Cry No More (15 page)

14

Susanna was so tired her movements were sluggish as she pulled into the garage. She sat for a moment with the door open and her eyes closed, trying to summon the energy to get out of the car. It had been a very, very long night, and now she’d get maybe two hours of sleep before she’d have to get up and do her rounds at the hospital, followed by seeing patients in the office all day, then evening rounds before she could come home and fall into bed. Coffee might wake her up, but it wouldn’t make her feel any less tired.

She wondered how True had made out with Milla the night before. She knew Milla well enough to tell that she’d seen through their subterfuge, and was annoyed.

True thought he could get around Milla, but he didn’t know her the way Susanna did. Milla looked like, and was, the type of woman who preferred to wear a dress instead of pants, who liked cooking and decorating and working with children. She had once even planned to teach, which to Susanna’s way of thinking was taking a fondness for children to ridiculous extremes. Milla’s nails were always manicured, and not once in the eleven years she’d known her had Susanna seen Milla when her toenails weren’t polished. Even when she’d given birth, her toenails had been painted a delicate shell pink. Probably she’d had David paint them for her, because there was no way a nine-months-pregnant woman could bend down that far. And David would have done it without hesitation; he’d been absolutely crazy about Milla.

But the villagers who had witnessed the kidnapping said Milla had fought like a tigress for her baby. And even though she’d just come within a hairsbreadth of dying from a vicious stab wound, from the moment she’d regained consciousness, she’d been like a woman possessed, with only one thought in her mind, only one purpose in her life: finding her child.

She had sublimated her personality, forged herself into someone tougher. She had gone into places where armed men would have hesitated to go, talked to thugs and drug addicts, thieves and murderers—and for some reason, though none of them had given her any real information, neither had they harmed her. Maybe, on some cellular level that never reached conscious thought, they hoped their own mothers would have searched so relentlessly for them. Perhaps even those who knew better had wished that their mothers had been like Milla.

It hadn’t hurt that she was so young, with a world of heartbreak in those big brown eyes. The silver streak in her hair drew the eye, reminded everyone of her suffering. She had been everywhere: on television, in magazines, in the Mexican president’s office, talking to the Federales and the Border Patrol, talking to anyone and everyone who might be of help. She’d become the personification of bereaved, outraged mothers, the face of heartbreak—and of determination. She’d even broken with her own family over her dedication to searching for Justin.

David had fallen by the wayside. It must have been damn hard to be married to a crusader, Susanna thought. Milla had revealed a backbone of steel, and a stubborn streak that went all the way to her core. She had adored David, and yet she had walked away from him.

And True thought he could do better? Susanna didn’t think so. But he’d insisted, and what True wanted, True got. She wasn’t fool enough to turn him down. She knew better than most how ruthless he could be, and she’d always been careful not to run afoul of him.

The door leading from the house into the garage opened, and Rip appeared. “Are you going to sit there all night?” he asked.

Oh, God. Why was he still up? Normally she would have been gratified that he’d waited up for her, but not now, not tonight. He was probably pissed about True and Milla, and she was too exhausted to dance a verbal fandango with him.

“I’m so tired I could sleep right here,” she said as she got out of the car. “I probably should have stayed at the hospital.”

“Probably,” he agreed, stepping aside so she could enter the house. “Then you would have been there when I checked.”

She froze in mid-step, then continued through the house and up the stairs, all but hauling herself up them. Damn it! She should have covered herself somehow, but since he’d accused her of having an affair with True, and he knew True wasn’t with her, she hadn’t even considered he would check up on her.

“Nothing to say?” Rip asked behind her.

“No. If you’re going to have a shit fit because I didn’t hear a page, or the staff didn’t know where I was, there’s nothing I can do about it. I’m going to shower and go to bed.”

“I didn’t call. I went to both hospitals. You weren’t there. Neither was Felicia D’Angelo. So I looked in your patient Rolodex and got Felicia’s number, and called to check on her. She said she’s feeling fine, in case you’re wondering.”

