Rafe turned away from his computer, completely nonplussed. “What?”
“The woman who just left your office. Who is she?”
“New to town. Your neck of the woods. Name’s Angela Taylor.”
“My neck of the woods?” Jake repeated. “You’re kidding. She lives in the unincorporated community between here and Adobe Hills?”
“Yup,” Rafe replied.
As a forest ranger, Jake’s territory covered a good-sized section of the Santa Catalina Mountain wilderness area. Part of it was a ten-mile strip of homestead land peppered with about thirty inhabitants, mostly owners but a few renters, and the Bad Bear Inn, a rustic local icon that boasted a small restaurant and five cabins.
“Where?”
“Next door to the Rubios.”
Jake wanted to kick something. He was here to see the sheriff because of the Rubios. The forest service and local law enforcement had teamed up for a joint investigation into the family’s criminal activities. But this could change everything.
“I’ll talk to you later,” he muttered, and turned to follow Angela Taylor. He moved quickly and got to the front door in time to see her talking to a young girl as together they entered the grocery store in Scorpion Ridge, Arizona.
He did the math.
If his hunch was right, last time he’d seen the woman, her little girl had been a toddler. Now, the pudgy child had turned into a willowy young teen.
Jake couldn’t take another step, so he stood, looking down the street, feeling the winter sun beat down on the top of his forehead and trying to catch his breath. He needed to focus on his small town, his people. He was making a difference here, doing good.
If he was correct, and he was seldom wrong when it came to recognizing faces, he’d wronged this woman.
A decade ago her name hadn’t been Angela Taylor. She had been living under witness protection as Hilary Clifton. And he’d helped blow her cover.
Was it her? No, not possible. He’d stared at photos of her and her twin sister until they were seared onto his brain and plagued his dreams. Yet, both were masters of disguise thanks to their circumstances. No way should he be able to recognize one so easily.
Yet, his gut said it was her.
Someone bumped into him, shaking him from his reverie. He headed back into the station to find out what he could. This time he wouldn’t mess things up for her, not if he could help it. He’d make keeping her safe a priority, especially since she lived next to the Rubios.
“What was that all about?” Rafe asked when Jake plopped into the chair in front of his desk.
“I thought I knew her. What can you tell me about her?”
“Seems like a nice girl.” Rafe spoke casually but Jake knew the sheriff, had worked alongside the man for more than a decade. Rafe was holding something back. And he was one of the few people who knew Jake used to be a cop.
“Why was she here?”
“She was asking me questions that she probably should have asked you,” Rafe said easily. “She wanted to know if it was legal for her to shoot a javelina if it tried to attack her cat.”
“You did tell her to keep her cat inside.”
“I did.”
“When did she move here?” Jake couldn’t believe he’d missed her arrival. He usually knew the comings and goings of the people who lived in his territory. The faux wood, two-bedroom cabin next to the Rubios had been empty for six months because the landlord wasn’t willing to clean it up after the former tenants had trashed it. Prospective renters took one look and that was that.
“Apparently, she moved in two days ago,” Rafe said. “I planned to call and tell you later on today. She sure caught your attention, though. Anything I should know?”
There was a whole lot Rafe should know, but it wasn’t Jake’s story to tell. He was pretty sure Angela Taylor hadn’t really been concerned about gun control and cat issues. She’d been here because being in the witness protection program meant contacting the local law authority after you moved to a new region.
No way did Jake want to admit that, in a roundabout way, she was the reason he’d stopped being a cop and he was the reason she’d been shot and left for dead.
* * *
“I HATE IT HERE,” Celia complained. “There’s nothing to do. I’m bored.”
Angela looked around small-town Scorpion Ridge, Arizona, as she followed the twelve-year-old into the Corner Diner. “There’s a New Year’s Eve party Sunday night. We could go.”
“I don’t even know one person.”
“You know me.”
Celia gave Angela the kind of annoyed stare that only an almost teenager could produce. “I mean my age.”
“Maybe we’ll meet a few people. This town isn’t huge. We can go to church Sunday morning. There might be kids your age there.”
Angela had started attending church after going into the witness protection program. In her other life, as Sophia Erickson, she’d never so much as darkened a church’s door.
“There’s no mall,” Celia complained grumpily.
A hostess, carrying menus, hurried past other diners, greeted them and tried to sit them at a table in the middle of the room. Instead, Angela pointed to a side booth and sat where she could see both the door to the kitchen and the door to the outside.
Had her sister done the same thing? Had Marena eaten here?
A prickle started at the back of Angela’s neck. She’d fought hard to get to Scorpion Ridge, defying Buck Topher, the federal agent assigned to her, walking away from a nice house and a good job, and bringing with her a preteen who resented leaving her friends again.
A young waitress, balancing two loaded plates, stopped by their table. “What would you like to drink?” she asked. It was a few days after Christmas and the place was full.
Celia gave Angela a defiant look and ordered a soda.
Angela usually said no to soda. But today? Today all she could think about was her twin sister. “I’ll take an iced tea.”
The sense of misgiving she’d carried for the past few months concerning Marena—or Lorraine, as she was called during the once-a-month phone calls—wouldn’t go away. Her fears had escalated until a week ago; Angela had cooked dinner, a buttery shrimp dish that Celia had turned her nose up at, but she couldn’t shake the feeling that something was wrong. After dinner, while Celia did her homework, Angela had pretended to watch television. Instead she’d decided that within the week she’d be looking for her twin.
Angela always knew when something was amiss with Marena.
“Maybe I could get a job here? I’d like to earn some money.” Celia’s words jerked Angela back to the present. Her niece was smiling at a teenage boy across the room. He turned red and spilled his water.
Angela used to have that effect on guys. Now she practically had Hands Off tattooed on her forehead.
“You have to be at least fourteen, and I think we need to see how school goes first.” They’d moved six times in the past decade, lived in five different states. This was their second time in Arizona. They’d not had a stellar experience the last time.
“I hope it’s bigger than my last school,” Celia said. “Only twenty kids in my grade. That sucked.”
Angela didn’t blame Celia for wanting to be with kids her own age. Being in witness