missing poster of Tilly. Her eyes sparkled as they met his. She looked so much like a younger version of Cora, her face radiating innocence and hope as she implored him.
He was her uncle. He was her blood.
Man, after the horror with the eyeballs, and then seeing those headless corpses in that car a short time ago, the thought of a cartel hit man targeting Tilly… Something caught in Gannon’s throat. He turned to the window, looked beyond the clouds and back on the few hours he’d just spent in Mexico.
After they’d left the desert crime scene, he, Castillo and Luna returned to
“I’ll write it here, but we have to hold back on some of it.”
“Why?”
“Because we’re way too close to this. I need to protect sources.”
Lyon weighed his point.
“I’ll let you write it the way you think it needs to be written,
“Okay, but can you get Henrietta in Phoenix to seek FBI comment?”
“Fine, just ship me the story ASAP. And Jack? Are you still there?”
“Yes?”
“Are you sure you want to stay on this? I can put other people on it if it ever becomes…becomes…”
“Becomes what?”
“If it ever becomes too much for you, Jack.”
“I’m in too deep, Melody.”
She let a moment pass before speaking. “We’re praying they find Tilly safe and bring her home.”
“So am I.”
Turning from the window back to his laptop, Gannon called up the story he’d sent earlier to headquarters and reread it, fighting to distance himself from the fact he was writing about his own family.
The execution murders of two former U.S. law enforcement officers who were found beheaded in the Mexican desert may be tied to the recent kidnapping of an 11-year-old Phoenix girl, according to police sources.
That was how it began, a tight nuts-and-bolts exclusive that provided few details. It did not report the victims’ names or anything on the assassin. Gannon had filed it from Juarez before returning to El Paso for his flight. By now his story should’ve gone around the world on the WPA wire and been posted online everywhere with Castillo’s crime scene photos, the ones suitable for family viewing-police vehicles near the barn.
Luna was writing a similar piece for
The story beat the Associated Press, Reuters, all of Gannon’s competition. It was a WPA win that should make New York very happy, especially George Wilson, head of all foreign news. It would satisfy Gannon’s employer, whose resources he needed to find his niece.
Suddenly he was jolted by another concern.
Should he have alerted Cora that the story was coming, explained what he knew so that she could brace for it? But it would’ve been a risk to call her. He couldn’t ignore suspicions that the task force had been infiltrated by people working for the cartel.
No, he had no other option but to get the story out.
For the rest of the short flight, Gannon considered how the execution in the Mexican desert of two American ex-cops would bring more to bear on Tilly’s case. Now as the landing gear rumbled down, he searched the blurring ground for answers. There had to be something he was overlooking, something he could dig into. He had to do more to find Tilly, and he had to do it fast.
Time was working against them.
The story was getting bigger.
The first thing Gannon noticed as his cab approached Cora’s house was that there were more news people out front, including a few satellite trucks from Los Angeles, Tucson and Las Vegas.
“Hey, Gannon! What about the executions in Mexico?”
He gave the pack an apologetic wave and went to the back door.
“Come on, Jack, give your pals here a break!”
In the ride from the airport to Mesa Mirage, he’d checked his BlackBerry for developments. His WPA story was the big one. The
The moment Gannon stepped inside Cora’s house, she rushed to him.
“Why didn’t you call me?”
“I couldn’t.”
“You should’ve warned me, Jack! I was going out of my mind! Oh my God, is it true? Are the murders connected to Tilly? Who are the officers?”
Mounting worry had deepened the lines carved into her drawn face. He started to take her aside.
“We need to talk,” he said.
“No.” He felt a hand on his shoulder. “
Gannon turned and met Hackett’s scowl as the FBI agent backed him into a corner and dropped his voice to a menacing level.
“How did you learn about the homicides in Mexico, Gannon?”
Hackett’s question went beyond concern over a press leak.
That Gannon knew about a major break at the same time the FBI had been informed underscored Hackett’s worst nightmare as the lead investigator:
In the icy silence that passed between them, each man knew. By Hackett’s body language, by the fury behind his eyes, Hackett telegraphed his fear of a potentially compromised investigation. It was there slithering in the air, that someone, anyone, among the half dozen agencies involved in the case, including those in Texas and Mexico, could be on a cartel payroll.
It rattled Hackett that Gannon had gotten so close.
“I don’t expect you’ll give up a source,” Hackett said, “but I’ll warn you, if you jeopardize our case I’ll charge you with obstruction.”
“It would be better if you accepted that you have your sources and I have mine. And we both want the same thing.”
“Just watch yourself.”
“Excuse me, I’d like to talk privately with my sister.”
“Listen up-if you have information relevant to this case, you’d better share it.”
Gannon made a point of lifting his chin to inventory the agents and officers in the house.
“Right, why don’t you tell me about the two dead ‘cops’ in the desert, Agent Hackett? Then we could talk about sharing, about trust.”
Hackett grimaced then left.
Cora was alone in her bedroom, looking at pictures of Tilly. Gannon’s stomach tensed after he’d shut the door.
“Cora, I need you to help me find her.”
She nodded.
“We have no time. I need you to tell me the truth about everything.”
“I’ve told you everything.”
“I think you’re holding back.”
“I told you I made a lot of mistakes in my life.”
