Blessed are the Peacemakers Read online

  The newspaper building was more familiar than her own home. It held so many memories, but every ounce of her being wanted to turn the key in the ignition and race back to San Francisco.

  Last night as they hugged goodbye, her mother had suggested that Gabriella consider quitting her job. But she wasn’t ready to do that. At least not yet.

  It wasn’t about the money. Although Donovan’s salary had been meager and Gabriella’s leave was unpaid, she didn’t really need to work.

  The Saint wouldn’t allow them to pay any rent on the penthouse and their expenses were very low. However, if she quit her job as a reporter, as her mother had been begging her to do for years, Gabriella would lose her independence. Gone. Kaput.

  And she’d lose her identity. While being a mother was the most important and best job in the world, she needed more.

  Her editor, Matt Kellogg, needed to let her do this one last thing and then she could get back to her life as a reporter. Then this crawling feeling that made her want to run away would hopefully disappear.

  Gabriella made the sign of the cross. Please let Kellogg understand how important this was to her. He usually came in around nine. It was 9:30, so he should be there already. Gabriella watched as a few people filtered into the newsroom door. Nobody noticed her sitting in her car.

  Finally, she opened her car door.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  The newsroom grew silent as Gabriella entered. She headed straight toward Kellogg’s desk. She ignored the whispering and the few heads that popped up to watch her journey past features, sports, and into the metro section. She was worried if she made eye contact with any of her friends and colleagues, she would burst into tears.

  She stood at the side of Kellogg’s desk, waiting until he looked up.

  His smile stretched across his face and she blinked to keep the tears at bay.

  “The ace is back!”

  This would be harder than she thought.

  “Can we talk in the conference room for a minute?” She swallowed and looked away.

  A frown creased his brow. “Of course.” He stood, knocking some books over on his desk.

  On the way to the conference room, a few people greeted Gabriella. She tried to smile, but failed. They passed the librarian Liz who blew a kiss at Gabriella, but then when Liz saw Kellogg’s face she pouted. Gabriella gave her a weak smile.

  As soon as the door to the conference room closed, Kellogg leaned back against it.

  “You’re not handing in your notice. I refuse to accept it.”

  “I’m not quitting. But I need more time off. Two weeks. Maybe three.”

  Gabriella pretended not to notice that each time she brought up the trip to someone, the length of time she planned to be gone increased.

  He frowned. “Of course, I want to let you, but the big boss has already bitched about the leave I gave you. Nobody has ever received a two-month leave. May has been working your beat like a champ, but if you are gone any longer, she’s going to take it over permanently. You’ll get kicked to the night cops position. And just so you know, you guys may get along fine, but May is not your friend. She’s been vying for your job since she walked in this place years ago and she’s not ready to give up yet. In fact, I should tell you that this conversation—about her taking over your beat full-time—this is a conversation that May’s already had with the publisher. It would be hard for me to argue your side. She scooped the shit out of the Helzer’s story and the Dutton kidnapping case.”

  Gabriella nodded. She was prepared. She’d thought long and hard about how to handle it.

  “Give her my beat.”

  Kellogg raised an eyebrow and started to speak, but Gabriella raised her palm.

  “Hear me out. We both know she’s earned it. Make me an investigative reporter. I know you guys haven’t replaced Simmerman yet. I mean, God knows, nobody could truly replace him. But give me his beat. I’ve got the first story to pitch. About the Cartel filtering drugs here, right to the suburban homes in Pleasant Valley. I’m going to Central America to do the reporting. I’ll try to interview some of the minor players in the drug war. I’ll file a story every other day while I’m gone. And then at the end, have a Sunday spread about my project. You know I can do this.”

  “I don’t like what I’m hearing.” He crossed his arms across his chest.

  “What?” Gabriella ignored what he was implying.

