“I will.”
“Will you be in church Sunday?”
She sighed and shook her head. “So I can yell at God in public? No, I think yelling at Him on the side of the road is enough for one week.”
He nodded, because he got it. “If you need anything, call me.”
“I’m sure you won’t be far away.”
“No, I won’t.”
He walked down the sidewalk to his car, pulling the keys out of his pocket as he went. He glanced back one last time before getting behind the wheel. Mia still stood in the doorway. She wouldn’t cry again. He knew Mia. She would walk it off. Or jog it off. And unless people who cared pushed, she wouldn’t talk about how much it hurt.
Her family would do that for her. They would push her to talk. And he’d patrol and make sure she stayed safe.
Chapter Two
By Saturday Mia was going stir-crazy. She needed to get out of the house. She needed information and no one had it. And she had definitely tried to get it. She’d called the DEA field office in Tulsa asking questions. Her supervisor had eventually called her back and told her to put her energy into getting better—he’d be the one finding out how Nolan Jacobs had gotten away with murdering one of their agents. Maybe Jacobs hadn’t pulled the trigger, but he’d been there. The order to kill had come from him.
She sat at the kitchen table, her laptop in front of her, her cell phone on vibrate. Who had sold them out? She started with a list of people who had been in on their assignment, one that had kept her on the outskirts of Oklahoma City for months when she would have preferred to be anywhere else.
They had lived in a roach-infested apartment, she and Butch. One bedroom, but he’d slept on the couch while they pretended to be husband and wife, small-time dealers wanting in on the big-time. When she left that apartment she’d left behind the clothes, the shoes, the makeup that Maria Vargas, her other identity, had worn.
Maria would have made Mia’s mom, Angie Cooper, blush. Maria had made Mia blush a few times. She shook her head, remembering the role she’d played. While in character, she’d looked for family who had lived in Oklahoma City. She’d searched bars and parties for a man who might have been her father. A man with no name but perhaps a tattoo with her mother’s name, or even hers.
She’d looked for Breezy and hoped, of all the people she searched for, she wouldn’t see her little sister in the crowd, thin from using, near death. She’d never spotted her sibling.
Without really thinking, she went online and put in the last known name of her little sister. Breezy Hernandez. They’d all had different fathers; Mia Jimenez, Juan Lopez and Breezy Hernandez. Juan was in jail for armed robbery and distribution of a controlled substance.
Breezy was the mystery. They’d given her to her paternal grandmother. Angie had learned that much all those years ago. But where they’d gone to—that was the big question. Breezy had disappeared.
The clock in the living room chimed the noon hour. Mia looked at the web page she’d brought up. More dead ends. She closed down her computer and walked to the fridge, to stare again at contents that did nothing for her. She hadn’t been hungry in forever.
Because of the burning question: Who had ratted them out? Who had given away information on other law enforcement officers? Who had taken the money and how had they framed Butch?
She closed the fridge and walked through the house. At the front door, she slipped her feet into flip-flops and shoved money into her pocket. If she didn’t have anything good for lunch, Vera at the Mad Cow Café would.
A patrol car eased past her house as she walked out the door. They had all the tact and finesse of boys cruising around on Friday night. Everyone knew what they were up to. And anyone watching Mia would know that the deputies cruised past her house every hour or so. But they cared. They were trying to protect her. In Tulsa they were doing the same for Butch’s wife, Tina.
If Nolan came after her, though, he’d know their routine. He’d know their cars. He’d catch her when everyone least expected it.
September air, cool and filled with the scent of drying grass and flowers, greeted her as she walked down the steps of her front porch. The fresh air pulled her back to the present and out of the dark thoughts that had plagued her all morning.
She waved at Mrs. Lucas across the street, one of the few neighbors on this end of Dawson Avenue. Avenue was a little overstated. The road led from the feed store to nowhere. There were a total of five houses, most with land. Mr. Gordon raised a few calves. Taylor Green raised sheep. Mrs. Lucas seemed to raise cats, and lots of them.
The cats could usually be found sunning themselves on her porch, and sometimes they moved across the street to Mia’s. Mia had never been fond of cats. But she did like Mrs. Lucas, so she didn’t complain. As long as the cats didn’t bother the birds Mia fed.
It was a short, five-minute walk to the Mad Cow. Mia took it easy, having learned her lesson from her jogging adventure a few days ago. Her arm had ached all night after that little escapade. She’d called her doctor and he’d lectured her about the damage she could have done. Lesson learned.
The parking lot of the Mad Cow was packed with farm trucks, cars and even a couple of tractors.
Mia walked up the sidewalk of the black-and-white-spotted building and someone opened the front door. She smiled at one of the local farmers and he pushed the door wide for her to enter.
“Mia Cooper, been a long time since you was in town. How’s that arm doing?” The farmer, Ben, toothpick in the corner of his mouth, smiled and let the door close with both of them inside.
“I’m good.” Mia glanced around the crowded diner. She regretted the impulsive decision to come here at noon. People were looking her way. A few whispered.
“Guess you’ll be around, getting better after that fall?”
She smiled and didn’t correct him on the assumption that she’d fallen. For years people thought she worked at an office in Tulsa and sometimes traveled.
“I’ll be around for a while.”
Ben pulled the toothpick from his mouth. “You ever think about doing a barrel-racing clinic? I’ve got a girl who would love to ride. Jackson even has a horse she’s interested in. Trouble is, I ain’t never been much of a hand with horses.”
Barrel-racing clinic?
“Well, I haven’t ever thought about it, Ben.”
“Well, if you do, you let me know. I can’t think of anyone better than a national champion to teach the girls around here.”
“Thanks, I’ll keep you posted.”
The toothpick went back in Ben’s mouth, as the conversation seemed to be over. Mia glanced around the crowded restaurant with the black-and-white-tile floors, old Formica-topped tables and booths with seats covered in black vinyl that always got hot and stuck to the back of a person’s legs. She loved this place. She remembered the first time she came here with the Coopers. It had been on a Sunday after church.
On that Sunday so long ago, for the first time in her life she hadn’t been hungry. That was a memory. She hadn’t been the one in charge of making sure everyone ate. She’d sat at the table between Jackson and Reese. Heather had been across from her, smiling, trying to get her to smile. She’d eaten fried chicken. Vera had given her ice cream.
She remembered being afraid that it would all end, that the state would come looking for her and drag her back to her old house. She remembered worrying that wherever Juan and Breezy were, they might not be getting fed, because she wasn’t there to care for them.
“Sis, over here.” She glanced to the back corner and