made her look less tired, and she used a gentle makeup job to soften her face even more. Perfume, hosiery, jewelry—she loved the ritual of it all, the way it made her feel. She so seldom had the opportunity to indulge in being overtly feminine that she reveled in the fund-raiser occasions. They were crucial to Finders’ financial health, but in a more subtle way they were just as crucial to her mental health.
She drove her six-year-old white Toyota SUV to the high school, where the parking lot was already filling with an assortment of cars, trucks, and SUVs, with the latter two far outnumbering the cars. Well-dressed people were walking purposefully toward the gym, because only an idiot stood out in the heat in El Paso in August. Even though the sun had gone down and twilight was gathering, in the short walk to the gym Milla felt perspiration gathering between her breasts.
She always came alone to these fund-raisers, though she could easily have asked Brian or any of the other men who worked at Finders to accompany her. For one thing, fund-raisers were deadly dull and she didn’t want to inflict them on anyone else. For another, she was always painfully aware of how she appeared to the people whom she was asking to give money to her cause.
The facts of her particular case were well known, that her baby had been stolen and a year later her marriage had broken under the strain, that she had devoted her life since to searching not only for her child but for other lost ones, too. For some reason, the fact that she was solitary seemed to loosen purse strings. If she started attending fund-raisers with a different man every time, people might begin to think she was spending more time dating than attending to business. When you stayed in business by begging money from these same people, what they thought was important.
She opened one of the heavy double doors to the gym and stepped into blessed cool air. Round tables that seated eight to ten each had been set up on the gymnasium floor, which had been covered with green felt to prevent it from being scuffed and dented. The tables had been covered with white tablecloths, the place settings and napkins precisely arranged, and fresh flowers stood in the middle of each table. At the head of the room was a long table on a makeshift dais, and a podium. She would be sitting up there with the organizers of the event, the mayor, and the social lights of El Paso who made an effort to help.
She always spoke at these events, and after so many years she no longer needed prepared notes. Her speech was always essentially the same, though details might change; she always told about searches Finders had made, with both good and bad endings. The good ending was to illustrate that Finders provided a beneficial service; the bad ending was to illustrate that, with proper funding, they could do even better. Tonight, Tiera Alverson was very much on her mind. A fourteen-year-old girl shouldn’t end her life in a dingy, roach-infested dump, her veins fried with drugs.
Smiling, speaking to people she knew, she began making her way toward the dais. She was about halfway there when a hard, warm hand closed over her elbow to bring her to a halt, then immediately released her. She turned and smiled when she met True Gallagher’s narrow, dark gaze. “Hello, True, how are you?”
“You look tired,” he said bluntly, ignoring the social niceties.
“Thanks,” she replied, her tone wry. “Now I know I wasted a lot of effort.”
“I didn’t say you look bad. I said you look tired.”
“Yeah, but the effort was to make me look less tired.”
“Maybe it worked.” He surveyed her with his shrewd gaze. “Just how tired are you?”
“Exhausted,” she said, and smiled.
“Then it worked.”
True was a self-made businessman, a man who had clawed his way out of poverty, and the struggle had made him into a powerful man. That power was still more in the force of his personality than it was in
She drove her six-year-old white Toyota SUV to the high school, where the parking lot was already filling with an assortment of cars, trucks, and SUVs, with the latter two far outnumbering the cars. Well-dressed people were walking purposefully toward the gym, because only an idiot stood out in the heat in El Paso in August. Even though the sun had gone down and twilight was gathering, in the short walk to the gym Milla felt perspiration gathering between her breasts.
She always came alone to these fund-raisers, though she could easily have asked Brian or any of the other men who worked at Finders to accompany her. For one thing, fund-raisers were deadly dull and she didn’t want to inflict them on anyone else. For another, she was always painfully aware of how she appeared to the people whom she was asking to give money to her cause.
The facts of her particular case were well known, that her baby had been stolen and a year later her marriage had broken under the strain, that she had devoted her life since to searching not only for her child but for other lost ones, too. For some reason, the fact that she was solitary seemed to loosen purse strings. If she started attending fund-raisers with a different man every time, people might begin to think she was spending more time dating than attending to business. When you stayed in business by begging money from these same people, what they thought was important.
She opened one of the heavy double doors to the gym and stepped into blessed cool air. Round tables that seated eight to ten each had been set up on the gymnasium floor, which had been covered with green felt to prevent it from being scuffed and dented. The tables had been covered with white tablecloths, the place settings and napkins precisely arranged, and fresh flowers stood in the middle of each table. At the head of the room was a long table on a makeshift dais, and a podium. She would be sitting up there with the organizers of the event, the mayor, and the social lights of El Paso who made an effort to help.
She always spoke at these events, and after so many years she no longer needed prepared notes. Her speech was always essentially the same, though details might change; she always told about searches Finders had made, with both good and bad endings. The good ending was to illustrate that Finders provided a beneficial service; the bad ending was to illustrate that, with proper funding, they could do even better. Tonight, Tiera Alverson was very much on her mind. A fourteen-year-old girl shouldn’t end her life in a dingy, roach-infested dump, her veins fried with drugs.
Smiling, speaking to people she knew, she began making her way toward the dais. She was about halfway there when a hard, warm hand closed over her elbow to bring her to a halt, then immediately released her. She turned and smiled when she met True Gallagher’s narrow, dark gaze. “Hello, True, how are you?”
“You look tired,” he said bluntly, ignoring the social niceties.
“Thanks,” she replied, her tone wry. “Now I know I wasted a lot of effort.”
“I didn’t say you look bad. I said you look tired.”
“Yeah, but the effort was to make me look less tired.”
“Maybe it worked.” He surveyed her with his shrewd gaze. “Just how tired are you?”
“Exhausted,” she said, and smiled.
“Then it worked.”
True was a self-made businessman, a man who had clawed his way out of poverty, and the struggle had made him into a powerful man. That power was still more in the force of his personality than it was in
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