Cry No More Read online

  She stayed in bed another fifteen minutes, luxuriating in the lack of urgency. She so seldom got to sleep late that she almost never did, even when she had the chance, but it was nice not to have to leap out of bed and get a start on the day.

  Just as she was about to get up, the phone rang. She groaned as she threw back the covers and jumped up. She was accustomed to calls at all hours of the night—and early morning—but they almost always meant a job and her stomach tightened as she answered the call.

  “Milla, this is True Gallagher. Did I wake you?”

  Surprise had her sitting down on the bed. “No, I’m an early riser. So are you, I see.”

  “Actually, I’ve been up all night gathering information for you, and I wanted to talk to you before I go to the office.”

  “You stayed up all night?” She hadn’t intended for him to put himself out that much. Then she said, “You go to the office on Sunday?”

  He chuckled. “Not usually, but there’s something I have to deal with today.”

  “I hate that you stayed awake all night on my account. I’m sorry. It wasn’t urgent; you could have waited until tomorrow.”

  “The people I needed to talk to aren’t people you can catch during the daytime.”

  “I understand. I should have realized that.” She herself certainly dealt with that sort of character often enough.

  “I’ve got good news and bad news. The good news is that I did dig up some info on the Diaz I think you’re hunting, but the bad news is it probably won’t do you any good.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “You’re looking for the man who took your baby, aren’t you? That would mean he was operational in Chihuahua ten years ago. This Diaz wasn’t. He started popping up about five years ago.”

  Sharp disappointment speared her, because that name was the only one she’d ever heard mentioned in connection with kidnapping. “Are you certain?”

  “As certain as I can be, under the circumstances. This guy doesn’t exactly leave a paper trail. But be glad he isn’t the one you’re looking for, because he’s bad news all the way. The word is he’s an assassin. If you want somebody to disappear, you put the word out, and Diaz will contact you. He tracks down his target and takes care of your problem. He’s supposed to be damn good at it, too. People hear he’s on their track and they run, but he always finds them. In some circles that’s the only name he has, the Tracker.”

  “Are you sure this Diaz isn’t one-eyed?”

  “Positive.”

  She grasped at the only other straw she had. “I heard a rumor that perhaps he employs a gang of coyotes, so maybe the man who took Justin works for him.”

  “I doubt it. I didn’t turn up anything like that. As far as I was able to find out, Diaz always works alone.”

  She could almost feel another opportunity dying away like bubbles under her fingers, just as previous ones had, for ten years. She would hear something, get her hopes up that she was finally making progress, then—nothing. No new information, no progress, and no Justin.

  “Could there be another Diaz?” She was grabbing at another bubble and she knew it, but what else could she do? Stop grabbing?

  He blew out a weary breath. “Too many of them. I know a few of them myself, men I wouldn’t want to turn my back on. But I was able to eliminate some because they were otherwise accounted for during the pertinent time period.”

  In jail, he meant. “And the others? Do any of them have just one eye?”

  “I still have a few inquiries out. But when people these days say ‘Diaz,’ they’re talking about the killer. I’m not surprised his name surfaced when you asked questions, but I’m damn glad you won’t have to deal with him.”

  She would gladly deal with Satan himself if it would help her find Justin. “All I want is information,” she said, rubbing her forehead. “I don’t even care about justice anymore. I just want to ask some questions. If you do find a Diaz who might have been involved ten years ago, can you get word to him that I won’t turn him in, that I just want to talk?” That was a lie. Regardless of what the one-eyed man’s name was, she wanted to kill him. After she talked to him, of course. But she would do whatever she had to do, and if letting him walk was necessary, she’d let him walk. She would hate it, but she’d do it.

  “I can give it a shot, but don’t get your hopes up. And do me a favor.”

  “If I can.”

  “Go through me if you need to contact anyone, or find out anything. It’s too dangerous for you to be going after these guys yourself. It would be better to keep your name out of it entirely, so you aren’t on their radar.”

  “My name isn’t in the phone book. The address on my business cards is Finders’ address.”

  “That helps, but it wouldn’t hurt to put another layer of protection between you and them. I know how to deal with them.”

  “But isn’t that putting you in danger? I’ve built a reputation through Finders for years now that all we’re interested in is recovery of people, not in police work, so why would they trust you more than they would me?”

  “Because of some people I know,” he said flatly. His voice softened. “Let me help, Milla. Let me do this.”

  Instinct told her not to take his offer, that doing so would allow him to get closer to her than she knew was smart. He wasn’t couching his offer in personal terms, but the tone of his voice was very personal. On the other hand, he was an asset she could use; he’d found out more about Diaz—assuming they were talking about the same man—in one night than she had in two years.

  “All right,” she said, letting her reluctance show. “But I don’t like it.”

  “I can tell.” There was a smile in his voice now that he had gotten his way. “Trust me, it’s the smart thing to do.”

  “I know it’s smart for me; I just hope it isn’t a bad move for you. I can’t thank you enough for going to all this trouble—”

  “Sure you can. If you’re in town tomorrow night, have dinner with me.”

  “No,” she said firmly. “The reason I gave you last night still stands.”

  “Ah well, it was worth a try.” He smoothly changed subjects. “When is your flight to Dallas?”

  “Two something.”

  “Are you coming back tonight?”

  “No, I’ll stay the night and catch the first flight out tomorrow morning.”

  “Take care, then, and I’ll talk to you when you get back.”

  “I will. And thank you. Oh—” she said, abruptly thinking of something. “Did you find out Diaz’s first name? The assassin Diaz, that is. We can use that to sort out all these rumors we hear, and discard the ones pertaining to him.”

  “No, I didn’t get his first name,” he said, but there was the tiniest hesitation that again made her think he knew more than he was telling.

  Since he was going out of his way to help her, though, she wasn’t about to give him grief about his overprotectiveness. She thanked him again, said good-bye, and began preparing for her trip to Dallas.

  She had laundry to do, bills to write checks for, some light housekeeping; outside of laundry, dust was her biggest cleaning problem. But she liked her house to look nice and smell nice, so she made the effort. Every week she freshened the potpourri she had in each room, so whenever she came home she was greeted by a wonderful scent. Sometimes that was the only comfort she could find.

  By nine-thirty, her last load of laundry was in the clothes dryer. She put stamps on the envelopes she was mailing and decided to take them to the post office rather than leave them in her box overnight, since her credit card payment was among the bunch. She grabbed her car keys, then at the last minute checked to make certain the phone number the tipster used was still on her cell phone. Sometimes the numbers disappeared, and she didn’t know why. Perhaps she was hitting some combination of keys that told numbers to go away, but for whatever reason, it happened. Sure enough, when she pulled up the menu and accessed her incoming call log, nothi