Diaz regarded her with a faint gleam of curiosity in his eyes, as if she were an alien species and he couldn’t figure out what made her tick. He was a man who evidently felt very little; she was a woman who felt, perhaps, too much. Since she couldn’t appeal to his emotions, she tried instead to appeal to his logic. “Finders has a huge network of people, contacts you can’t imagine. If you help me, I’ll help you.”
“I don’t need help.” His gaze was cold and remote again. “And I work alone.”
There had to be something she could offer him. “A green card?” She could pull in some favors, get some corners cut.
For the first time there was a real expression on his face: amusement. “I’m an American citizen.”
“What, then?” she asked in frustration. “Why won’t you take the job? I’m not asking you to kill anyone; just help me find him.” Or maybe that was it; maybe he got off on the thrill of the hunt, the struggle to the death.
“What makes you think I would kill anyone for you?” His voice had gone soft again, his face hard and blank.
Normally she was discreet about her informants, but her nerves were like jagged shards of glass slicing at her. Somehow, any way she could, she had to convince Diaz to help her. “True Gallagher pulled together some information for me, on anyone named Diaz who could have been connected to my son’s kidnapping.”
“True Gallagher . . .” he repeated, as if trying out the name on his tongue.
“He’s one of our sponsors.”
“And this information said . . . ?” he prompted.
“That you’re an assassin.” She didn’t hide the truth, or try to be coy about it. Perhaps he wasn’t an assassin, but she still had no doubt he could kill and had killed. And if he was, knowing that she had both eyes wide open concerning him and was still willing to hire him might make a difference in his decision.
Joann made a small sound of shock, but he didn’t look at her.
“Your informant is wrong. There are reasons for which I would kill. I may get paid, but the money isn’t why I kill.”
Which in no way said that he hadn’t killed, or that he wouldn’t kill again. But oddly enough, she believed him, and felt reassured. At least he had some sort of moral compass, a standard to which he held himself.
He steepled his hands, watching her over his fingertips as he seemed to be contemplating something. Finally he said, “Tell me about this tip you got about me on Friday night.”
“I don’t have a lot to tell. The caller was a Hispanic man. All he said was that you would be at a meeting behind the church in Guadalupe, at ten-thirty. The call was made from that service station, and the owner doesn’t know anything about it.”
She couldn’t read what was going on behind those cold, dark eyes, but she could imagine he was sorting through acquaintances and possibilities.
“At the time, I thought Pavón’s name could be Diaz,” she explained. “All I had were vague rumors that a man named Diaz was involved in some disappearances. I thought you could be the one-eyed man, because your name kept coming up in connection with him.”
“I have no connection with him.”
“I heard that he works for you.”
His eyes went even colder.
“The point is, I’ve had feelers out for information about you for two years. Anyone could have called.” She paused, another point occurring to her. “Though, since I’ve been offering rewards from the beginning, it’s strange that I’d get an anonymous tip and there wasn’t any effort to collect on the offer.”
“Not just anyone would have information about my whereabouts.”
And he didn’t like it.
“Who knew where you would be?” she asked. “Anyone you told, obviously. And the person who gave you the tip about the meeting.”
“I didn’t tell anyone, so that narrows the list of possibilities. The question is, why?”
“Brian and I thought you were being set up, but that obviously wasn’t the case. Pavón and the others had no idea you were there.”
“Brian,” he said. “That would be the man hiding on the other side of the cemetery?”
So he’d seen Brian, too. She nodded. “He works for Finders, too. We’d been out on a case and were on our way home when I got the call.”
Something was going on. It was almost as if she had been deliberately thrown in Diaz’s path. She didn’t have to read his expression to know what was going through his mind, because she was having the same thoughts.
“I’ll help you,” he said abruptly, and flowed to his feet. “I’ll be in touch.”
He left the office and a few seconds later they heard the sound of the outer door closing. Milla and Joann stared at each other, then turned as one and raced to the window to see where he went.
The stairs to the office were empty. So was the parking lot. There was no sign of him, and though Milla opened the door and listened for the sound of a car engine being cranked, she heard nothing. It was as if he’d disappeared.
“I know how he got out,” she said, bemused. “But how did he get in?”
“I don’t know,” Joann moaned, collapsing into the nearest chair. “My God, I’ve never been so scared in my life! He was probably already in here when I arrived. If he’d wanted, he could have done anything.”
Milla went from window to window, checking to see if any of them showed signs of being forced. She wasn’t a detective; nevertheless, she didn’t see any new scratch marks on the latches, nor were any of the windows broken. Whatever method he’d used for gaining entrance, he hadn’t left any obvious evidence of it.