She might never find her baby, though she’d never stop looking. But she would find the people behind this—no, not “people,” monsters—and she’d bring them down if it was the last thing she ever did. Something in her was changing, and she was no longer willing to overlook anything in exchange for information on her lost baby, on any lost baby. She wanted justice, and she wanted vengeance.
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.