Miguel dealing fifteen years ago?” Jake asked.
“We thought of that angle but Ted’s been renting the mobile home for ten years. No way he could have predicted the Rubios would move there just a year ago.” Rafe continued through about thirty photos, not just of Angela and Ted but of the cul-de-sac’s skid marks and the tire tracks across Ted’s yard.
Jake had to force his eyes to stay open. “Where’s Judy Parker? She’s not in any of these photos.”
Rafe shook his head. “According to both Ted and Angela, she never left her porch.”
“Think she knew it was me and not just some garbage man?”
“That’s the only good thing about her hanging back. She never got close enough to see your face, and we’ve worked hard to keep it out of the papers. Right now, I think she and Miguel are clueless. They don’t even know Albert’s involved.”
“They’ve always been clueless,” Jake agreed. “What about Angela? How will we keep her in the dark?”
Rafe hesitated, then said, “We’re not going to. I spoke with her already, told her I knew why she was here. She wasn’t exactly happy with her federal agent, and she has no idea there’s a connection between the two of you. Ted also recognized you. I told both of them you were involved in some undercover work. Neither was surprised. I answered their questions without going into detail. Thank goodness, Ms. Parker stayed on the porch, but I still think your garbage-collecting days are done. My guess is the Rubios will be lying low, not doing anything illegal. They’ll feel vulnerable, especially Judy.”
“Is Angela...?” Jake rethought the question. “Are Angela and Ted in any danger?”
“I don’t think so. Neither of the Rubios has so much as said thank-you to Ted or Angela. Ted’s not leaving his house. Angela’s a little wary, which makes sense. She’s barely settled in and this happens. I’m hoping that she’ll only need to give a deposition instead of personally testifying.”
“Good. That will help keep her safe.” If it wasn’t for the pain, Jake would scream because he couldn’t do anything to help while bedridden. How long would it be before he could walk again, work again, protect again?
“Anything you want to tell me?” Rafe said. “You’re usually not this quiet. I’m starting to think the doc was right, and I need to let you rest.”
“Nothing to tell.”
Rafe stood. “Just one more thing. Talk about coincidence—while you were doing Albert’s garbage run, he was the victim of a robbery.”
“Is he all right?”
Rafe nodded. “He wasn’t home. Said he was only gone two hours. Enough time for someone to break in. He’s mad as spit that someone would steal his belongings.”
Amazed, Jake said, “Have you been to Albert’s cabin? How can he tell anything is missing?”
Albert’s cabin was truly in the middle of nowhere. His driveway was identifiable by an opening in the weeds. He was a hoarder. His long-deceased father had been hoarder, too. Jake figured that somewhere in Albert’s house there could be anything from a letter signed by George Washington to a Model-T Ford. That’s how eclectic Albert’s taste was.
“What’s missing?”
“Something called Bisbee Blue.”
Now Jake understood. Albert’s grandfather had been a miner at the copper mine in Bisbee. He’d recognized what the Phelps Dodge Corporation did not. The waste rock surrounding copper contained turquoise. Unlike many of his fellow workers, Albert’s grandfather hadn’t taken the beautiful hard stone home in his lunch box to sell. He’d kept it.
“I’ve seen a lot of Albert’s Bisbee Blue.” Jake pictured the boxes of turquoise, some polished nuggets, some rough, broken pieces the size of his hand all the way down to just a fingernail. Albert had most of the treasure stored in boxes. Some distant Cunningham relative had framed a few pieces.
Rafe shook his head. “None of it authenticated or insured.”
Jake closed his eyes, picturing the blue-green mineral formed by copper and iron that Albert cherished. What a Monday morning. Albert getting robbed, Billy almost getting kidnapped, Angela putting herself in harm’s way.
She had wound up in his neck of the woods unintentionally, sure, but now that Angela was here, he’d make up for what happened on the bus.
* * *
SATURDAY MORNING, WITH a fascination that both worried and impressed Angela, Celia stood in her favorite spot next to their big living-room window and peered around the curtain. She even held a notebook in which she recorded sightings.
“They might see you,” Angela said, eyeing the notebook and remembering how she’d kept one for the first few years on the run. She recorded the comings and goings of neighbors, the staff at the grocery store and every person who’d walked by their house.
Those first two years, when she and Marena lived together, Marena had taken the dominant role, reassuring Angela. It was a reversal for the twins. All their lives, Angela—make that Sophia Erickson—had been the risk-taker. She’d jumped in the deep end of the pool at age four. She’d had the nanny take her to the skateboard park at age five. She’d zip-lined at camp when she just six. Marena had been the bookworm. She’d loved the pool, but she’d taken a scooter and not a skateboard to the skateboard park and had only zip-lined hooked to her sister.
She’d rarely instigated.
But, in those first years in witness protection, Marena had been a single mother, too busy to let every shadow scare her.
Angela’s existence had been all about guilt and fear. What had she done? Buck had told her she had no reason to feel guilty and that fear was a good thing. “We had one young girl,” he said, “who couldn’t stay away from her friends. Only thing was, they weren’t really friends.”
All those years ago she hadn’t asked what happened; she knew.
Celia said, “I think they’re moving.”
Angela came to stand beside her. “What have you seen?”
“Lots of suitcases, but I can’t tell if they’re taking them out to that black truck or if they’re taking them inside. Plus, there’s a guy who looked a lot like the husband.”
“It’s not our business and I hope they are moving. Now, put your notebook away,” Angela said. “We’re going shopping.”
It was a beautiful day, with a predicted high in the sixties. Both Celia and Angela were ready to spread their wings.
“I can’t believe school starts on Monday.” Celia jogged out to the car, tucking her cell phone into her purse and smiling. She shot one more look at the Rubio place. “You know, ever since those men tried to take Billy, I’ve felt safer.”
It had to do with being a teenager. Great declarations would emerge in the middle of the most normal activities. “What do you mean?”
“Well, when I saw
