The Truant Officer v5 Read online

  When Treadwell removed his lips, she announced, “My sister just called, she can’t make it.”

  Darren was relieved. The comment also reminded him that in the rush to “hit the town,” he failed to call Lilly and let her know he made it safely, as he did after every flight. She always joked that it would make the news if he crashed, so don’t waste the minutes on their phone plan. But one time he didn’t call and she got upset with worry.

  He removed his phone from his coat pocket, realizing it had been off the whole time. When he turned it on he saw that he had a text message from Lilly—almost a half hour ago. He badly wished he’d heard her voice, but when he read her typed words he wasn’t complaining. It read: Every man’s fantasy ~ ILY Lilly.

  Darren opened the attached photo and began laughing. From the intro, he expected some racy photos, but this was even better. Lilly had photographed herself pumping gas into their SUV, posing with the look of seduction. Darren had always told her that there was nothing sexier than a woman doing manual labor. Especially one who looked like she did in that little black dress he liked so much.

  He typed back: LOL ~ can’t wait to see you tmrw!! ILY2.

  He handed the phone to Treadwell, who burst into laughter. “I told you things were fine,” he said.

  Darren actually remembered him saying something about finding other chips. Treadwell handed the phone to Kelli, who remarked, “Your wife is beautiful.” She examined Darren more closely, obviously trying to figure out what she was doing with Mr. Average.

  Darren could care less. It only mattered what Lilly thought. And with one small gesture, he felt like he had her back.

  “I introduced them,” Treadwell interjected, playing the sensitive matchmaker to score points with Kelli. Or as he might say—accumulating frequent flyer miles. Darren didn’t mind—it was a story he never tired of hearing.

  It was Darren’s first commercial flight. He was teamed with Captain Ron Treadwell, flying out of their home base of Phoenix. They had returned from a similar three-leg domestic trip, and Darren planned to retire to his lonely apartment to over-analyze his first flight and be his generally boring self. But like tonight, Treadwell dragged him out. They went to the Gila River Casino on an Indian reservation south of Phoenix, a place Treadwell had lost much of his savings over the years, at least what was left after the drinking and divorces.

  Darren was mesmerized by a beautiful blackjack dealer. Her name was Liliana, but she told Darren that he could call her Lilly. If he could have formed a sentence, he would have. But as time went by, and he continued to lose money, he began striking up a conversation with her. He was impressed that she worked at the casino to put herself through school, with the goal of becoming an English teacher. He was aware that she was occupying him with conversation to break his concentration—typical dealer trick—but he would’ve gladly signed over anything to keep talking with her.

  The only reason the story had a happy ending was because of Treadwell. After another losing hand by Darren, he exclaimed, “Will you please just agree to go on a date with my friend before he ends up homeless!”

  Darren turned red with embarrassment, but it was worth it when Lilly agreed. She then ordered him away from the table with her trademark grin, commenting that he better save his money because she wasn’t a cheap date. Less than a year later they were married.

  The volume in the bar continued to rise as the Yankees game went into extra innings. Treadwell and Kelli seemed too involved in consuming drinks and groping each other to notice. At one point, they began childishly photographing each other with Kelli’s cell phone. Alcohol and pictures never mixed, but Darren agreed to take photos of the inebriated couple. They looked like those photo-booth pictures at the mall, back before everyone had a camera on their phone. Then Kelli decided that Darren should be in the pictures, and convinced a burly Italian guy at the next table to take a group shot of the three of them.

  As the games ended—Yankees a thrilling win, but the local hockey team losing in disappointing fashion—the bar began to clear out. The televisions switched over to the cable news channel GNZ. Darren wasn’t really interested in the latest Democratic primary that was headlining the national news, but his only other option was to watch his mentor make-out with some woman he’d just met. His mind was solely on Lilly, anyway. He checked his phone—no return of his text. He figured that she’d either gone to bed to prepare for a long Monday at school, or was feverishly working on her lesson plan. His watch was still on Arizona time, where it was just past ten.

  The next news story was about a controversial Israeli pop star named Natalie Gold, who was expected to make a highly anticipated arrival in the US this week. Not everybody was thrilled by this, and certain groups had organized protests to greet her arrival. Darren had no idea who she was, or why she was controversial, but Treadwell did. He began singing the lyrics to her latest single in a drunken slur.

  Darren looked at him strangely. “Where’d you learn that?”

  “When you have kids, you pick up all sorts of stuff. Wait until you and Lilly start pushing out some pups.” The grin on his face was permanent at this point.

  Kelli seemed to instantaneously sober up. She grabbed an expensive looking handbag and rose to her feet.

  “Where you going?” Treadwell asked, looking stunned.

  “Kids are complicated. Sorry, I don’t do complicated,” she said and began walking toward the door.

  “I’m divorced,” he yelled desperately to her, holding up his ring-less finger.

  “That’s what they all say,” she shouted back as she stepped out into the rainy April night.

  Darren couldn’t help smiling. “Crash landing.”

  “Very funny,” Treadwell muttered and swigged down the remainder of his Bloody Mary. It was the first one all night that he really needed.

