The Panic Zone by Rick Mofina Page B

less than a year. Came to us through a temporary placement service, the Rio Sol Employment Agency. I hope this helps you understand our position.” Stinson stood. “And on behalf of the firm, our condolences for the loss your news organization suffered.”
    Gannon finished making notes and stood.
    â€œThank you. Yes, this helps.”
    â€œWe’re clear on quoting me then?” Stinson went to the door.
    â€œRight.” Gannon tucked his notebook in his jacket. “I’m curious, how did you come from Washington to be—” Gannon glanced at Stinson’s card “—special international counsel for this firm?”
    â€œMe?” Stinson smiled. “I’m from Connecticut—Hartford. I went to Yale, practiced in D.C. a lifetime ago. Dry government stuff, then I retired. Then my wife passed away. I couldn’t stand living alone. Submitted my CV to a globalheadhunting firm, got back into the game with a job here where the weather suits me. Coming from Buffalo, you’d know about winter weather.”
    Gannon stopped.
    Stinson smiled.
    â€œI checked you out online when we saw you on the Rio news channels. You used to write for the Buffalo Sentinel before you joined WPA. You were nominated for a Pulitzer. Interesting what you can find out about people on the Internet, don’t you think?”
    â€œYes.”
    Afterward, as he descended in the elevator, Gannon tapped his notebook to his leg trying to decide how much of what Stinson had told him was a twisted version of the truth and how much was a flat-out lie.
    In his taxi back to the bureau, he unfolded the blood-stained pages from the files Maria Santo had shown to Gabriela.
    There’s a story here, he told himself, looking off to the favelas blanketing the hillsides around Rio de Janeiro.

CHAPTER 15
    Big Cloud, Wyoming
    I t was not the same house.
    How could it be?
    Three days after Emma had left with Joe and Tyler for a picnic by the Grizzly Tooth River, she’d returned home without them. Their ranch-style bungalow stood empty in the Bluffs, a suburb at Big Cloud’s edge.
    Emma stared at it from the car.
    Aunt Marsha squeezed her hand and hugged her tight as Uncle Ned eased the airport rental into the driveway. They sat without speaking for a long time.
    â€œIt’s going to be hard, dear.” Her aunt smiled.
    Emma nodded.
    Uncle Ned fumbled with the house keys, the new ones he’d had cut at Gorten’s Hardware. Her aunt and uncle didn’t want her using the blood-speckled, scorched keys recovered from the SUV.
    The door opened and Emma caught her breath.
    A breeze tortured her with familiar smells: Joe’s cologne and Tyler’s sweetness. But they’re not here. She inched into the kitchen expecting the floor to collapse and drop her into a pit. She steadied herself.
    Their last moments together had been frozen in time.
    Here was Joe’s favorite coffee mug in the sink, the chipped one from Treeline Timber. He’d gulped one last cupbefore they’d left for the picnic. Emma traced its rim with her fingertips. And here was Tyler’s ring-toss game, the bright colored plastic donuts he’d played with before she’d bundled him up for the trip. Emma had piled the rings on the counter, on top of the flyer she’d pulled from their mailbox.
    She’d noted the sale on something they needed. She couldn’t remember what.
    How was she to know these would be the last moments of her happiness?
    Her hands were shaking.
    â€œEasy, honey.” Uncle Ned helped her to the sofa. Aunt Marsha got her a glass of water and pills rattling in a plastic bottle.
    â€œThe doctor said these would help, Emma.”
    â€œNo pills now.”
    Emma finished the water and sat motionless for a long time, listening to the clock ticking above the mantel, before she found herself walking through her home, room by room, expecting Joe and Tyler to be there.
    Wanting them to be