In Desperation

5

Phoenix, Arizona, Mesa Mirage

F our hours after Cora’s call, Gannon’s Southwest flight landed in Phoenix. Now, as his 737 taxied to the gate, he resumed questioning the wisdom of setting aside his story in Mexico to rush to Arizona.

Am I making a mistake?

He had tried to reduce his risk. Before lifting off, he’d called Isabel Luna at El Heraldo, telling her that he had to leave Juarez for an urgent personal matter in the U.S. Now, in the seconds before the pilot cut the engines, Gannon emailed Melody Lyon in New York, informing her that he’d temporarily left his assignment to fly to Phoenix. He knew that wouldn’t go over well and by the time he stepped from the jet, Lyon had called him to confirm it.

“What the hell are you doing in Phoenix? Your assignment’s in Juarez.”

“Something came up.”

“Who authorized this trip?”

“I’ll pay for it.”

“I don’t care. I want you in Mexico. That’s your story.”

“I know, but-”

“I was under the impression that you were working on securing the assassin’s profile. The WPA needs that story, Jack. The Associated Press and Reuters have been killing us. Why are you in Phoenix?”

He couldn’t reveal the truth-damn it, not yet. Hard-pressed, he searched the terminal for an answer.

“I have an inside lead on a possible kidnapping.”

“A kidnapping in Phoenix? I haven’t seen anything on it.”

“No one knows. It’s just emerging.”

“Did you alert our bureau there?”

“No. Not yet. Melody, don’t tell anyone anything yet. Let me follow this.”

“Is this connected to the drug wars?”

“Maybe. I’m not sure what this is. I have to check it out. If it falls through, I’ll be back in Juarez tonight. All I’m asking for is a little time, please.”

“I’ll give you twenty-four hours and I want updates, Jack.”

As Gannon’s cab wove through the east valley suburbs, doubt continued gnawing at him. Ever since he’d broken a global exclusive out of South America and the Caribbean a few months ago, senior WPA editors had been pressuring him to deliver another big story.

So what was he doing here? Was he making a mistake by ignoring a potentially huge story out of Mexico?

And for what?

Cora.

It was tearing him apart. His sister was a stranger to him. She was messed up when she’d run away from their family. It had devastated their parents. How could he forgive her for what she’d done?

And now this.

What if she was still messed up?

But she had found him, now, after all this time. Something he’d buried deep and long ago warmed to that fact. And she had a daughter, his niece. How could he turn his back on them? They were family. That’s what he told himself as his cab turned down Cora’s street and came to a creaky stop in front of her address. Gannon paid the driver, approached the house with his stomach tensing and rang the bell.

Twenty-two years since he’d seen her.

The door opened to a woman in her late thirties.

Cora.

The sun lit her face, made a bit fuller by time. The way the corners of her eyes creased reminded him of their mother and father. A bittersweet smile blossomed as she spoke his name.

“Oh, Jack!”

She engulfed him on the step, nearly knocking him backward. She held him tight as she sobbed. Gannon felt something in his throat rising, his eyes stinging, for he never believed he would ever see her again.

They went to her kitchen and in the brief awkward quiet punctuated by Cora’s tears, they studied each other. As her red-rimmed eyes took stock, Gannon felt as if he was twelve again, holding the attention of his hero.

“I knew you would grow up to be a tall, handsome man.”

She had become a fine-looking woman, a mother, he thought.

“Help me find Tilly.”

“I’ll do what I can,” he said, absorbing all the changes in her as each of them grappled with the time that had blurred their memories over two decades.

Cora offered a weak smile, worry lines cutting deep around her mouth, replacing the gleam that had always lifted him before the day she walked out on everything back in Buffalo. A tsunami of remembrance, outrage and regret rolled over him, and Cora saw his mood dim.

“I’ve been a terrible sister.”

“You should have come home.”

“I wanted to. So many times, but I couldn’t face you, Mom and Dad.”

“They died not knowing about your life, your daughter, their granddaughter.”

She turned away.