  “As your editor, I think it’s a kick ass idea. As your friend, I think you are setting yourself up for more grief—and by my estimation, you’ve already had a lifetime’s worth of grief times ten. You are sabotaging the life you have. You are forgetting that you have a little girl who just lost her dad and now you’re going to leave her and go gallivanting around trying to interview drug lords. She doesn’t need to lose her mom now, too.”

  The tears she’d been holding back were now dripping down her cheeks.

  When he saw that, a look of horror spread across his face.

  “Fuck that came out wrong.” He leaned down and tried to hug her but she shrugged away, wiping at her tears with her sleeve.

  Being a reporter meant hearing harsh things from editors without being a wuss about it, but this one stung. “It’s okay. I know what you’re trying to say,” she said in a stuffed-up voice.

  “I’m sorry if I crossed the line there, but I’m not talking to you as your editor. I’m talking to you as your friend,” Kellogg said. “I’m worried about you.”

  Gabriella straightened up and met his eyes. “I know what I’m doing.”

  He waited a few seconds staring at her and then pressed his lips together tightly and nodded.

  “Fine. You got it,” he stood and held open the door. “I expect your first story filed in two weeks.”

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  The small plane bucked and weaved and sent a wave of nausea through Gabriella, but it couldn’t tamp down the excitement she felt seeing the roof of the jungle below her. For the first time in months she felt alive again. Instead of sitting around helplessly mourning her husband’s death, she was doing something.

  The crackle of the pilot’s voice in her headphones startled her.

  “Prepare for landing.”

  She gave her seatbelt an unnecessary tug and leaned back, rubbing the blue and silver image of the Virgin Mary on her miraculous medal—a superstitious gesture she made when she was nervous. The most dangerous part of the flight was before them. The pilot was going to attempt to land on a short dirt landing strip in a tiny clearing surrounded by the rainforest. A miscalculation could send them careening into the thick jungle canopy. If the plane crashed and she died, Grace would be an orphan. It would be too improbable for Grace to lose both her parents in Central American plane crashes. It would be too cruel.

  They’d taken off from Guatemala City forty-five minutes ago. Soon, the small clearing appeared below. It looked like a football field, not a landing strip, but within seconds the small plane had dipped and was whizzing by rusted cars and a small building on the side of the runway below. The plane was still rocking from side to side, as the pilot attempted to keep it level despite the wind.

  Gabriella peered out the window, not sure what she was looking for. This was where Donovan had landed when he first came to Central America. This was also where his last flight had taken off. Besides the tiny clearing before them, it was thick jungle for as far as she could see.

  Gazing out the window, Gabriella searched for ghostly trails of where Donovan had once been, imagining him in a plane like hers. Imagining him in this seat taking in the surroundings, a patch of cleared land smack in the middle of the jungle. She ached for any sign of his presence, lingering in the ether, even though she knew it was futile and a little ridiculous. Although she didn’t really believe Donovan left traces of himself behind, Gabriella couldn’t help but feel closer to him here, where he had been only days before his death.

  From this point on, her path would deviate from his. While his plane land
ed here simply to refuel before continuing its journey to another airstrip further inland and close to a top-secret DEA fortress, she would trace the plane’s path on the ground. It was the only way to access the ten-mile radius in the jungle surrounding the satellite coordinates showing where Donovan’s plane was last heard from.

  Letting go of the miraculous medal around her neck, she thought of Grace. She’d given her daughter an identical medal before she left the United States yesterday. Grace had rolled her eyes, something Gabriella pretended not to see. Her daughter was still angry—about their argument, but also plain angry at the world. The same way Gabriella was. Maria had promised to take Grace to her therapy sessions while Gabriella was gone. Hopefully, it would help and when Gabriella returned, things would be better. It broke her heart that she had caused Grace any more pain. Regret was not something Gabriella was used to feeling.

  She jolted back to the present when she realized the aircraft was only feet above the dirt landing strip.

