Читать книгу The Missing Twin - Pamela Tracy - Страница 12
ОглавлениеTO FIND HER SISTER, Angela Taylor needed to do what she’d spent the past ten years avoiding: become part of the crowd.
The Scorpion Ridge New Year’s celebration took place at the town’s animal habitat. It made sense, Angela acknowledged. Bridget’s Animal Adventure or “BAA for short,” as the cashier informed her, was number one in the things-to-do category on the town’s website.
“I love zoos,” Celia said.
They’d walked around zoos many an afternoon, wiling away hours while Angela had planned their future and tried to keep an active two-, three-, four-and all the way to ten-year-old happy. It had been a few years since they’d done this particular outing.
“Last time I asked if you wanted to go to the zoo, you told me no,” Angela observed.
“That’s because it got boring. This zoo is not boring.”
Angela could guess the difference. There were no moms walking around pushing strollers. This was obviously a party. While some visitors wore everyday attire—what Angela called “blending in clothes”—there were also people dressed to the nines and people in what looked like Mardi Gras costumes. And there were lots of teens.
The wistful look on Celia’s face said it all. She wanted to be part of the trio currently taking a ride on the back of a camel. She wanted to be standing next to the boy sharing his cotton candy with a girl.
All Angela wanted was to look in the faces of women roughly her own age, searching for Marena.
The zoo was awash in the Christmas lights not yet taken down. A gift shop was just inside the entrance. It was closed. Angela admired that. This town, this atmosphere, she could grow to love. The carousel spun slowly and Angela moved closer to get a look.
“It’s fairly new,” said a voice at her side.
Surprised, she stared up at the man she’d seen Friday at the Corner Diner.
Cop.
He couldn’t know who she was. Sheriff Salazar was the only one she had to report to, and there would be no need for him to share the information.
“The owner of this place, Luke Rittenhouse, dreamed of having a carousel. Last year his wife bought him one for his birthday. Me, I always get ties.”
“From your wife?” Angela didn’t know why she responded. Cops made her nervous. She’d spent almost a year and a half meeting their demands, trying to live up to their expectations, and feeling like a pawn.
“No, from my friends and family.”
“I think I’ll go for a ride,” Celia said. “It’s free.”
“Free? Are you sure?” Angela stood on her tiptoes and tried to see over the crowded line.
“Tonight everything but food is free. It’s a celebration.” He stuck out his hand. “I’m Jake Farraday. I’ve been looking forward to meeting you. You moved into the cabin on Jackrabbit and...”
Her knees buckled. “You know my address. Why?”
“That’s what I’m trying to tell you.” He remained calm, seemingly unaware of the panic he’d sparked in her belly. “I’m a forest ranger. I patrol the area you live in. I’m the one you call if you find a rattlesnake outside your back door or if a bobcat or bear comes too close.”
“Bear?” She hadn’t though of that.
“You’d be surprised how far into human territory they’ll venture on the quest for food.”
“You have a card, Jake Farraday?” she queried. He still had that cop look but maybe it was a stance shared by anyone who wore a uniform.
Not that he was in uniform tonight. Dark tennis shoes were topped by well-worn jeans, a white T-shirt and a brown jacket.
Her heart still beat fast and she wanted to blame it on her fear of being exposed. No way was she responding because he was a good-looking man with dark brown hair, cut short, thick enough to still be wavy.
“I do have a card.”
“I’m Angela Taylor. That’s my daughter. Celia.” She didn’t take her eyes off him. Seemingly unaware of her gaze, he pulled a card from his back pocket and handed it to her. “One of the things I wanted to warn you about—”
“Mom, come ride with me.” Celia, somehow, had made it onto the ride. She sat on a cream-and-red carousel horse and leaned over, saving the seat on the horse beside her. For the first time since the move, the smile on her face was relaxed and genuine.
“Excuse me,” Angela said. “Looks like it’s time to cowboy up.”
She hurried to the carousel, mounting a horse that would only take her in circles—no beginning, no end. Sort of like her current life. She didn’t have to look; she was very aware that Jake Farraday was watching her.
She always knew when someone was watching her.
