my feet back into my heels under my desk. I smooth my outfit out as I leave my office and take to the stairs.
I see Mrs. Russo immediately—she’s sitting in the middle of the waiting room. Her back is straight, her legs are demurely crossed at her ankles, and her dark hair, peppered with strands of deep gray, are pulled back into a low braid that swings over her left shoulder.
“Mrs. Russo?” I say gently, approaching her.
She swings sad, tired, dark-brown eyes toward me.
“My assistant said you wanted to speak with me.”
“Ah.” She forces a small smile and, standing, takes my offered hand with a weak shake. “Ms. Bond. Yes—it’s not an inconvenience, I hope?”
Like Grecia, she has a Mexican accent, but Mrs. Russo’s is much fainter, barely there, swamped by a neutralizing Texas drawl.
“Not at all,” I reassure her. “My next appointment is my accountant, and I’d prefer to avoid that.” I finish with a small smile.
It draws another from her. “Thank you. I appreciate this.”
I touch her arm. “If you go up the stairs, you’ll find my office the first door on the left. Can I get you somethin’ to drink? Coffee? Tea? Water?”
“A cold glass of water would be wonderful.”
“Perfect. Head on up, ma’am, and I’ll be right after you.” As soon as she’s gone, I dart into Grecia’s office.
She looks up instantly.
“Call John. Tell him I’ll be late and a reschedule would be great because something came up last minute,” I say, referring to my accountant. “And a coffee and a water would be even better.”
A smile spreads across her face. “You got it.”
At least she looks happier than this morning.
“You’re okay, yeah?” I ask, double-checking before I leave. “You and Mike?”
“We’ll work it out.” She gets up with a smile. “Silly things.”
“Always is. Just remember to show him who’s boss. And he’s more dispensable than you.” I wink at her and quickly squeeze her into my side before releasing her and heading up to my office.
I still feel queasy from thinking about Mrs. Russo and why she wants to see me. I’m a big believer in coincidences, but somehow, I get the feeling this is far beyond that.
“Sorry about that,” I say, walking into my office and pushing my door closed. I round my desk and take a seat behind it, searching Mrs. Russo’s face for her gaze.
She doesn’t meet mine.
That’s never good.
“What can I help you with?” My voice is soft. I can almost feel the pain she’s carrying with her, and I feel as though she’s so delicate that too loud of a noise might break her.
“The...body...” Her voice cracks on the second word, although it’s barely a whisper. “Is it my baby?”
I should have known. “Ma’am, if I knew, please know I would tell you. Unfortunately, it’s not information I have. I don’t think the police do yet.”
“I thought as much.” She sighs softly. “Ms. Bond, I would like to hire you.”
I blink several times, but I don’t say a word. I don’t think talking right now will help—she’ll expand in her own time.
Lord only knows she’s afraid. Her hands, clasped on her lap so tight that her knuckles are white, are trembling, and her thumbs keep fighting with each other as she fidgets. She keeps swallowing, and if I didn’t know better, I’d say she was chewing the inside of her cheek as she chooses her next words. Not to mention the rapid blinking.
Without a shadow of a doubt, Mrs. Russo is terrified of her next words.
“I need your help, Ms. Bond,” she says in a raspy tone. “I need you to find my baby. It’s been fifteen years, and I—” Her voice cracks, and she claps a hand over her mouth, glancing at me with watery eyes.
I walk around the table and grab the box of tissues to offer them to her. My own throat feels clogged up, like there’s a boulder of an emotional lump that won’t shift.
Mrs. Russo takes a tissue right as there are two knocks at my door. I leave the box
I see Mrs. Russo immediately—she’s sitting in the middle of the waiting room. Her back is straight, her legs are demurely crossed at her ankles, and her dark hair, peppered with strands of deep gray, are pulled back into a low braid that swings over her left shoulder.
“Mrs. Russo?” I say gently, approaching her.
She swings sad, tired, dark-brown eyes toward me.
“My assistant said you wanted to speak with me.”
“Ah.” She forces a small smile and, standing, takes my offered hand with a weak shake. “Ms. Bond. Yes—it’s not an inconvenience, I hope?”
Like Grecia, she has a Mexican accent, but Mrs. Russo’s is much fainter, barely there, swamped by a neutralizing Texas drawl.
“Not at all,” I reassure her. “My next appointment is my accountant, and I’d prefer to avoid that.” I finish with a small smile.
It draws another from her. “Thank you. I appreciate this.”
I touch her arm. “If you go up the stairs, you’ll find my office the first door on the left. Can I get you somethin’ to drink? Coffee? Tea? Water?”
“A cold glass of water would be wonderful.”
“Perfect. Head on up, ma’am, and I’ll be right after you.” As soon as she’s gone, I dart into Grecia’s office.
She looks up instantly.
“Call John. Tell him I’ll be late and a reschedule would be great because something came up last minute,” I say, referring to my accountant. “And a coffee and a water would be even better.”
A smile spreads across her face. “You got it.”
At least she looks happier than this morning.
“You’re okay, yeah?” I ask, double-checking before I leave. “You and Mike?”
“We’ll work it out.” She gets up with a smile. “Silly things.”
“Always is. Just remember to show him who’s boss. And he’s more dispensable than you.” I wink at her and quickly squeeze her into my side before releasing her and heading up to my office.
I still feel queasy from thinking about Mrs. Russo and why she wants to see me. I’m a big believer in coincidences, but somehow, I get the feeling this is far beyond that.
“Sorry about that,” I say, walking into my office and pushing my door closed. I round my desk and take a seat behind it, searching Mrs. Russo’s face for her gaze.
She doesn’t meet mine.
That’s never good.
“What can I help you with?” My voice is soft. I can almost feel the pain she’s carrying with her, and I feel as though she’s so delicate that too loud of a noise might break her.
“The...body...” Her voice cracks on the second word, although it’s barely a whisper. “Is it my baby?”
I should have known. “Ma’am, if I knew, please know I would tell you. Unfortunately, it’s not information I have. I don’t think the police do yet.”
“I thought as much.” She sighs softly. “Ms. Bond, I would like to hire you.”
I blink several times, but I don’t say a word. I don’t think talking right now will help—she’ll expand in her own time.
Lord only knows she’s afraid. Her hands, clasped on her lap so tight that her knuckles are white, are trembling, and her thumbs keep fighting with each other as she fidgets. She keeps swallowing, and if I didn’t know better, I’d say she was chewing the inside of her cheek as she chooses her next words. Not to mention the rapid blinking.
Without a shadow of a doubt, Mrs. Russo is terrified of her next words.
“I need your help, Ms. Bond,” she says in a raspy tone. “I need you to find my baby. It’s been fifteen years, and I—” Her voice cracks, and she claps a hand over her mouth, glancing at me with watery eyes.
I walk around the table and grab the box of tissues to offer them to her. My own throat feels clogged up, like there’s a boulder of an emotional lump that won’t shift.
Mrs. Russo takes a tissue right as there are two knocks at my door. I leave the box
Similar Books