  With a whisper light touch, the back wheels touched solid ground. A second later, the front wheels met the runway and the aircraft glided until it hit a patch of gravel, which signaled they had gone past the end of the runway. Gabriella clutched at the seat in front of her until the plane skidded to a stop only ten feet away from the thick trees of the jungle.

  “Sorry about that, mate.” The pilot’s Australian accent filled her headphones. “That tailwind got the best of me.” Gabriella looked up and saw the pilot smiling at her in the round rearview mirror. Instead of answering, she took off her headphones and gave him the thumbs up signal. He got her here in one piece. That was all that mattered.

  Gathering her large leather backpack and a small bag with her laptop and a power cord, she hopped out of the plane. She’d told Kellogg it looked like she wouldn’t be able to file as often as she’d promised. Since she would be so deep in the jungle, she’d take notes on her trip and then file a large Sunday story from the airport in two weeks.

  She wore black cargo pants, a black tank top, and hiking boots. She had bought three pairs of the pants, six of the tank tops and a lightweight jacket peppered with zippered pockets. Other than sunscreen, bug spray, and lip balm, the only toiletries she carried were soap, toothpaste, and a small first aid kit. She’d wash her hair with the soap and then put it back up in a ponytail. She was packing everything on her back. There was no room for anything except necessities.

  Besides, the way she looked was the furthest thing from her mind. It seemed a lifetime away that she had gone on an extravagant shopping spree— buying sexy lingerie, bikinis, and sundresses for her vacation to Jamaica with Donovan. The one that never happened.

  This trip she couldn’t even be bothered with tinted lip balm. This was not a vacation. She was here to find her husband’s dead body.

  CHAPTER NINE

  Her guide, Rafael, waited by a beat-up Jeep at the edge of the airstrip.

  “Miss Giovanni?” he asked, walking up and sticking out his hand. He was shorter than her five foot six inches but he was thick and strong with meaty arms and a barrel chest. His calves were all muscle below his shorts. He had a thin mustache and solemn black eyes.

  “Mrs.” She shook hands with him grimly, matching his tone. This wasn’t about making friends or charming the locals.

  “We will leave in five minutes,” he said. “There is a bathroom if you need it.” He pointed to the small building. Gabriella shook her head. They stood and watched the pilot taxi down the runway. It didn’t seem he would ever gain enough speed to become airborne. But somehow, he did and even managed to tip his hat to her and grin as he lifted into the air in front of them.

  She waited until the plane had cleared the trees before she tossed her bags into the backseat, tugged an Army green baseball cap low over her eyes and hopped into the passenger seat.

  Rafael smiled for the first time and revved the engine. “Vamos!”

  Gabriella nodded without taking her eyes off the windshield.

  He didn’t ask questions and Gabriella didn’t volunteer information. Because the senator arranged for Rafael to be her guide, Gabriella assumed this meant Rafael knew why she was here and what she wanted. He was to take her through the jungle to the spot where Donovan’s plane was last heard from. The ancient Mayan city of Uaxactun would serve as home base while she took day trips to search a ten-mile radius around the target location. DEA officials estimated that at that point in the flight, the plane would’ve reappeared on radar or satellite if it had made it past that ten-mile circle. Still, extensive searches of that area had yielded nothing. Gabriella didn’t understand. A part of her suspected that the DEA had claimed to search the area to appease the families of the victims, but truly had just written lost men off without even trying to find the bodies.

  As they drove deeper into the jungle, the trees formed an even thicker canopy above the dirt road, blocking out the sun. The sounds of the wildlife grew louder.

  Birds shrieking and whistling and then a sound of something fierce growling, like a large monster, the fierce roar echoing through the trees.

  “Good God, what the hell is that?” She shouted over the Jeep’s engine.

  Rafael laughed. “A Howler monkey.”

  “A monkey? You’re telling me that monster sound is a little monkey?”

  He nodded.

  Gabriella searched the branches above and the thick trees to the side, looking for some of the creatures making the strange noises, but they were so well camouflaged, all she saw was the lush greenery.