Maybe this time it was okay.
More than okay.
Except she couldn’t shake the feeling that their meeting was no accident.
* * *
JAKE’S PART OF the Santa Catalina Mountains didn’t rate a visitor’s center. His vehicle was more or less his office, and if he needed something he either used his own cabin or drove to Sabino Canyon where they had an office.
When someone needed him, they usually called. But this early Monday morning, Rafe was waiting at the end of the driveway when Jake exited his cabin.
“Something happen?” Jake asked. “I still plan on trash collection. We’re getting close. I know—”
“It’s not about trash collection.” Rafe didn’t move, just stayed leaning against his SUV and watching the road. “Anything you want to tell me?” he finally asked.
“No.”
“Funny,” Rafe said. “I got a call this morning from a federal agent by the name of Buck Topher. That name mean anything to you?”
When Jake didn’t respond, Rafe continued. “I’m talking about ten years ago when you were a cop in Phoenix. You told me you quit because you endangered a civilian. I’ve never asked for details. Maybe you should tell me now.”
Jake hesitated. “Why? Why do you want to know?”
“Because, after the phone call I got this morning I did some background checking and your name popped up.”
“Angela Taylor.”
“Yes,” Rafe agreed. “I think I know why she’s here.”
“Not because of me.”
Rafe raised an eyebrow. “Convince me.”
It took only twenty minutes to tell the whole story. Ten years ago it had taken five hours, but then he’d been giving witness testimony with every detail being picked apart and double-checked.
After Jake finished, Rafe straightened. “Then, you’ll want to know this. The federal agent I spoke with this morning seems to think she’s here looking for her twin sister.”
“If her twin was here, I’d have recognized her,” Jake said. “Unless she came for those few months I worked at the Grand Canyon.”
Rafe frowned. “Maybe, but I’ve seen the photos of what the Erickson girls looked like before going into witness protection. The change is remarkable. I’m amazed you recognized Angela.”
Jake didn’t know how to respond. She no longer resembled that long-ago girl on the bus or her high school graduation photo. Maybe it was the fact that he’d never stopped going over her file, looking at her photos, any coverage he could find—dreaming of what he could have done differently.
“I don’t know why I recognized her, either. It was just something about the way she walked, the curve of her neck, the way she turned her head. Then, when I came in to see you, I knew she’d not been in asking mundane questions.”
“And you’re sure you’ve not had that gut feeling about anyone else this past year?”
“No, I’ve not seen her sister. But I’ve worked quite a bit out of town,” Jake reminded the sheriff. “Plus, wouldn’t her twin have checked in with you, too?”
“This long in the system, maybe she didn’t want to.” Rafe looked serious. “And maybe she had a reason to disappear.”
A reason to disappear.
Jake did the name assignments in his head. Ten years ago, Angela Taylor had been going by the assumed name of Hilary Clifton. Her real name was Marena Erickson.
Her sister, the one who was missing, was Sophia Erickson. Jake had never known her assumed names. Outside of that day on the bus, Jake hadn’t personally seen either of the twins. His impression, after reading about them, was that Marena was the easygoing twin while Sophia was the risk-taker.
He’d better start thinking of her as Angela because he didn’t want to compromise her cover again with a slip of the tongue.
Rafe continued. “According to Topher, Angela’s twin moved here sometime in the past year and went missing a few months ago.”
“And now Angela’s here looking for her.”
“I don’t like this,” Rafe said. “I don’t like this at all.”
Neither did Jake.
Didn’t matter. This time he’d do whatever he could to assist Angela and her sister. He owed them that.
“I think we both need to keep an eye out,” Rafe said. “I’m bringing you in on this because you patrol the area where she lives.”
Location, location, location.
“Right next to the Rubios.” Jake checked his watch. “Where I was due twenty minutes ago.”
Rafe nodded. “This shouldn’t interfere with you acting as a trash collector. If anything, it helps.”
Jake hoped Rafe wouldn’t ask him to go through her trash. No. He’d have to have a court order, and asking for one would bring unwanted attention.
“I’ll watch over her,” Jake promised. “But I don’t want her to know. She might refuse because of who I am.”
