Cry No More by Linda Howard

enough to realize she was dreaming. Despite her restless sleep she woke at her usual time, five-thirty, feeling almost normal. Today was Sunday, she realized, the one day of the week she didn’t go to the office—unless something came up. At least half the time, though, something came up. Children didn’t care what day of the week it was when they wandered away from home, nor did kidnappers fret about it.
    She stayed in bed another fifteen minutes, luxuriating in the lack of urgency. She so seldom got to sleep late that she almost never
did
, even when she had the chance, but it was nice not to have to leap out of bed and get a start on the day.
    Just as she was about to get up, the phone rang. She groaned as she threw back the covers and jumped up. She was accustomed to calls at all hours of the night—and early morning—but they almost always meant a job and her stomach tightened as she answered the call.
    “Milla, this is True Gallagher. Did I wake you?”
    Surprise had her sitting down on the bed. “No, I’m an early riser. So are you, I see.”
    “Actually, I’ve been up all night gathering information for you, and I wanted to talk to you before I go to the office.”
    “You stayed up all night?” She hadn’t intended for him to put himself out that much. Then she said, “You go to the office on Sunday?”
    He chuckled. “Not usually, but there’s something I have to deal with today.”
    “I hate that you stayed awake all night on my account. I’m sorry. It wasn’t urgent; you could have waited until tomorrow.”
    “The people I needed to talk to aren’t people you can catch during the daytime.”
    “I understand. I should have realized that.” She herself certainly dealt with that sort of character often enough.
    “I’ve got good news and bad news. The good news is that I did dig up some info on the Diaz I think you’re hunting, but the bad news is it probably won’t do you any good.”
    “What do you mean?”
    “You’re looking for the man who took your baby, aren’t you? That would mean he was operational in Chihuahua ten years ago. This Diaz wasn’t. He started popping up about five years ago.”
    Sharp disappointment speared her, because that name was the only one she’d ever heard mentioned in connection with kidnapping. “Are you certain?”
    “As certain as I can be, under the circumstances. This guy doesn’t exactly leave a paper trail. But be glad he isn’t the one you’re looking for, because he’s bad news all the way. The word is he’s an assassin. If you want somebody to disappear, you put the word out, and Diaz will contact you. He tracks down his target and takes care of your problem. He’s supposed to be damn good at it, too. People hear he’s on their track and they run, but he always finds them. In some circles that’s the only name he has, the Tracker.”
    “Are you sure this Diaz isn’t one-eyed?”
    “Positive.”
    She grasped at the only other straw she had. “I heard a rumor that perhaps he employs a gang of coyotes, so maybe the man who took Justin works for him.”
    “I doubt it. I didn’t turn up anything like that. As far as I was able to find out, Diaz always works alone.”
    She could almost feel another opportunity dying away like bubbles under her fingers, just as previous ones had, for ten years. She would hear something, get her hopes up that she was finally making progress, then—nothing. No new information, no progress, and no Justin.
    “Could there be another Diaz?” She was grabbing at another bubble and she knew it, but what else could she do? Stop grabbing?
    He blew out a weary breath. “Too many of them. I know a few of them myself, men I wouldn’t want to turn my back on. But I was able to eliminate some because they were otherwise accounted for during the pertinent time period.”
    In jail, he meant. “And the others? Do any of them have just one eye?”
    “I still have a few inquiries out. But when people these days say