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I sighed and glanced back at Mickey who was suddenly very interested in our conversation. “Pippa,” I began gently to keep the pregnant woman from freaking out. “She’s not hurt as far as I know, and that’s all you get.”
That seemed to satisfy her for the few minutes it took to get to the newspaper offices. GG was inside Lacey’s old office, bent over the layout table with a critical eye. “GG.”
He looked up at me and then Pippa, and then Mickey. GG’s spine stiffened and his gaze bounced over all three of us half a dozen times before a frown darkened his face. “What are you lot doing here? What’s going on? Is it Ryan? Roman? Derek?”
My sad expression turned to anger, and I glared down at the stubborn old man. “How about your daughter GG, are you concerned about her at all?”
GG stood a little taller, and when he spoke his tone was filled with disbelief. “What the hell is wrong with Lacey?”
I took a deep breath and let it out slowly, hardly able to believe the words that were about to come out of my mouth. “Lacey and a cameraman, Carlton, were interviewing the opposition leader a few hours ago outside Caracas. During the interview gunfire erupted and Lacey and Carlton were forced to flee into the national park with Umberto Garcia and his security detail.”
“No,” Pippa’s hand flew to her mouth. “Seriously?”
I nodded, my expression grave as I said the words aloud. “Right now, we don’t know who exactly was behind the gunfire, but the likely culprit is the current President. It’s been thirty-six hours since they checked in with anyone.”
GG’s shoulders fell and he sank onto a nearby stool. “Shit, not my baby girl.”
“Shit’s a bad word,” Mickey whispered with awe.
“Yeah it is,” GG growled and pointed a finger at Mickey. “You should only say it in times like this when your little girl is missing in a foreign country.”
Mickey frowned and went to GG, patting his knee. “It’s okay, Miss Lacey is strong. She opened a jar once without any help from anyone, not even Grandpa.” He whispered the words like they were a state secret, pulling a rough laugh from the old man.
“Thanks Mickey, you’re right. She is strong. And brave.”
“They might just be out of range,” I assured everyone, including myself. “Hiding until the shooting stops.”
“Or they could be lying dead in the jungle somewhere. Injured and mangled, hoping for help that never comes.”
“Don’t be mean mister.” Mickey glared up at GG, a move that might have intimidated the old man from any male older than six years.
“There’s no reason to think that yet, GG. If things weren’t so up in the air, we would have heard. If nothing else, Venezuelan news sources would report on Garcia’s demise. No news is hopeful news, so for now, let’s all focus on that.”
GG shook as his anger built. “This is your fault,” he aimed a shaky finger right in my direction. “If not for you, she wouldn’t have been so gung ho to run off, head first into danger.”
I laughed. “Shows how much you know your daughter, old man. If you’d respect her more this might all be nothing more than a dream, one she’s always had I might add.”
GG scowled, disbelief written all over his face before he turned to Pippa, who gave a confirming nod as she stepped between the two of us and reached for Mickey’s hand. “You two can take up this pissing contest later, right now we need to focus on Lacey and Carlton, sending them good vibes.”
Mickey tugged on Pippa’s hand, and she smiled down at my grandson. “What’s a pissing contest Miss Pippa?”
She barked out a laugh. “It’s when two men argue unnecessarily about something neither of them can change, placing the blame on the other to relieve them both of guilt.”
“Oh. Okay.”
There was one other matter, and given my lack of skills as a father, I turned to Pippa. “Does Stevie need to know yet?”
“No. I don’t want her to worry unless we know something definitively, or it ends up on television.”
“How in the hell are we going to find out anything definitive?” GG growled at Pippa. “She’s thousands of miles away, and no one knows where she is.”
Pippa pointed an accusing finger at GG. “Stop it. Right now, GG.”
The two bickered like old friends and I pulled out my phone as a thought occurred to me. I checked Lacey’s website to see if she’d been able to upload anything that she was unable to publish. “Whoa, wait! Shut up,” I told them, voice elevated over their shouts. “A story just published to her site not even ten minutes ago.
It was Lacey in the back of a windowless van, a man armed with an automatic rifle sat behind the driver as the vehicle bounced over uneven terrain.
