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 Finders operating, having a brief fling with him would have been a recipe for disaster.
Besides, right now she didn’t have time for a fling, brief or otherwise. Not only was she incapable of giving her full attention to a romance, her job dictated that she travel a lot. She had tried dating, off and on, since her divorce; if the man was remotely interested in her, he didn’t like the amount of time she spent out of town. Unfortunately, that wasn’t something she would compromise on, period. She had tried having a couple of affairs, only to have them wither from neglect. She had eventually come to the conclusion that it wasn’t fair to either the man or herself to waste his time and hers until the day came when she could devote herself to something other than searching for Justin.
And in her heart, she knew she hadn’t yet met a man who could measure up to David in her affections. She was no longer in love with him—time and life had taken care of that—but a part of her would always love him for the man he was. She didn’t pine for him; she didn’t lie awake at night yearning for him. There was a stark line of demarcation in her life, and David belonged on the other side of the line. But she knew what it was to love, and no one since had kindled that kind of emotion in her.
True Gallagher was thinking of trying. She sensed it, the way women always know those things. The truth was in the way he touched her—always in a public, proper way—but still touching her. He hadn’t yet made the effort to take their relationship further, but the thought lay there, in the back of his mind. She had no doubt he would eventually get around to trying.
And she would have to find some graceful way of refusing him that wouldn’t harm Finders.
The gym was rapidly filling, and Marcia Gonzalez, the chief organizer of the event, was motioning to her and True to take their seats. Milla slid into the seat True held out for her, next to the podium, and somehow she wasn’t surprised when he took the 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.”