Pamela Tracy - The Missing Twin

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.

CHAPTER THREE

ANGELA’S EVERY INSTINCT screamed run. Run now!

The driver of the Cadillac obviously listened to the same screaming instinct. With screeching tires, one very flat, it tore up the dirt in the mobile home’s yard. Next, it hit the right rear bumper of the neighbor’s old blue truck as well as the side of the garbage truck before it hobbled away from the scene of the crime. The driver obviously needed the thick glasses he wore, she thought in passing. The two men inside didn’t bother with a backward glance.

“Mom. Mom. Mom.” Billy ran to his mother, who was still on the porch. She hadn’t moved since the whole thing began.

Great, Angela had no choice. The man had been trying to help and may have been shot because...

Angela didn’t want to think about why.

Blood was slowly spreading across the garbage man’s shirt. The embroidered white name badge read Albert; the look in the man’s eyes read Pain.

It was Jake Farraday from Sunday night.

“Pain is good,” Angela assured him. “It’s when you don’t feel anything that you have to worry.”

He didn’t look convinced.

As if to prove his point, blood stained his name badge red. His lips moved and Angela caught the merest whisper of, “I’m sorry.”

“Nothing to be sorry about. You saved the little boy. Take it easy.” She unbuttoned his shirt and saw a neat hole, nothing huge, on the right side of his chest just below the nipple. Using the shirt, she pressed it against the hole to stop the bleeding.

“Is he going to die?” Billy’s mother asked from the porch.

What was wrong with the woman? How could she just stand there? This man had saved her son’s life!

“No,” Angela said quickly as she scooted closer to the man. She wished she knew what else to do. She shouted to Billy’s mother, “Did you call 9-1-1?”

The woman looked around as if afraid someone would overhear before answering, “Nine-one-one doesn’t work out here.”

“Then call the police or fire station or something! Don’t just stand there! This man just saved your little boy.”

The woman took Billy by the arm and tucked him beside her. “I’m sorry. I can’t get involved. This was all a big misunderstanding. Please...”