  The constant buzz of tiny insects made Gabriella grateful for the bug spray she’d lathered on at the airstrip. Even though they never landed on her body, the small gnats and some larger insects she didn’t recognize swarmed around her head. She was afraid if she said anything, she’d accidentally inhale a posse of them.

  Keeping her mouth closed, she scanned the jungle around her, awed by the lush tropical terrain.

  Even though it made her feel guilty, it felt exhilarating to be in a rainforest she’d only read about. It also felt good to finally do something about Donovan’s disappearance. She was still reluctant to say “his death.”

  Disappearance was less permanent. It appeared that small tendril of hope she nurtured that he had somehow survived the plane crash and was still somewhere in this jungle. It wasn’t so far-fetched.

  Unfolding the map that she’d marked up in San Francisco, Gabriella tried to locate where they were in their dense jungle. Somewhere between the airstrip and their first stop—a village where they would ask about Donovan and she’d pass out the fliers with his face and description. Consulting her crude map, Gabriella saw that it led inland, away from the coast.

  THE VILLAGE WAS ABOUT twenty miles from the airport, but because of the dirt road filled with car-sized potholes, it took them nearly an hour to get there. The “village” ended up being about half a dozen small huts lining the dirt road. Chickens roamed everywhere – on the tin metal roofs and all over the road. They had to stop and wait for the chickens to haphazardly wander off the road, oblivious to the Jeep. It was only when Rafael honked that they finally got out of the way.

  They parked next to a beat-up 1970 Ford truck. With the engine turned off, the jungle surrounding them was noisy with bird song and strange clicking and scrabbling noises she couldn’t identify.

  “Wait here,” Rafael said and headed toward the buildings. A few men sat in plastic chairs tucked under the eaves of the buildings out of the sun.

  Gabriella leaned against the hot metal side of the Jeep and watched Rafael approach one man on a nicer chair than the others. His chair was wicker with a plump flowered cushion. The man was squat and despite the heat wore a brightly colored embroidered poncho. A giant straw hat and sunglasses hid most of his face.

  While Gabriella watched, a clump of noisy chickens approached her, looking to be fed. She tried to ignore them but they kept getting closer, looking up at her every once in a while.

  When one of t
hem picked at the shoelace to her boot, she leaned down and hissed, “Go away” and waved her arms, but they ignored her. Finally, she nudged one of them with her foot and it went rushing away in a flurry of feathers and outraged squawking. The others soon followed, darting white-eyed glances at her as they left.

  The man in the poncho didn’t appear to say much from what Gabriella could see. He nodded a few times in response to whatever Rafael was saying and occasionally leaned over to expertly spit some chewing tobacco juice into an old-fashioned spittoon by his chair. When the chickens headed his way, he leaned down into a small tin can and spread seed for them to peck at near his feet. About a dozen chickens swarmed him, clucking loudly. He caught Gabriella’s eye and winked. She nodded back.

  The sun was high in the sky now and she could feel its warmth beating down on the top of her head even with her baseball cap on. Small beads of sweat dripped from her temples. Swarms of tiny insects circled her, but most seemed more interested in a small fire pit piled with food scraps. Finally, tired of standing and roasting in the sun, she crouched down by the Jeep in the dirt, squatting in a small patch of shade. The air was thick, heavy with moisture, pressing down on her, making it hard to breathe.

  The sound of a small plane made her look up. It looked like a private jet. She wondered where it had come from and where it was heading. It seemed out of place in this wilderness as it zoomed overhead. The old man in the wicker chair looked up, too, shading his eyes. Not taking his eyes off the sky, he said something in Spanish and then spit on the ground in disgust.

  Rafael looked up too and then shrugged. The man finally returned his gaze to Rafael and the conversation resumed.

  Finally, Gabriella saw Rafael thrust a wad of green bills at the man, who waved it away and gestured to a small boy who grabbed the money and ran.