Free Cry No More by Linda Howard Page B

wanted to gather her thoughts. These people had paid forty dollars a plate for some truly unremarkable food, and some of them would write a separate check to Finders afterward; she could at least give them a coherent speech.
             
    By ten-thirty, speech made, thank-yous offered, and hands shaken, Milla wearily climbed into her vehicle. As she was about to close the door, True called her name and strode over to her.
    “Will you have dinner with me tomorrow night?” he asked, with no lead-up or preparational flirting, which she greatly appreciated, because she was so tired now she didn’t think she could handle even a mild verbal dance.
    “Thank you, but I have another fund-raiser in Dallas tomorrow night.” And she looked forward to it almost as much as she would have looked forward to having a tooth pulled.
    “And the day after tomorrow?”
    She smiled wryly. “The day after tomorrow, I have no idea where I’ll be. I can’t guarantee anything.”
    He let a few moments of silence tick by. “That’s a hard life, Milla. There’s no time for anything personal.”
    “Believe me, I know.” She sighed. “I couldn’t go to dinner with you anyway, because of the situation.”
    “Which is . . . ?”
    “You’re a sponsor of Finders. I can’t risk damaging the organization with my social life.”
    Another moment of silence. “You’re honest,” he finally said. “And up front. I admire it, even though I think I’m going to change your mind.”
    “I think you’ll try,” she corrected gently.
    He laughed, the sound deep and masculine and delicious. “Is that a challenge?”
    “No, it’s the truth. Nothing on this earth means as much to me as finding my son, and I won’t do anything to jeopardize that. Period.”
    “It’s been ten years.”
    “I don’t care if it’s been twenty.” Because she was so tired, her voice was sharper than she’d intended. What he’d stated was too much along the lines of what her brother, Ross, had said to her, that it was time to put it behind her and get on with her life, as if
Justin’s
life was over and done with, as if love had a time limit on it. “I don’t care if it takes the rest of my life.”
    “It’s a hard road you’ve set for yourself to travel.”
    “It’s the only road I can see.”
    He lightly slapped her door and stepped back. “For now. I’ll find out what I can about this Diaz you’re hunting, and get back to you. Until then, be careful.”
    That was an odd thing to say. She stared at him, the words penetrating her bone-deep weariness. “You know something, don’t you? About Diaz.”
    He didn’t answer directly, instead saying, “I’ll see what I can find out.” He walked toward his own car, and Milla stared after him.
    Yes, he definitely knew something. And what he knew must not be good, for him to be warning her to be careful.
    A chill ran down her spine despite the heat that lingered even this late at night. She was on the right track. She knew it. And following it might well get her killed.

6
    Sometime during the night, Milla woke with a thought crystal clear in her mind: she hadn’t looked at the cell phone display of the number for the call telling her about the meeting in Guadalupe. The number might not be important, but then again . . . it might. Still groggy from fatigue and sleep, she stumbled out of bed and turned on the overhead light, blinking in the painful brightness. She retrieved the phone from her purse, turned it on, then went through the menu to the most recent calls. There it was, and it was an El Paso exchange.
    She had already hit
redial
when she glanced at the clock and saw it was twenty after two. Hastily she pressed the
end
button. Whoever it was would wait until the morning, and probably be more cooperative for it.
    She wrote the number down, turned out the light, and went back to bed. This time she dreamed disjointed fragments that made no sense and were immediately forgotten each time she roused