Damn. Double damn. Fuck. She always kept a record of her current patients’ home phone numbers here at the house, for her convenience. When had Rip turned into fucking Sherlock Holmes?

“We’ll talk tomorrow,” she said, because she couldn’t think of anything to say tonight. She needed to talk to True. She was losing control and she knew it, because she didn’t swear, even to herself, unless she was pushed to the wall. She didn’t dare get into an argument with Rip now, or she’d say more than she should.

She went into the bedroom and closed the door, leaning back against it while she waited to see if Rip would follow, if a push would send her stumbling across the room. But after a moment she heard his footsteps continue down the hall to the room where he was sleeping, and with a sigh of relief she locked the door and went into the bathroom.

She used her cell phone to call True. He answered on the second ring, his voice alert and full of authority, as always.

“Rip checked up on me,” she said. “He knows I wasn’t at either hospital. He even called the patient I said I was meeting.”

“Find someone and let Rip catch you fucking him, and he won’t check any further.”

She closed her eyes at True’s crude reply. The hell of it was, he was right: if she did that, Rip would think he’d solved the mystery and would stop prying. But she’d never cheated on Rip, and she wasn’t going to start now, no matter what he thought or what True said.

“How did things go with Milla?”

“They didn’t.” She could hear the banked fury in his voice, and she knew Milla had reacted just the way she’d expected.

She was too smart to say “I told you so” to True. Instead she said, “She’s obsessed with finding her kid. Nothing else touches her.”

“Not even reason, apparently. I have to have some way of keeping tabs on her. She was never a threat before, but she is now. Who told her about Diaz? I’ve headed her off, but she might decide to do some investigating on her own, and the last thing we need is Diaz in the picture.”

Susanna didn’t know Diaz, but she knew
of
him. She also knew that True Gallagher wasn’t afraid of the devil himself, but he was wary of this Diaz guy. There was history between them, there had to be. She got the feeling Diaz would be more than happy to do anything that caused trouble for True. Diaz’s reputation was downright scary; if Milla somehow made contact with him and talked him into helping her, they’d have to take steps to protect themselves.

“Feed her some more false leads,” she suggested. “Get her busy chasing ghosts.”

True chuckled. “Good idea.” He paused. “I just realized. It wasn’t your home phone that showed up on Caller ID.”

“I’m on my cell phone.”

“Shit! You know they can be intercepted.”

“If I call from the home phone, Rip can pick up and listen.”

“Then find some other way, but don’t use your cell.” The receiver clanged in her ear.

Grimacing, Susanna ended the call. “Fuck you, too,” she muttered. There she went again with the swearing. She stood for a moment, swaying with exhaustion; she was tempted to fall into bed and shower when she got up, but after what she’d been doing, she didn’t want to go to bed without bathing. She’d washed up before coming home, of course, but that wasn’t the same as an all-over bath. Perhaps this was how Lady Macbeth had felt, scrubbing out invisible spots of blood.

True got out of bed after hanging up on Susanna. He trusted her as much as he trusted most people, but sometimes she could do things that were incredibly stupid. He’d told her over and over, no cell phones or cordless phones. Use landlines. They were safest. He had cordless phones for convenience, of course, but the phones by his bed and in his office were corded.

He’d have to update his security eventually, he thought. Scramblers on his phones. Electronic countermeasures to prevent anyone from eavesdropping with a parabolic mike. Right now, though, he wasn’t a big enough fish for anyone to go to that much trouble to catch him. He was still medium-sized, but growing. He intended to keep on growing. Give him another year, two years at the most, and he’d be able to walk away clean with a sizable fortune that would require overseeing and investing, but would grow under its own momentum.

If he could just get through those couple of years without things blowing up under him.

Milla had never been very worrisome, despite her persistence. He’d made certain no one would tell her anything. He’d kept tabs on her through Susanna and other contacts, and he even—somewhat to his bemusement—admired the way she never gave up. Certainly his own mother had never been that devoted. Eventually, when Milla got into fund-raising for that group of hers, he’d made a point of showing up, contributing, and slowly getting to know her and getting her to trust him. What better way to stay on top of her efforts? He was a sponsor. She talked to him, and though she normally limited her conversation to what Finders was doing, if he asked about her personal situation, she would tell him. He’d made a point of always asking.