  Darren refocused on the news just in time to hear the anchor state, “In other news, there has been another abduction of a woman in Arizona. It is the fourth one this month, in what’s believed to be an act of gang violence.”

  This grabbed Darren’s interest. The gang abductions had been a huge story back home.

  The anchor continued, “GNZ has gained access to the security video at the Mobil station in Chandler, where the latest abduction took place.”

  Darren watched a dark figure roll from underneath the SUV and attack a woman with a knife. He then threw her into the backseat and drove off.

  Darren felt like he just gained another ten years. His stomach gripped tight.

  The woman in the video was Lilly.

  Chapter 4

  Not even the relentless desert heat could put a blemish on the perfectly made up face of Jessi Stafford. She applied the finishing touches—a dab of gloss on her shiny red lips, and a flip of her thick mane of blonde hair—then dug her six-inch heels into the pavement as if preparing to stand her ground against a charging army. It was just another battle in the war to regain her relevance, and now victory was in sight.

  She looked into the camera and unveiled the look of a serious journalist; one she’d perfected on stops in Orlando, New York, and now Arizona.

  “I am reporting from the gas station at the corner of Elliott and Alma School Road in Chandler, where a woman was abducted, just hours ago.”

  After a dramatic pause, she continued, “My sources have confirmed that this is another in the series of gang-related attacks that have stricken the Valley with fear.”

  When Jessi signed off her report, sending the coverage back to the no-talent anchors in the studio, she let out the smile she was holding back like a sneeze.

  “What’s so funny, Blondie? Kidnapping humor, or have the gasoline fumes finally gotten to you?” remarked her just-out-of-college cameraman, Byung Park, sporting the usual smirk that Jessi so wanted to wipe off his face. But she let it pass, knowing she’d soon be paroled from this rinky-dink station in the desert, her penance complete.

  “This abduction story is my ticket back
to New York—and nothing makes me smile more than the thought of getting out of here.”

  “I heard all the murderers back there are lonely without you—looking forward to your conjugal visit...err...triumphant return.”

  She had made the ascent from a college dropout to anchoring the top rated newscast in New York City by age twenty-six, proudly using all of her ample assets to get there. But the fall was sharp and unforgiving.

  The “Jane Callahan Missing” story that became the “Jane Callahan Murder” story had made Jessi a local star. She was the one to receive the tip on the whereabouts of the body, along with landing the much sought after interview with Jane’s husband, and the lead suspect in her murder, Wall Street icon Steve Callahan.

  Before Jessi’s star could enter orbit, the pictures appeared of a bikini-clad woman gallivanting with Steve Callahan by the pool of his Mt. Kisco mansion, including a particularly damaging one that featured Jessi delicately applying sun tan lotion to the murder suspect. The headline in the tabloid paper was Killer Sex, and things began to spiral downward from there. Jessi was sent packing, eventually landing at this nothing station in the desert. But she didn’t feel sorry for herself. In fact, she immediately began plotting her rise back to the top, figuring what better place to rise from the ashes than Phoenix. Now it looked like she might get her chance.

  She had no time for Byung and his smart-ass remarks—the other reporters would cover the story, but Jessi planned to uncover it. She moved into the mini mart to once again follow up with the night manager, Jorge DeRosa. He was a tough nut to crack, but as the only witness to the abduction, he held the key to the answers she needed.

  He saw her coming. “I told you, I have nothing to say to any reporters.”

  She had tried the soft approach earlier, twice, without any luck, so now it was time to play hardball. “Let’s get down to business, Jorge. Can I call you Jorge?”

  “It’s my name.”

  “I’ve seen the video.” It was distributed to all news outlets, hoping someone had recognized the assailant, but Jessi was more interested in the victim. “I saw that the woman paid with a credit card, so you know her name. I need the name, Jorge, do you understand?”

  “I understand that I handed over everything to the police, and it’s up to them what is released and what isn’t.”

  “The police should have stopped these monsters months ago. I’m trying to save this woman’s life, not to mention the next one—and if we leave it up to the police, I guarantee you there will be another victim. I saw you talking to her on the video, it looks like you liked her, maybe even knew her.”

  “I told you—I’ve got nothing to say.”

  She moved close to him and whispered, “Perhaps you should reconsider your answer, and then I’ll reconsider bringing in INS to have you sent back over the border.”

  “For your information, I’m an American citizen. I was born and raised in this country. Were you?”

  Threats were working about as well as nice did, so she went to the tactic that never failed. She bent over enough so that Jorge could get a good view of her long legs, and flashed her irresistible smile. “Maybe we can work something out.”

  “I don’t know what you’re getting at, lady,” he exclaimed, his attention wandering behind her.

  Before she could even follow his gaze, she felt the man’s presence.

  She turned quickly to see the thick gelled hair and out-of-date sideburns of Officer Brandon Longa.

  “Are you cheating on me, baby?” he said in his thick Brooklyn accent, grinning from ear to ear. Longa was the lead investigator on the case, and after a few dates, had become the inside source that had leapfrogged Jessi over the competition. Like her, Longa was in the desert doing penance for things that happened back in New York, where he was once a NYPD officer, and he thirsted every day to get back there.