For a moment it didn’t look as though Rafe would agree. Finally he nodded. “For now.”
Thirty minutes later, nestled between trees and a dirt berm, perched high in the driver’s seat of his friend Albert’s garbage truck, Jake leaned forward and adjusted his binoculars. This section had three residents. Angela and her neighbor to the right lived in cabins. Directly across from Angela was a mobile home.
Unincorporated areas in Arizona, at least this neck of the woods, could mean trouble. Angela Taylor’s new neighborhood—a loose term—wasn’t just alive with wildlife. It also saw its fair share of illegal immigrants who crossed the border and traveled this area called a “corridor of choice.”
Now Jake’s job wasn’t just to bring down the Rubios but to keep Angela safe and possibly find her sister.
He wished he could have managed more than just a short conversation by the carousel. There were so many things he needed to warn her about.
Taking out his cell, he looked at the picture he’d taken: Angela and Celia on the carousel horses. Angela, long black hair fanning out, had looked right at him when he’d snapped the picture. All he’d captured was her face.
And what a face it was.
Strong cheekbones, sensuous lips and eyes that seemed to know what he was thinking.
She didn’t look anything like what he remembered. But, just like all those years ago on the bus, when the ride ended she’d disappeared.
He’d searched the rest of that evening and couldn’t find her. Figured. He had better luck with animals. If Angela were a deer he’d be able to guess how she’d behave and move across the landscape. Even better, he’d be able to follow her trail.
He wished she wasn’t home today. But there was her black Honda Accord parked in front of her house.
Besides introducing himself, he’d wanted to explain his role in keeping the area safe when they’d met on Sunday night. For the past few months, every two weeks, he collected the trash residents put outside.
“Sure, you can borrow my truck and pick up the trash for me,” Albert, whose job it was, had said when Jake offered.
What Jake hadn’t told his friend—and what he wouldn’t tell Angela—was why he needed to be the trash collector.
He wanted to go through the Rubios’s trash.
So far, the past two months, Jake hadn’t found so much as an empty Ephedrine box, acetone or even stained coffee filters stuffed in their bins. If they were using the cabin as a meth lab, they were doing a good job of hiding it.
Pulling down his baseball hat, he adjusted his binoculars and scanned the cul-de-sac again, focusing on the occupant of 522 Jackrabbit Road: Angela Taylor.
Jake, on behalf of the Game and Fish Department, was working with the police to put Miguel Rubio away. Unusual, yes, but in small towns, agencies often worked together. Miguel was both a suspected poacher and drug dealer, and he didn’t mind putting his family’s—and neighbors’—lives at risk.
Angela stepped out of the cabin and checked her watch. He was far enough away and off the beaten path that he knew she couldn’t see him.
He gritted his teeth, remembering his failure to act all those years ago on the number seventeen bus. He had allowed a twentysomething female to become the top news item of the hour, day, week, year, thanks to a video caught on a teenager’s Nokia N95 cell phone, thirty frames per second. Jake had been in his mid-twenties, idealistic and wet behind the ears. He’d believed in the cop’s creed: serve mankind, safeguard lives and property, protect the innocent. Because Marena’s likeness had been seared into his brain, Jake had supplied details about her appearance that the teenager’s video hadn’t captured, and Marena Erickson, who’d been in the witness protection program, had been identified.
That’s when Jake had confided in one of his peers, who’d turned out to be a crooked cop.
The situation had spiraled out of control and Marena had gotten hurt. It was a hard way to learn that loose lips sink ships.
Maybe Marena Erickson hadn’t been so innocent. He’d seen a photo of her and her sister at just sixteen, sitting in a bright red convertible in front of a mansion that could have housed most of the people that lived in this area. She’d had flowing blond hair, dark sunglasses and a look that said, “I’m all that and more.”
Her twin, Sophia, had sat beside her. She’d worn a baseball cap and no sunglasses. They were a lot alike but they weren’t identical; Sophia’s hair was a shade darker, her face tanned. She, too, had the “I’m all that and more” expression. The two of them had been brave, turning state’s evidence against Marena’s husband as well as their father. The convertible and mansion had been sold to pay for lawyer fees.
