Pamela Tracy - The Missing Twin

“We know. It’s being rented by Judy Parker’s uncle. He thinks he’s helping.”

“Parker. They’re not married? Yesterday, I heard her say her name was Judy Rubio.”

“She’ll claim they’ve a common-law marriage, but such a thing isn’t recognized in Arizona. She’s been with him at least ten years. I know that because of their oldest son’s age.”

“They have children besides Billy?”

Salazar nodded, but said no more. Angela got the idea he didn’t enjoy talking about the Rubios. He returned to yesterday’s events. “Kidnapping’s serious, but I doubt that’s what the men will be charged with. Miguel will say they were friends wanting to take his boy for a ride and that neighbors got a little too involved. They’ll most likely be tried for attempted criminal homicide and aggravated assault.”

Angela nodded. “I’m surprised they shot the man in the garbage truck.” She studied Sheriff Salazar’s face, looking for any indication that he, too, was surprised that a forest ranger had been picking up trash in a garbage truck and wearing a shirt claiming his name was Albert.

“I was close enough for them to shoot,” Angela went on. “I got the sense that wasn’t their intent.”

Salazar didn’t so much as blink. “Adrenaline is a wicked conspirator. We suspect they were here to teach Miguel Rubio a lesson.”

If Miguel Rubio owed the wrong person money, it could get even uglier. She’d seen what man would do for the almighty dollar. “Maybe I should move to a different house in the area.”

“That might be a good idea. However, from what I’ve seen, once Rubio gets in trouble, he keeps his nose clean for a while.”

Angela nodded. She’d consider her next steps very carefully. “Will I be subpoenaed to testify?”

“I’ll do everything in my power to keep that from happening. It might be that Jake’s testimony is enough and that you can simply provide identification and a written statement.”

She leaned forward. Maybe she would finally find out what was going on. “Why was Jake Farraday pretending to be a garbage collector and why did the story not make the news?”

A shadow passed over the sheriff’s expression. “Albert is the regular, private, rural garbage collector. He’s an older gentleman who owns a lot of land in this area. He likes to keep it clean. Jake took over Albert’s route so he could keep a closer eye on the Rubios. In addition to owing people money, they might be involved in some illegal activities concerning wildlife.”

Sheriff Salazar made Angela add his direct number to her phone before he left, and Angela felt a tiny bit better. Funny after all these years of feeling panicked at dealing with cops, this one made her feel a little better.

She and Celia would stay. For now. The abduction had nothing to do with her. But, her involvement meant she needed to move quickly, find Marena and get out of here before someone decided to give her a second glance. It was time to visit Tucson, put a few belongings in a storage facility and plan for the worst.

She went inside, fetched her laptop, sat at the kitchen table and did some research on Jake Farraday. She found out he had never been married, had been a forest ranger for almost eleven years and used to be a cop.

Her first impression had been right.

He was someone to avoid, yet he’d saved Billy; his last words had been about saving her.

“Mom?”

Angela looked up at Celia’s voice. “Yes.”

“The little boy from next door is on our front yard. I think he wants you.”

“Is his mother with him?”

“No.”

Had it been Angela’s child in a near abduction, that kid would not be roaming alone outside.

She followed Celia out to the front. Billy stood in her driveway. Behind him she could see telltale skid marks smeared across the cul-de-sac’s roadway.

“Hi, honey.” She bent down so she was at his eye level. He was blond, a little grubby and had a great smile. He reached up and gave her a hug. Then he walked away.

“I don’t think he talks,” Celia said.

“Maybe he’s learned it’s best to keep quiet. He’s probably having to grow up pretty fast in that household.”

Already, Billy was at his front porch, climbing the steps and letting himself in, looking far too mature.

“How old do you think he is?” Angela asked.

“Maybe three or four.”

As the door slammed behind Billy Rubio, Angela remembered why she’d run for the Cadillac yesterday. She’d done it to save a life. It was exactly the reason she’d convinced her sister to go with her to the police all those years ago and turn their father in.

To save lives.

Heading back inside the cabin, she wondered how Jake Farraday was doing.

He, too, had saved a life.

CHAPTER FOUR

INTENSIVE CARE MEANT a tiny room, lots of equipment and few visitors. Jake’s parents had stayed the first two nights, both of them looking a little shell-shocked. “When you quit the police force, we thought we wouldn’t need to worry so much,” his mother had murmured.

Barely conscious, he hadn’t had the energy to reassure her. Even in a half daze, he’d been pretty sure she wouldn’t want to know that the two jobs had a lot in common.

Now, a few days later, out of intensive care and in a regular room, his parents were down in the cafeteria giving him privacy while Rafe Salazar talked with him.

But Rafe played second fiddle to the doctor. He’d already held a light up to Jake’s eyes three times. And, clearly, the man’s favorite toy was a handheld recorder. The doctor came in at least two or three times a day that Jake knew of and spoke just about the same words into the machine.

At first it had been, “Muscle damage is minor, mostly bruising, and no ribs appear to be broken.”

They felt broken.

The doctor continued to talk, spewing words like pericardioscentesis, pulmonary artery and penetrating chest injury. Best of all were the words no damage to vital organs.

The bullet hadn’t even hit bone.

It had been a few days since the shooting and he could now sit up very slowly with the help of the mechanisms that lifted the bed, do a thirty-minute turn from lying on his back to his side—complete with teeth gnashing and bad words—and finally walk to the bathroom, holding on to the nurse, who scolded him about the bad words. Now the doctor merely noted range of movement, breathing and how the wound looked. It was still a dozen shades of purple, black, green and blue.

It bothered Jake that the bullet was still inside him and it hurt like crazy every time they repacked the wound.

And every day the doctor prescribed rest.

Jake was alive and, thanks to good health, he’d be functioning in a few weeks and as good as new in a few months.

Thank you, God.

Jake also very much appreciated the Level 1 trauma center in Tucson.

The doctor spoke to Jake. “Don’t tire yourself out.”

“Did you get a look at the two men in the Cadillac?” Rafe asked the moment the doctor left. He opened his briefcase and took out a laptop, which he promptly turned on.

Jake groaned as he forced himself to sit up a few inches. He’d worked undercover in motorcycle gangs, drug gangs and had even pulled a stint in the Mexican mafia, but he’d never taken a bullet before. Nope, he’d had to become a forest ranger for that to happen. And he still had to answer to the police.

“Somewhat. They were both big. One was bald and neither smiled.”

“You just described half my deputies,” Rafe said. “But that matches what Angela Taylor saw.” As sheriff, Rafe was in charge of a county that covered two towns and a whole lot of rural area. He supervised six men and one woman.

“I wrote down part of the license plate number.”