Free Cry No More by Linda Howard Page A

seat next to hers. She automatically tucked her legs to the side so there couldn’t be any accidental brushes of his leg against hers.
    The catering service began delivering the plates of rubber chicken and green beans that were de rigueur for fund-raisers. The chicken was roasted, the green beans had slivers of almonds in them, the rolls were dry. She would have preferred a taco, a hamburger, anything other than more chicken and green beans. At least it was a relatively healthy diet, and she was never tempted to overeat.
    True stabbed his chicken as if he were imagining killing it. “Why aren’t we ever served roast?” he grumbled. “Or steak?”
    “Because a lot of people don’t eat red meat.”
    “This is El Paso. Everyone here eats red meat.”
    He was probably right, but if anyone in the city didn’t eat red meat, they would be in the crowd who attended charity events. The organizers had wisely played it safe. Unfortunately, safe meant chicken and green beans.
    True pulled a small shaker from his suit pocket and began sprinkling something red over his food.
    “What’s that?” Milla asked.
    “Southwestern spices. Want some?”
    Her eyes lit up. “Oh, please.”
    She wasn’t as liberal with the shaker as True had been, but her taste buds wept with gratitude.
    “I’ve been carrying that shaker around for a couple of years now,” he admitted. “It’s saved my life.”
    The woman on the other side of him leaned around. “May I borrow it?” she asked, and soon the shaker was making its way down the table, people were smiling, and the level of enthusiasm visibly lifted.
    Milla eyed his strong face as they ate. There was something about the cast of his features that made her wonder if he was part Hispanic. She did know that he had strong contacts with the Hispanic community, on both sides of the border.
    True had grown up in the mean streets. His contacts weren’t with just the movers and shakers, but with the seamier elements as well. She wondered if he would be able to find out anything about Diaz that she couldn’t.
    “Have you ever heard anything about a man named Diaz?” she asked.
    Maybe it was her imagination, but she thought he froze for a split second. “Diaz?” he said. “It’s a common name. I know probably fifty, sixty people named that.”
    “This one works the other side of the border. He’s somehow involved with smuggling people across.”
    “A coyote.”
    “I don’t think so. I don’t think he actually does it himself.” She hesitated, thinking of Brian’s certainty that the four men last night had been handling a body. “He’s probably a killer, too.”
    True took a sip of his water. “Why are you asking about someone like that?”
    Because she thought he was the son of a bitch who had stolen her baby
. She bit back the words and resorted to her own water glass. “I’ll track anyone who might lead me to Justin,” she finally said.
    “So you think this Diaz was involved?”
    “I
know
the man who took Justin has only one eye, because I clawed out the other one.” She drew a deep, trembling breath. “And I
think
his name is Diaz. It may not be, but the name keeps surfacing. If you could find out anything about a one-eyed man named Diaz, I’d appreciate it.”
    “Just having one eye narrows it down. I’ll see what I can learn.”
    “Thank you.” She was aware he might use her request as a bridge to other things, but that was a situation she’d have to handle if and when it occurred. He’d heard the name, she thought. Yes, he probably knew a lot of people with the last name of Diaz, but still, it had meant something to him in the context she meant. For some reason he was being cautious, hiding his cards. Maybe he’d had dealings with Diaz in his more disreputable past, and he didn’t want it known.
    Dessert was being served, yellow cake with chocolate icing. She waved hers away but accepted coffee. The time was approaching when she would have to speak, and she