always knew when someone was watching her.
Maybe this time it was okay.
More than okay.
Except she couldn’t shake the feeling that their meeting was no accident.
* * *
JAKE’S PART OF the Santa Catalina Mountains didn’t rate a visitor’s center. His vehicle was more or less his office, and if he needed something he either used his own cabin or drove to Sabino Canyon where they had an office.
When someone needed him, they usually called. But this early Monday morning, Rafe was waiting at the end of the driveway when Jake exited his cabin.
“Something happen?” Jake asked. “I still plan on trash collection. We’re getting close. I know—”
“It’s not about trash collection.” Rafe didn’t move, just stayed leaning against his SUV and watching the road. “Anything you want to tell me?” he finally asked.
“No.”
“Funny,” Rafe said. “I got a call this morning from a federal agent by the name of Buck Topher. That name mean anything to you?”
When Jake didn’t respond, Rafe continued. “I’m talking about ten years ago when you were a cop in Phoenix. You told me you quit because you endangered a civilian. I’ve never asked for details. Maybe you should tell me now.”
Jake hesitated. “Why? Why do you want to know?”
“Because, after the phone call I got this morning I did some background checking and your name popped up.”
“Angela Taylor.”
“Yes,” Rafe agreed. “I think I know why she’s here.”
“Not because of me.”
Rafe raised an eyebrow. “Convince me.”
It took only twenty minutes to tell the whole story. Ten years ago it had taken five hours, but then he’d been giving witness testimony with every detail being picked apart and double-checked.
After Jake finished, Rafe straightened. “Then, you’ll want to know this. The federal agent I spoke with this morning seems to think she’s here looking for her twin sister.”
“If her twin was here, I’d have recognized her,” Jake said. “Unless she came for those few months I worked at the Grand Canyon.”
Rafe frowned. “Maybe, but I’ve seen the photos of what the Erickson girls looked like before going into witness protection. The change is remarkable. I’m amazed you recognized Angela.”
Jake didn’t know how to respond. She no longer resembled that long-ago girl on the bus or her high school graduation photo. Maybe it was the fact that he’d never stopped going over her file, looking at her photos, any coverage he could find—dreaming of what he could have done differently.
“I don’t know why I recognized her, either. It was just something about the way she walked, the curve of her neck, the way she turned her head. Then, when I came in to see you, I knew she’d not been in asking mundane questions.”
“And you’re sure you’ve not had that gut feeling about anyone else this past year?”
“No, I’ve not seen her sister. But I’ve worked quite a bit out of town,” Jake reminded the sheriff. “Plus, wouldn’t her twin have checked in with you, too?”
“This long in the system, maybe she didn’t want to.” Rafe looked serious. “And maybe she had a reason to disappear.”
A reason to disappear.
Jake did the name assignments in his head. Ten years ago, Angela Taylor had been going by the assumed name of Hilary Clifton. Her real name was Marena Erickson.
Her sister, the one who was missing, was Sophia Erickson. Jake had never known her assumed names. Outside of that day on the bus, Jake hadn’t personally seen either of the twins. His impression, after reading about them, was that Marena was the easygoing twin while Sophia was the risk-taker.
He’d better start thinking of her as Angela because he didn’t want to compromise her cover again with a slip of the tongue.
Rafe continued. “According to Topher, Angela’s twin moved here sometime in the past year and went missing a few months ago.”
“And now Angela’s here looking for her.”
“I don’t like this,” Rafe said. “I don’t like this at all.”
Neither did Jake.
Didn’t matter. This time he’d do whatever he could to assist Angela and her sister. He owed them that.
“I think we both need to keep an eye out,” Rafe said. “I’m bringing you in on this because you patrol the area where she lives.”
Location, location, location.
“Right next to the Rubios.” Jake checked his watch. “Where I was due twenty minutes ago.”
Rafe nodded. “This shouldn’t interfere with you acting as a trash collector. If anything, it helps.”
Jake hoped Rafe wouldn’t ask him to go through her trash. No. He’d have to have a court order, and asking for one would bring unwanted attention.
“I’ll watch over her,” Jake promised. “But I don’t want her to know. She might refuse because of who I am.”
For a moment it didn’t look as though Rafe would agree. Finally he nodded. “For now.”
Thirty minutes later, nestled between trees and a dirt berm, perched high in the driver’s seat of his friend Albert’s garbage truck, Jake leaned forward and adjusted his binoculars. This section had three residents. Angela and her neighbor to the right lived in cabins. Directly across from Angela was a mobile home.
Unincorporated areas in Arizona, at least this neck of the woods, could mean trouble. Angela Taylor’s new neighborhood—a loose term—wasn’t just alive with wildlife. It also saw its fair share of illegal immigrants who crossed the border and traveled this area called a “corridor of choice.”
Now Jake’s job wasn’t just to bring down the Rubios but to keep Angela safe and possibly find her sister.
He wished he could have managed more than just a short conversation by the carousel. There were so many things he needed to warn her about.
Taking out his cell, he looked at the picture he’d taken: Angela and Celia on the carousel horses. Angela, long black hair fanning out, had looked right at him when he’d snapped the picture. All he’d captured was her face.
And what a face it was.
Strong cheekbones, sensuous lips and eyes that seemed to know what he was thinking.
She didn’t look anything like what he remembered. But,
