She had waited ten years. If she didn’t find the woman today, she’d find her tomorrow.
As it turned out, that was exactly what happened. When the travel agency opened, she learned there were no direct flights to Albuquerque or Roswell at the time she needed, on any airline. Of course. The next direct flight with an available seat was late afternoon. She’d have to either spend the night in Albuquerque and get an early start the next morning, or drive across lonely, unknown territory at night, not knowing if this little town even had a motel where she could stay.
Or she could forget about flying and drive. It was a hefty distance but still easily done in one day, if she’d been able to get an early start. By the time she could get away today, though, she’d be able to get to Roswell before dark—barely—then spend the night there and finish the trip tomorrow morning. The decision was a no-brainer.
Rip called her as she was packing for the short trip. “Are you okay?” he asked in a subdued voice.
“I’m fine.” She was; she hadn’t had nightmares, hadn’t dreamed at all that she could recall. “How about you?”
“Exhausted. I can’t believe last night actually happened. Is there . . . will there be any repercussions?”
The way Rip saw it, he had participated in a murder. Milla’s view was more like Diaz’s: it had been an execution. Considering what Diaz’s job was, doing pretty much what he’d done last night—though maybe without the questioning session first—she doubted there would even be an investigation. “No, I don’t think so. You’re safe.” She would have gone into greater detail, but she was mindful of saying too much over a telephone. Rip was being careful, too; with Susanna’s example of saying too much in a nonprivate situation, he knew what a mistake that could be.
“I spent the night in a hotel, then got my partner to cover for me today. Good thing my schedule was light, huh? I just couldn’t—she would probably make an effort to track me down at the hospital, since I didn’t go home last night. I can’t talk to her right now. Maybe tomorrow.”
Poor Rip. His life had been torn apart, his marriage of twenty years was shot, his view of the world turned upside down. But he was soldiering on, because that was what most people did.
Milla made a fast decision. If no one from Finders was available to go with her today—she had no idea if anyone had returned last night or this morning—then she’d ask Rip. That would get him far away from Susanna, give him time to get his composure back. Though after last night, he might refuse to go anywhere with Milla ever again, and if so she couldn’t blame him.
She’d prefer to take someone from Finders, though, so she wanted to check out the situation there before she asked him. “How can I reach you today?”
He gave her his cell phone number, plus his hotel and room number. He didn’t intend to check out of the hotel today, but he was going home after he was certain Susanna had left, to get some clothes and toiletries.
After hanging up with him, she called the office. Olivia answered the phone, sounding dragged out. “I’m functional,” she said when Milla asked. “But I’m weak and I still don’t feel great. I talked to Debra and she’s still puking her guts out.”
“How are we looking today?”
“Joann’s search is still going on. It isn’t looking good for the kid; this is the fourth day. Brian will be home about six tonight.”
“What happened there?”
“Bad outcome.”
Milla sighed; she didn’t ask the details. “I’m driving to Roswell this afternoon, spending the night there. I have another lead on Justin, the woman who supposedly falsified the birth certificates so the babies could be adopted.”
“That’s great!” Olivia said, her tone perking up. “Who’s going with you?”
“I’ll ask a friend to go, since we’re still so understaffed. Rip Kosper. I don’t know if he’ll be willing, but he and Susanna are having trouble and he may want to get away.”
“Oh, no,” Olivia said. Most of the staff knew Rip and Susanna, since they’d been Milla’s friends for years and Susanna often called Finders to talk to Milla. Now that she knew why Susanna had stayed in such close touch, Milla wanted to scream with rage.
She told Olivia about her cell phone situation; then after hanging up she called Rip and explained her plans to him, asking if he wanted to go.
“Let me call my partner,” he said. “I’ll get back to you.”
Of course he had to clear it, she thought. He had a medical practice; he couldn’t just leave whenever he wanted. But the day was not getting off to a fast start; it was grinding along, ignoring her impatience.
She turned in her cell phone, and found that since the phone was out of warranty, the repairs would cost almost as much as a new phone, so she bought a new one and extra battery packs, plus the home and car rechargers. Doing so, for one reason and another, took over an hour. The need to be on her way ate at her, demanding she hurry, and there was nothing she could do about the situation.
As soon as she was in her Toyota, she plugged in the phone to charge the battery and also to use the car’s power to call Diaz again. He still wasn’t available. She wanted to wring his neck. Why couldn’t he have left her a damn note?
Rip called; he’d cleared things with his partner and taken off the rest of the week. He could leave anytime she was ready.
Deep twilight had fallen by the time they drove into Roswell, and Milla felt as if she’d been nibbled to death by ducks. The entire day had been filled with delays and irritations, and Diaz still wasn’t answering his phone. She and Rip checked into a motel, went for supper at a steakhouse, then returned to their separate rooms and turned in for the night.