wouldn’t. “You can find him.”
“I can find anyone. Eventually.”
“Because you don’t give up. I can’t give up, either. If it’s a matter of money, of course I’ll pay you.” She couldn’t in good conscience let Finders foot the bill, but she would give him every penny she had in savings, and beg more from David if she had to. Not that there would be any begging to it; David would do anything to help her find Justin.
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
“I can find anyone. Eventually.”
“Because you don’t give up. I can’t give up, either. If it’s a matter of money, of course I’ll pay you.” She couldn’t in good conscience let Finders foot the bill, but she would give him every penny she had in savings, and beg more from David if she had to. Not that there would be any begging to it; David would do anything to help her find Justin.
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
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