  She gritted her teeth and forced her most flirtatious smile. “C’mon, Brandon, I need that credit card.”

  “When we decide to release the name of the victim, you’ll be the first to know.”

  “Pretty please,” she begged, flipping her hair like she was trying to get out of a traffic ticket.

  His smile turned sly. “I might have an idea of how we can work things out.”

  Jessi whispered back, “What do you have in mind?”

  Longa turned to Jorge. “I’m gonna need your bathroom key.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “Sorry, did I speak English? My bad—give me el keyo for el bathroomo.”

  Jorge grumbled under his breath as he handed the oversized key to the plain-clothes police officer. Longa took Jessi by the hand and escorted her to the back of the station, with Jessi receiving more than her share of dirty looks from the other reporters and police. He opened the door and led her inside the cockroach-infested restroom.

  He pulled her into a tight embrace, his hands roaming over her most sought after real estate. He then started to kiss her.

  “Slow down, Brandon,” she cautioned, but her actions didn’t match her words, as she ran her hands along his hips to the back of his tight-fitting pants.

  “Don’t have time to slow down, baby. You want the name, then let’s get down to business.”

  Desperate times called for desperate measures. She took out a sanitizing spray from her purse and began spraying it profusely around the room, trying to remove the stench of urine. She covered the sticky floor with paper towels until it acted as wall-to-wall carpeting. She then awkwardly knelt on the floor and forced her most seductive look up at Brandon.

  He broke into heavy laughter. “You were really going to do it! I just wanted to see how far you’d go—what wouldn’t you do for a story?”

  From a kneeling position, she threw a punch. She missed her target, catching him with a glancing blow on the left hip.

  “Do you know what the penalty is in Arizona for assaulting a police officer?”

  “When I’m finished with you, assault will be the least of your worries.”

  Smiling, he responded, “I guess it’s your lucky day because I’m willing to call it even.”

  He headed toward the door, before abruptly turning back toward her and tossing the key on the floor. “Why don’t you let yourself out,” he said with more laughter.

  Jessi rose up, balancing onto her skyscraper heels. She took out her sanitizing spray and began coating herself like it was bug spray. Once she felt she had fought off the potential bacteria, she smiled.

  She had no plans to trade her assets for information, and certainly not on this filthy floor. She had gone to great lengths to get information in this business, some dirtier than this bathroom, but she never played that card with anyone, including Steve Callahan, no matter what the New York tabloids said.

  She put the spray back into her purse and then pulled out the Visa card that she had lifted from Brandon’s back pocket.

  The name on the card was Lilly McLaughlin.

  She smiled again.

  Chapter 5

  Darren arrived at Phoenix Sky Harbor Airport, a place that had practically become a second home to him the last few years. It looked the same with its southwestern motif and general cleanliness, but it felt like everything had changed.

  After witnessing the video of Lilly on the news, he immediately called his chief pilot back in Phoenix, as was protocol in the case of an emergency. Within half an hour, he was back at JFK and booked as a passenger on the last flight out that night. They made a stop in Atlanta, where Darren picked up another red-eye to Phoenix. There was no in-flight movie, but he had a horror flick playing over and over in his head the whole way. He kept thinking of the pictures of those other women after they were found. Beaten and raped. He also knew that Lilly would fight her captor with every fiber of her petite body. That worried him even more.

  With the two-hour time difference, he arrived in Phoenix at 5:30. The sharp morning sun was seeping through the airport windows and reflecting off the gated shops that were n
ot yet open for Monday morning business. Darren always loved being in the airport before the crowds arrived. It normally gave him a sense of peace, but he knew he would never have peace again until he got Lilly back safe and sound.

  He moved through the airport, still in a daze. But was snapped back to reality by the sight of an unusually tall woman with bright blonde hair, running at him in a pair of heels that even Lilly wouldn’t attempt to wear. An Asian man half her size ran after her holding a camera.

  Darren couldn’t believe this. The police had told him it was imperative that Lilly’s name was not released—not wanting to risk turning the abductor into a cornered animal if Lilly’s picture was splashed across the television and newspapers. But while the police were nowhere to be found, the press was moving in on him. Where was airport security when you need it? Probably frisking some eighty-year-old lady from Des Moines as if she were some suicide bomber.

  The woman almost knocked him over. She stuck a microphone in his face and spoke aggressively, albeit slightly out of breath, “Mr. McLaughlin—I’m Jessi Stafford of Channel-6 News. I can’t even imagine what you must be feeling right now.”

  What he was feeling was his guts being ripped out without an anesthetic. But he also felt anger towards this reporter for the threat she posed to his wife’s safety.

  “I think you have the wrong person,” he said as composed as possible, and kept walking.

  “You are Darren McLaughlin, correct?”

  “Never heard of him,” he said, looking for a sign of the police officers he was supposed to meet upon arrival.

  She held up a photo of Lilly. It was her school photo from South Chandler High, where she taught English. Unlike the camera-shy Darren, Lilly never took a bad photo. Even her driver’s license photo was magazine-worthy.

  He grabbed the photo away from her. “Don’t you understand that you’re putting Lilly’s life in danger by showing her picture!?”