The unwelcome surprise was that he liked her.

Hell, he wanted to sleep with her. He wanted her naked. He wanted to tangle his hands in that soft curly hair and hold her while he fucked her. He didn’t understand it, because she wasn’t his usual type. She wasn’t voluptuous, or flashy, or even really pretty. But she had style, and presence, and brown eyes that invited a man to get lost in them.

It would be a bitch if he had to have her killed.

He didn’t want to. For one thing, she was too high-profile. People knew her name, her face, her story. It would be national news if anything happened to her, which meant the cops would go all out on the investigation.

She was enough of a threat that he’d had her watched, had kept watch on her himself, for ten years. He’d minimized her effectiveness, and taking her out now would be like using an elephant gun to shoot a bird. He didn’t want to overreact and bring unnecessary attention his way. There were other ways to keep her in check.

Having an affair with her would have been the best way to keep tabs on her every movement and control the situation until he was ready to get out. He knew she was attracted to him, knew she’d had a couple of short-lived affairs that proved she hadn’t completely given up living. But he’d underestimated the strength of her devotion to her cause, and after the way she’d stiffened in his arms when he kissed her, he had to accept that she wasn’t going to change her mind. If he persisted, he would completely turn her off and she’d stop regarding him as a personal friend.

He’d have to cut his losses there, but he didn’t like it. He’d felt almost like a teenager again, in a lather of anticipation. He saw now that he’d handled things clumsily with that “accidental” meeting at the restaurant, Susanna knowing she’d have to leave and arranging for a watcher in the restaurant to call her pager as soon as Rip sat down at their table. Very high-school-ish, and Milla had immediately seen through it.

So he’d back off. That didn’t mean he’d give up. Eventually, he’d have her, because he was like her in one critical area: he never gave up.

* * *

Milla noticed when she changed her birth control patch the next morning that she had only a month’s supply left, with no refill, so she made a note to call Susanna’s office and get a prescription called in. She was always careful about birth control because she was aware of the risks she ran of being assaulted. She literally made a note, writing it down, because she didn’t trust herself to remember otherwise. She felt both lethargic and nervous, wiped out from the stress of the night before and yet oddly on edge, waiting for something to happen.

She had slept like the dead. Handling True had been stressful, but Diaz—the short time she’d been with Diaz had left her feeling as if she’d been caught up in a tornado and hurled over half the country before being dumped into an ice-cold bath. Terror, fury, laughter, desire, despair—all had chased through her in rapid succession. The effects of so much adrenaline dumping into her system had left her shaky, and then she’d crashed.

And yet, the first thing she thought of when she awoke was how Diaz had looked crouched before her, smiling in the lamplight. And because she wasn’t completely awake, her imagination had then drifted and placed them in different positions altogether, with him crouched
over
her, his eyes heavy-lidded and that same small smile on his lips as he slowly penetrated—

She blocked the fantasy, shuddering with delight even though she refused to let her imagination take her any further. That was far enough, anyway, to shock her. She had desired other men before, imagined making love with them. But none of them, not even David, had ever tempted her to veer from the course she had set herself.

Diaz did. Sleeping with him would be a mistake on a personal level, but what scared her was the chaos it could cause in their working relationship. For Justin’s sake, she didn’t dare change their status. And yet, knowing that, she still
wanted
to, yearned to taste him and touch him and feel him inside her.

Diaz had never kissed her, had scarcely touched her hand, but with one smile he had completely wiped out her memory of True’s taste.

She had to get herself under control before she did something stupid. If she read him right, Diaz would disappear if she got clingy and started making any emotional demands on him, and she didn’t trust herself not to do that. She hadn’t felt this way since . . . well, she’d never felt this way. With David, she had felt absolutely secure in his love. There hadn’t been any reason for emotional insecurity. Diaz, however, was David’s polar opposite, and he might offer her a few things, but emotional security wasn’t in his repertoire.