The desert didn’t just go quiet. It swallowed her. One weekend, the familiar tap of Nancy Guthrie’s cane stopped echoing through the Tucson foothills—and in its place came helicopters, flashing lights, and a single, terrifying word: abduction. Forced entry. Federal agents. A daughter in anguish on national TV. A neighborhood that no longer sleeps, staring at the darkened house and wondering wh… Continues…