The world clicked back into place, and she remembered the scene with True. “It’s okay,” she said. “Everything’s fine. He didn’t like taking no for an answer, and I guess he needed to hear it one more time. He hasn’t called since.”
“That’s good. That he isn’t bothering you, I mean. But what about Finders? Is he still one of your sponsors? You can sit up now.”
Clutching the paper sheet for the meager modesty it provided, Milla took her feet down and scooted back so she could sit up. The nurse began doing the paperwork for the Pap smear, and Susanna turned away to wash her hands.
“He said that turning him down wouldn’t affect his support, so I have to take him at his word.”
“That’s good. I don’t think he’d be petty. I don’t know him that well, but he doesn’t seem to be a man who pouts.”
Milla laughed. No, True didn’t strike her as a pouter. She hadn’t thought about him at all recently, she realized. Two things had occupied her mind: work and Diaz.
“I called and apologized to him, too,” Susanna continued. “We got to talking about other things, and he said you had a lead on the man you think took Justin. Diego? Diaz?”
“No, nothing that panned out,” Milla said, instinctively not wanting to say anything about Diaz. Now that she knew what kind of work he did, the less said about him the better.
“Damn. I was hoping this time—well, never mind. Keep me up-to-date if you do get any information, though.”
“I will.” But she already knew a lot more that she was keeping to herself. Given Diaz’s theory that she had been deliberately led down blind alleys all these years, she thought that the less said the better. She trusted Susanna, but did she trust everyone Susanna knew? Or everyone Susanna’s other friends knew? Not likely. So she borrowed a page from Diaz and kept her mouth shut.
Susanna picked up her pad and scribbled the prescription. “Everything looks fine. We’ll call when the results come in.”
“Leave the message on my answering machine if I’m not at home.”
Susanna made a note on Milla’s chart, smiled, and said, “If I can wrangle any free time for lunch, I’ll give you a call.”
Milla smiled in return; then Susanna and the nurse left the examination room to let her get dressed. As soon as they were gone, her smile vanished. Worry nagged at her. Since they’d returned from Idaho, Diaz had been prowling Mexico. On two nights he’d shown up at her condo, scruffy and snarly, lean from the hunt. A wise woman would have stayed far away from him when he was so lethally edgy, but Milla had decided that where he was concerned, she wasn’t wise at all. Both times she’d fed him, put him in the shower, and washed his clothes. Both times he’d let her, though he’d watched her with narrowed, feral eyes that made her knees go weak, because she knew he was biding his time. And both times, as soon as he was out of the shower, he was on her before the towel hit the floor.
After his sexual appetite was slaked, he was usually hungry again. Whatever he was doing, he wasn’t getting enough to eat. She would make him a sandwich and they would sit at the table while he ate and told her anything new he’d learned, which was precious little. Still, she at least felt that those tidbits were solid information, not a smoke screen.
“The word I get is that Pavón has been working for the same man from the beginning,” Diaz had said the last time she’d seen him, four days before. “They smuggled babies; now they smuggle body parts. But the information on the street is thin; they’ve done a good job of scaring the hell out of everyone.”
“Did you find Lola’s children?”
“The oldest, a son, was killed in a knife fight over fifteen years ago. Lola hasn’t seen her youngest in eight years, but I’ve tracked him to Matamoros. He’s a commercial fisherman, and was out in the gulf. He’s supposed to be back three days from now. I’ll be there waiting for him.”
When she’d awakened the next morning, she had lain there for a moment, so . . . content, feeling him there beside her, that it frightened her. Almost as soon as she woke, he seemed to sense it and stirred, pulling her close before his eyes were even open. He was relaxed with her, she thought—as much as he ever relaxed, anyway.
She slid her hand over his chest, feeling the hair rough under her palm, the warmth of his skin, the strong, steady beat of his heart. His morning erection rose, inviting her touch, and obligingly she slipped her hand beneath the cover to envelop him. “I can’t believe this,” she murmured as she kissed his shoulder. “I don’t even know your first name.”
“Yes you do,” he said, frowning. “James.”
“Really? I thought you made that up.”
“James Alejandro Xavier Diaz, if you want the American version.”
“ ‘Xavier’? I’ve never met anyone named Xavier before. What’s the Mexican version?”
“Pretty much the same. Ouch!” he said, giving his rusty laugh and dodging when she darted her hand to pinch him in a very tender place. It always melted her when he laughed, because he did it so rarely.
While she had him weakened with hysteria, she slithered on top of him, positioned his penis, and slid down to take him tenderly inside. He took a deep breath and let his eyes close, both hands going to her bottom and kneading. Milla adored morning loving, when she was still sleepy and lethargic, when time didn’t seem to matter and in a way climaxing didn’t either. It was enough, almost, to just lie there and hold him with arms and body. Almost. Eventually she had to move, or he had to move, and it was as if that first stroke broke the bands of self-control. She rode him hard and fast, and when her climax shook her and left her collapsed on his chest, he rolled over with her and took his own satisfaction.