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 protection limited how many people Angela involved in their lives. Celia knew they were on the run, knew they had to be careful, but it was hard on her. She was a young girl who just wanted to belong.
“Give me one positive about being here,” Angela urged. It was a game they’d played since Celia was two.
Face crunched, Celia—basically a good kid—gave in. “Well, I want to explore all that land behind our cabin. Maybe I’ll find an arrowhead or piece of pottery. Besides, we could use a little sunshine. You don’t think my father...”
Angela put a hand on top of Celia’s. “No, your father has no idea we’re here.”
Buck Topher had told them to change their history but to keep it close to the truth. Figuring out what to tell Celia as she grew from infant to beautiful young lady had been heartbreaking for both Angela and her twin sister: Celia’s real mother.
Celia thought her dad wanted to kidnap her. In truth, her father was behind bars thanks to Angela and Marena. And despite the fact that Marena was Richard Hawking the Third’s wife, he’d put a hit on the twins. In the years they’d both been in the witness protection program, Buck Topher never said, “I think it might be safe now.”
Looking across at her niece, her pretend daughter, Angela hurt for the life Celia lived. She longed for safety and stability. On the day Buck finally called her and said it was over, Angela could tell Celia the truth. Then, Angela could go back to her real name: Sophia Erickson. And, best of all, she’d be reunited with her twin sister, Marena. They’d never go back to their old lives but they’d finally be able to build new ones.
“Your father hasn’t a clue,” Angela said again. “And we’ll be fine.”
The waitress brought their drinks, took their meal order and disappeared. Angela took out her iPad and searched for information on the local middle school.
“It’s small,” Angela noted.
Celia made a face.
Angela ignored her. “Classes resume January ninth. That will give us time to get you some clothes and figure out how you’ll get back and forth.”
Scorpion Ridge Middle School was small, only two hundred students.
The diner door swung open, sending a bell ringing, and many of the patrons looked up. Some smiled; some did not. The man in the door looked like the law but wasn’t in uniform.
“Hey, Jake,” called the older woman who’d greeted them. “Take a seat.”
The young waitress didn’t wait for him to order. Once he’d sat at the counter, she poured coffee and said, “Cheeseburger and fries?”
“Sounds good.” He had a rich voice. Authoritative. It matched his rugged face with its deep lines near his eyes and mouth. Angela figured he was about her age and had seen a lot. He had those eyes.
Yup, cop.
Two men at a booth by the window got up, gave him a dirty look and left.
Yup, cop. In the past ten years she’d gone out of her way to avoid contact with the police. She’d never as much as gone over the speed limit. Just going to see the sheriff this morning had almost instigated a panic attack. She’d had to head right to a grocery store right after to buy chocolate just to calm down.
“Mom.”
Angela started. “What? Did you say something?”
“You’re staring off into space. Or maybe you’re staring at the man who just sat at the counter.”
“I don’t stare at men.” And she definitely wasn’t staring at a second man who’d just walked through the door and joined the cop. This one might be safer, though. He was wearing a Bridget’s Animal Adventure shirt. Angela figured he worked at the habitat on the edge of town.
Celia sighed. “Maybe you should.”
Angela almost spewed the tea she’d been sipping. Yeah, she’d love to involve a man in her life. He’d get a kick out of hearing about the people who wanted her dead.
She might never be able to lead a normal life: be a wife and soccer mother, join the PTA, introduce herself by the name she was born with.
“We should definitely come to this diner more often,” Celia said. “There’re lots of good-looking guys, of all ages.”
“Eat,” Angela ordered as their food arrived. The waitress went back for more iced tea and a bottle of ketchup.
“Maybe