Jake closed his eyes, remembering. Just one day after the bus incident, Marena had been shot, left for dead. The attorney general’s office had whisked her, her sister and her daughter away so quickly that Jake felt as if he’d been left standing on the edge of a crumbling cliff.
One he’d created.
Internal Affairs had nailed the cop Jake had spoken to. Jake had finished his current assignment and then, because he couldn’t trust himself, he’d turned in his badge.
He’d been unable to erase the face of a mother protecting her child while he’d sat there doing nothing.
And now here she was, renting an old cabin. Angela had planted something in the dirt in front. From a distance it looked like shrubs. The curtains were new and colorful. Two bright red outdoor chairs sat in the yard.
Jake had thought protecting forests would be a way to give back but not endanger anyone. He’d been wrong. There were just as many criminals in the wilderness as there were in the city. More, maybe.
Like the Rubio family.
Miguel Rubio had returned home just this morning after being gone two full days. According to Rafe, the man had been with another woman in Adobe Ridge, a small town not even an hour away. Jake wondered if Judy, the mother of his children, knew. She’d not left the house in two days, not even to let her little boy play in the sun.
Come to think of it, Jake had never seen Billy playing out front.
Jake really should be watching the Rubio cabin instead of Angela’s, wondering how, of all places, she’d found her way to his turf.
Angela Taylor. He needed to think of her as Angela Taylor.
Witness protection usually worked and, by all accounts, Angela had followed protocol. She’d eliminated contact with all family and friends, and she and her twin sister had made a totally new life.
They’d chosen a lifestyle completely different from the one in their previous lives and memorized personal histories with nothing personal about them. Marena had changed her appearance and lived as a single young mother who never dated and whose consistent was taking martial arts classes.
And now she’d changed it again. Her hair was straight, no bangs, and it cascaded down her shoulders. She wore little or no makeup. An emerald-green cowl circled her neck. She was probably an inch shorter than he was.
He knew her story by heart. Still dreamed it.
He’d blown their cover.
Guilt had him gripping the binoculars tighter. Luckily, watching her, he could tell she didn’t even limp. Amazing what a prosthetic leg could do. His fault, though. All his fault.
That fateful day she’d gotten off work and picked up her two-year-old daughter from day care. She’d been riding the bus home, completely innocent, not doing anything foolish.
Until the meth-head had reached for her daughter.
When they’d crossed paths, Jake was an idealistic undercover police officer living the life of a high school gang member.
Today, halfway through his thirties, he still carried a gun—only one—but the emblem on his shirt identified him as a forest ranger instead of a cop. Lately he wasn’t sure if he could save people from themselves. His main job was to give directions, check permits and to grouse at hikers who thought it sane to enter his wilderness without alerting anyone of their whereabouts.
Speaking of whereabouts...
He scanned the area. Angela had finished preparing her trash for pickup and was now uncovering her bougainvillea bushes. Unaware she was being watched, she did a little skip dance.
“Go back in,” he whispered. Please.
Years ago Miguel Rubio had run a meth lab. Jake remembered that bust. The Rubios had lost two children to foster care. Jake didn’t know if they’d tried to reclaim them. Billy had been born after Miguel got out of prison and returned to Judy. He should be taken away, too. But “just cause” hadn’t been proved. Jake was only a forest ranger in a garbage truck, but he was hoping to stumble on evidence he could take to court.
The Rubios seldom came out front. They lived their life clustered inside or out back where only a low-flying plane or someone trespassing on foot could witness their activities. For the past two weeks their broadband activity had tripled. Something was going on. A police officer in Adobe Hills, a nearby community, had first alerted Jake. Hikers had watched two men load a dead bear into the back of a pickup. That was three weeks ago. With the right permits, that wasn’t a problem, but it wasn’t bear season. Jake’s best friend, Luke Rittenhouse, had called four days later. A tourist family from Idaho had found a baby bear in Jake’s wilderness area and had brought it to Bridget’s Animal Adventure.
“These weren’t clueless tourists,” Luke had said. “They observed the bear for a long time and realized it was alone and helpless.”
