“The Corzines said you found papers about your adoption,” I said. “You weren’t adopted. You were taken from us.”
“What?” Her voice was high-pitched. A little hysterical. “What are you talking about?”
There was no roadmap for this conversation. There were no guidelines. I was afraid of saying the wrong thing, but more afraid to say nothing. I knew she might’ve blocked out whatever had happened to her. I knew it might be hard for her to recall and that maybe she couldn’t. But I also knew we’d spent years trying to get her back and now we had her on the phone and it felt like we could reach out and touch her.
“You weren’t adopted,” I repeated. “You were taken from us. And you may not remember all of it. We still aren’t sure what happened. And right now, it doesn’t matter. What matters is making sure you are safe. We want to help you.”
Anchor again spun his finger in the air, encouraging us to keep her on the line.
“Can you tell us where you are?” I asked. “You shouldn’t be alone out here. We can get you to a hotel. We don’t want to…”
“I was taken from you?” she asked and it sounded like she was crying.
My fingers dug into my thigh. “Yes. From our front yard. Almost ten years ago.”
“Was it here? In California?”
“Yes.”
The line buzzed and I felt like I couldn’t catch my breath.
“I thought something happened to you,” she said, her voice breaking. “Or that you gave me away.”
Tears raced down my face and I steadied myself against the car door. “We didn’t, Elizabeth. We didn’t. We wouldn’t. I’ve spent the entire time looking for you. The entire time.”
“I thought you gave me away,” she said again, the words ragged.
“We didn’t. I promise you, we didn’t.”
“I called Morgan,” she said, ignoring what I was telling her. “Why did you answer? You said you were here in California. But she’s in Colorado. How did you answer her phone?”
“We didn’t,” I said, frustrated that I couldn’t give her answers to assure her. “The call was forwarded. Let us come to you. I swear we can explain everything. Let us come get you. We’ll come right now.”
She didn’t say anything. Lauren’s head was thrown back against the head rest, her bottom lip tucked into her mouth, her body shaking as she cried.
“This is…it’s too much,” Elizabeth said.
“Elizabeth, if…”
“My name’s Ellie,” she said, and for the first time I heard anger.
But I couldn’t call her that. It wasn’t the name I’d given her. It had been given to her by people who had ripped her out of our lives. I couldn’t get it to come out of my mouth.
“Just tell us where you are,” I said. “We can take you back to Minneapolis if you want. Whatever you want. But you can’t be out here alone. Let us help you. Please.”
“No,” she said. “No.”
The line went dead.
THIRTY-ONE
“We didn’t get an exact location,” Anchor said.
Lauren and I were sitting there, neither of us moving, both of us still in different stages of shock. At least I was. I couldn’t say for certain for Lauren, but looking at her, her eyes staring straight ahead, her shoulders slumped over, a numb expression on her face, told me we were in similar spots.
Having her hang up might have been the most excruciating moment I’d experienced since the actual day she’d been taken. Like she’d been given back to me, then taken away again. I’d expected her to be confused and wary, but I think that I was convinced I could persuade her to let us come to her. As if there’d be some magical connection between us that would allow her to trust me and all would go back to normal.
Not so much.
“The signal is coming from an area about an hour south of us,” Anchor said, glancing back at his phone. “Sixty miles or so. South Orange County, maybe moving toward San Diego.”
I nodded, if for no other reason than to acknowledge that I hear him.
“You call back, she might answer,” he said.
“She won’t.”
“You don’t wanna try?”
I picked my phone up off my thigh and hit redial. It immediately went to voicemail. I dialed it again and it did the same thing.
I laid it back down on my thigh. “She won’t answer.”
Anchor nodded. “What do you want to do?”
What did I want to do? Quit. Give up. She was never coming back to me. I didn’t want to have my heart ripped out again. She didn’t want to see us. She didn’t believe us. It had all been for naught and maybe doing anything else was just going to make it worse.
But I’d vowed to not quit until I found her, one way or another, and while having her hang up on us was brutal, I didn’t want that to be my last memory of her or the last time I heard her voice. If she really didn’t want anything to do with me, she could tell me to my face.
“Let’s go,” I said. “To wherever the signal is. We’ll just keep following.”
Anchor nodded and started to say something, but Kitting reached over and tapped his arm. Anchor looked at him and Kitting held his phone out. Anchor took it from him and studied the screen for a moment.
Anchor turned and offered Kitting’s phone to me over the seat. “You should see this.”
I stared at him blankly.
He gestured with the phone.
I took it from him.
The screen was open to a news alert. An AMBER Alert.
For Ellie Corzine aka Elizabeth Tyler.
I squeezed the phone tighter.
The alert gave skeleton details on her initial disappearance years ago and focused on the fact that she had been spotted in Los Angeles, specifically LAX. It was active in every Southern California county. Her old photo was attached, along with a more recent photograph, one of her in front of a Christmas tree. My stomach clenched. Anyone spotting her or having information was encouraged to contact the Coronado Police Department, the reporting agency.
“What?” Lauren asked.
“Bazer,” I said through gritted teeth. I handed her the phone.
She stared at it, then looked at me. “Maybe this is good. Maybe this is what we should’ve done before. More eyes and more resources.”
I shook my head and turned to the window. “No.”
“Why not?” she asked. “She hung up on us. We might as well be four states away.”
I laughed and shook my head. “No.”
“Joe? Why not?”
“Because every goddamn law enforcement agency, every goddamn loser home watching TV tonight, every single goddamn person that sees or hears this is now looking for her. And guess what?” I said, looking around the car at each of them. “They aren’t fucking calling us. They’re calling Bazer.”
Anchor and Kitting were stoic in the front seat, showing nothing in their expressions.
Lauren just looked at me like she had no idea what I was talking about. “Yeah. More eyes. More help. We know she’s here. This helps, doesn’t it?”
My phone rang.
I looked down at my leg.
Mike Lorenzo.
I laughed again. Perfect. Just perfect.
I held the phone up for her. “It’s Mike.”
She looked at me like I was crazy. “So? Answer it?”
“Don’t you get it?” I said, my voice rising. “She’s in more danger now. More than ever.”
The phone continued to ring, sounding louder than normal in the interior of the car.
“If I’m right,” I said. “If I’m right about Mike and or Bazer? If they were involved in taking her? Then guess what? They’re looking for her, too. And if they find her first?” I held up the phone and thrust it in her face. “Then she’s in more danger now than ever before.”
THIRTY-TWO
“Answer it,” Anchor said. “Let’s see what we’re dealing with.”
“What?” I asked, raising an eyebrow. “I already know what I’m dealing with.”
“Just answer,” he said. “Let’s figure out the what-ifs afterward.”
I shook my head, doubtful that I’d ever see my daughter again.
“Just do it, Joe,” Lauren said.