partial on the license plate as the car fishtailed out of the parking lot.

  With that information, the Finders would set up observation points, people with binoculars who searched for blue Honda Accords with a man driving. When one was spotted, information was relayed to the Finders in vehicles who would zero in on the car and check the license plate. Finders didn’t try to apprehend; if they located the vehicle, they would in turn notify the area law enforcement and let them take over.

  Milla checked the time: eight forty-three in California. Traffic would be very heavy, which might or might not help. If a commuter was listening to his radio, he would hear the Amber Alert, but if he was playing a CD or listening to an MP5, he wouldn’t; he would just be in the way.

  She shoved last night’s events away, and concentrated on recovering the little girl in California while she was still alive.

  She hadn’t been able to do this for her own child, but she could do it for someone else’s.

  5

  The fund-raiser that night was held in a local high school gymnasium. Finders generally didn’t rate a black-tie event, which suited Milla, though occasionally she found herself at more ritzy affairs. She had invested in one suitable evening gown, which meant it cost the earth, but she didn’t want to spend the money to buy more than that one. She did have several good cocktail dresses, and tonight she wore her favorite, needing that pick-me-up to keep her going when she was so tired. The ice blue did wonders for her warm complexion, and the shoes that went with the dress were comfortable enough that she wasn’t in agony by evening’s end.

  She had left the office a couple of hours early and spent the time pampering herself: facial, manicure, pedicure. She even fit in a short nap, which would keep her going for several more hours. She fussed with her curly hair and, though she never quite managed to tame it, did at least achieve a style that said it was intentional. The facial had brightened her complexion and made her look less tired, and she used a gentle makeup job to soften her face even more. Perfume, hosiery, jewelry—she loved the ritual of it all, the way it made her feel. She so seldom had the opportunity to indulge in being overtly feminine that she reveled in the fund-raiser occasions. They were crucial to Finders’ financial health, but in a more subtle way they were just as crucial to her mental health.

  She drove her six-year-old white Toyota SUV to the high school, where the parking lot was already filling with an assortment of cars, trucks, and SUVs, with the latter two far outnumbering the cars. Well-dressed people were walking purposefully toward the gym, because only an idiot stood out in the heat in El Paso in August. Even though the sun had gone down and twilight was gathering, in the short walk to the gym Milla felt perspiration gathering between her breasts.

  She always came alone to these fund-raisers, though she could easily have asked Brian or any of the other men who worked at Finders to accompany her. For one thing, fund-raisers were deadly dull and she didn’t want to inflict them on anyone else. For another, she was always painfully aware of how she appeared to the people whom she was asking to give money to her cause.

  The facts of her particular case were well known, that her baby had been stolen and a year later her marriage had broken under the strain, that she had devoted her life since to searching not only for her child but for other lost ones, too. For some reason, the fact that she was solitary seemed to loosen purse strings. If she started attending fund-raisers with a different man every time, people might begin to think she was spending more time dating than attending to business. When you stayed in business by begging money from these same people, what they thought was important.

  She opened one of the heavy double doors to the gym and stepped into blessed cool air. Round tables that seated eight to ten each had been set up on the gymnasium floor, which had been covered with green felt to prevent it from being scuffed and dented. The tables had been covered with white tablecloths, the place settings and napkins precisely arranged, and fresh flowers stood in the middle of each table. At the head of the room was a long table on a makeshift dais, and a podium. She would be sitting up there with the organizers of the event, the mayor, and the social lights of El Paso who made an effort to help.

  She always spoke at these events, and after so many years she no longer needed prepared notes. Her speech was always essentially the same, though details might change; she always told about searches Finders had made, with both good and bad endings. The good ending was to illustrate that Finders provided a beneficial service; the bad ending was to illustrate that, with proper funding, they could do even better. Tonight, Tiera Alverson was very much on her mind. A fourteen-year-old girl shouldn’t end her life in a dingy, roach-infested dump, her veins fried with drugs.

  Smiling, speaking to people she knew, she began making her way toward the dais. She was about halfway there when a hard, warm hand closed over her elbow to bring her to a halt, then immediately released her. She turned and smiled when she met True Gallagher’s narrow, dark gaze. “Hello, True, how are you?”

  “You look tired,” he said bluntly, ignoring the social niceties.

  “Thanks,” she replied, her tone wry. “Now I know I wasted a lot of effort.”

  “I didn’t say you look bad. I said you look tired.”

  “Yeah, but the effort was to make me look less tired.”

  “Maybe it worked.” He surveyed her with his shrewd gaze. “Just how tired are you?”

  “Exhausted,” she said, and smiled.

  “Then it worked.”

  True was a self-made businessman, a man who had clawed his way out of poverty, and the struggle had made him into a powerful man. That power was still more in the force of his personality than it was in his financial base, but she had no doubt True Gallagher would die a multimillionaire. He was determined and ruthless, and he didn’t allow anything to get in his way. Yet from the time he first began enjoying some success, he had been interested in Finders and was one of their steadiest donors.

  She didn’t know how old True was; he could have been anywhere between thirty-five and forty-five. His face was darkly tanned and weathered by long hours in the west Texas sun, his build was still lean and strong. He was tall, about six-three or -four, and possessed of an animal magnetism that women automatically noticed. Sometimes he brought a date to these events, but just as often he attended alone. Since he didn’t have Miss August clinging to his arm, Milla assumed this was one of his stag appearances.

  “Long night?” he asked, a hand on her back urging her to continue to the front of the room and falling into step beside her.

  “Last night was. I hope tonight is quieter.”

  “What happened?”

  She wasn’t about to do a recital of the entire evening. Instead she said, “It was a bad day. We found the runaway we were looking for, but she was dead.”

  “Yeah, that’s tough. How old was she?”

  “Fourteen.”

  “That’s a hard age. Everything feels like the end of the world, and you can’t reason with someone who can’t see tomorrow.”

  She couldn’t imagine True Gallagher ever suffering from teenage angst, or drug addiction, or any other weakness. She was surprised he even knew about them. He was like ironwood, impervious to his surroundings.

  His strength drew her. She enjoyed the not-quite-flirting banter with him, though she was always careful to keep from crossing the line. He was an influential sponsor, and ever letting their relationship become personal would be immensely stupid of her. Business didn’t mix very well with pleasure under the best of circumstances; when she depended in part on his largesse to keep Find