The door to the mobile home opened and the child, Billy, walked out and went down the five steps to the yard. He held a small, stuffed giraffe and turned to see if anyone had followed. He was so very small for four.
Jake watched as Judy Rubio, standing at the door, pulled her cell phone from her purse and talked into it. The expression on her face was haunted. Maybe she did know where Miguel had been the past few days.
Assured that his mother was nearby, Billy started running, stumbling a bit, but clearly happy to be outdoors and free.
Alert, Angela stopped what she was doing. Wise woman, Jake thought. She walked up the path to her cabin. She probably knew better than to get involved with neighbors, and she certainly wouldn’t want them to be curious about her, either.
A poacher could make about four hundred and fifty dollars selling black-market bear parts. The price on Angela’s head was equal to about a thousand bears. Neither Judy nor Miguel Rubio would hesitate.
About ready to head for the road, Jake started to set his binoculars on the seat just as he noticed a dark blue Cadillac pass in front of his truck.
A Cadillac? Here? He put the binoculars back to his eyes. Mud on the license plate covered part of the numbers. Jake could only make out JD2.
Billy was all the way to the road. His mother still stood half in and half out of the door. She glanced at the road, probably because she’d heard the car, and then dropped the phone into her purse. She didn’t move.
“Billy, get back here!” she called.
Angela paused at the steps leading up to her cabin.
Jake looked back at the Cadillac. Billy was heading for the passenger-side door. Jake could see a puppy’s head sticking out the window, and he watched as Billy reached for the animal.
Stranger Danger paled when faced with the allure of a puppy, especially to a little boy.
Then, the puppy disappeared back into the car.
Jake dropped his binoculars, started the engine and drove the garbage truck their way. Billy’s mother stood on her porch shouting at the Cadillac.
Unbidden, the rhyme about “sticks and stones may break my bones, but names will never hurt me” popped into Jake’s mind. What kind of mother would just stand there?
Angela didn’t hesitate. With unbelievable speed she crossed her yard and was at the edge of the cul-de-sac before Billy’s mother could take a breath between curse words. At that exact moment the Caddie’s passenger grabbed Billy, yanked the boy up and began pulling him through the window. Billy’s legs were starting to disappear into the car.
Jake turned into their cul-de-sac. Angela leaped, Tarzan-style, and managed to snag Billy’s left foot. And her with one leg! She somehow managed to edge the boy out of the car a few inches.
Briefly.
His shoe came off, sending Angela tumbling to the ground and freeing the vehicle to execute a doughnut, complete with burning rubber, before coming face to face with Jake’s garbage truck. Blocking their way.
The car paused momentarily then headed for the third neighbor’s dirt lawn.
Angela’s feet didn’t seem to touch the ground as she rounded the garbage truck. She grabbed the Cadillac’s back passenger-door handle, her black hair flying behind her, and yanked.
It was locked.
“Hit the ground!” Jake shouted to her as he exited his truck and ran toward the Cadillac.
The vehicle slowed; Angela held on with one hand while frantically trying to get hold of the front passenger-side door with the other.
One thing about the kidnappers was clear. They were definitely after Billy but not willing to risk Angela’s life.
“Hit the ground now!” Jake shouted, stopping right next to the Cadillac.
Angela hit the ground, rolled out of Jake’s way and then jumped back up. The front passenger’s mouth opened to a silent “Oh.” Jake couldn’t see the driver, but the driver must have seen him. The engine only had time to rev once.
Jake shot the back tire and made it to the side door. Billy’s legs were still hanging out the window; one shoe on, one shoe off.
The kid was screaming.
The driver had a gun but couldn’t find his shot with Billy in the way.
Billy, however, wasn’t being raised by the Cleavers. Survival was instinctive. The moment his shocked captor loosened his grip he pushed himself out the window.
Angela jumped up, lunged Billy’s way and caught him. Both of them hit the ground hard and rolled away from the car even as the driver finally found his mark and pulled the trigger.
Instinctively, Jake lunged for cover behind the Rubios’s garbage container. The bullet went through it and struck Jake in the chest.