“I know. I saw it in the Sentinel on the internet.”

“Then why didn’t you come to the funeral?”

“I wanted to, but I couldn’t.”

“Why? If only you had come home before they were killed. You could have worked things out with them. They searched everywhere for you.”

“I just couldn’t.”

“Why? That’s what I don’t understand.”

“It’s too hard to explain. Please don’t judge me.”

“Judge you? Cora, I don’t even know you.”

She turned to the counter for a tissue box.

“I go by Cora Martin.”

“Martin? Did you get married?”

“No, I changed it because of, well, because of mistakes.”

“Is that why you didn’t want us to find you?” He shook his head in disappointment.

“Jack, it’s not easy to explain. You have every right to resent me,” she said. “I’m not seeking forgiveness, but resentment can be a poison. I mourn the time we’ve lost. I regret choices I’ve made. Don’t take your anger out on me now, Jack. I need your help. I have to get Tilly home safe.”

“Tell me what happened.”

Gannon took a long, deep breath and Cora related every detail from the night before. He listened, saying little until she’d finished.

“I don’t know why this is happening to us,” she said. “I don’t know who to turn to, Jack. I thought you would have sources, people who know about this stuff and that you would know what to do. Help me find out who took her. Help me get her back.”

“Call the police, Cora.”

“No. They said they would kill her if I went to the police.”

“Are you involved with drugs in any way, Cora?”

“No.”

“But you were?”

“Yes. I used drugs, yes, but that’s all in the past. I’ve changed my life.”

“No one from your past would do this?”

God, I hope not. They told me I would never be free from what I did. Never. They told me I would always be looking over my shoulder. I can’t tell Jack. I can’t tell anyone. I have to protect Tilly.

“Cora, does this have anything to do with your past life?”

“No, I’ve been living a clean life, a good life, for years.”

“What about Lyle? You say you’re dating. What do you know about him? Is he involved in drugs?”

“If he is, he’s hidden it all from me.”

“Can you find him?”

“I’ve been trying and trying. He’s disappeared.”

“Who else knows about this?”

“Only you-and I called Tilly’s school.”

“You told her school she was kidnapped?”

“God, no, I said she wouldn’t be in today. Only you know what’s happened, Jack.”

“From what I know about these things, they usually involve a drug debt. The cartels will kidnap someone close to get their money. That looks like the case here.”

“Maybe it’s all a mistake?”

“Call the police, Cora.”

“But they said-”

“You have to call them, or it looks like you’re involved.”

Cora put her hands to her mouth, nodded, then reached for her cordless phone. Her fingers trembled as she pressed 911.

“I need the police. My daughter’s been kidnapped…”

As she stayed on the line confirming her name and address, Gannon walked through the house, finding Tilly’s room. Police would soon process the room but he wanted to see it, to get a sense of his niece.

Her white-and-pink bed was unmade, left the way it was when the invaders abducted her from it. On the wall nearby there was a cork bulletin board plastered with birthday cards, a drawing of two people holding hands called Mommy amp; Me, and photos of Tilly with her friends, their smiles and eyes blazing with adolescent zeal.

She sure resembled Cora.

Under the board was Tilly’s desk. Math, history and science textbooks were stacked neatly on it to one side. Also on the desk he saw Tilly’s homework: a handwritten essay. He began reading it: The Swiss Family Robinson Book Report by Tilly Martin The Swiss Family Robinson by Johann David Wyss is an exciting story about a family who is shipwrecked on a deserted island and how they must work together to do all they can to survive…

“…how they must work together to do all they can to survive…”

The significance of her words jolted Gannon. He studied Tilly’s neat cursive style, the forward slant, the generous looping of the g, y and p. He recognized that it was precisely the way he wrote.

A family trait.

It hit him full force that Tilly was his blood and that he was her uncle. That’s when he heard something for the first time since entering the bedroom.

Ticking.

It was coming from the metal clock with a clown’s face on her dresser. It grew louder, with the exaggerated smile of the clown screaming to him that time was ticking down on his niece’s life.