The Missing Twin. Pamela Tracy
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Being here went against everything Buck Topher had taught Angela, but Marena was her twin sister. For the first twenty years of Angela’s life, they’d rarely been separated. Oh, they were different, but they’d always watched each other’s back.
Always.
Their monthly phone call had been Angela’s only link to her old life. Marena was a lifeline Angela was willing to die for, no matter what Buck said.
As long as she could do it without putting Celia in danger.
What Angela hadn’t expected was how this rural area spoke to her, soothed her, let her breathe. Had it been that way for Marena, too?
* * *
IT WAS SUCH a strange tract of land she’d stumbled upon. Except for the two homes on the cul-de-sac, her nearest neighbor was at least three miles away. Two days last week, not a single vehicle had driven by.
There was a heated pump house with a five-thousand-gallon water tank. “If it’s yellow, let it mellow. If it’s brown, flush it down,” the landlord had advised.
Celia hadn’t gotten the joke; Angela hadn’t thought it funny.
The landlord had also had advice about how often to shower, which spiders were deadly and how to use the emergency generator. The nearest big city was Tucson. Three small towns were within driving distance. The biggest was Adobe Hills. It boasted a small community college, market, auto repair shop and bank.
She’d not relied on a brick-and-mortar bank in years.
The second town, much smaller, and whose address they used, was Scorpion Ridge. That was where she’d met with the sheriff just two days ago. It boasted an animal habitat and very little commercialism.
The third town was Gessippi. Angela might take Celia there one day for a drive, but it was so small that there’d be little to do.
It was a whole different world than what Angela had been born into. She grown up in Springfield, Illinois, where a nanny had driven her to play dates, camps and parties. Her house had been a fourteen-thousand-square-foot, split-level mansion with marble floors and two elevators. Her father’s bedroom had even had a fireplace and a waterfall! She and her twin sister had had a castle in their bedroom complete with stairs and a tower—
No, don’t go there.
She now knew where he’d gotten the money to pay for such luxuries. She’d never again think that material goods such as multiple cars—some seldom driven—and a two-tiered Jacuzzi complete with a flat-screen television and its own bar were the good life.
When she was eighteen and nineteen she’d lived in a university dorm. Her sister had married and lived in a home much like the one they’d grown up in. A little smaller, yes, but twice the size of most starter homes.
Square footage didn’t matter. This cabin represented the good life. Sometimes Angela would go outside and just stand, watching the mountains touch the sky and appreciating the freedom of the terrain. Trying to decide where to start in tracking down her sister. Tonight, there would be a thousand stars all promising a bright tomorrow. If she could make it happen.
“What will we do next?” Celia asked, breaking into Angela’s reverie.
“If we stay, you’ll start school next Monday, I’ll get a job, and maybe this will become our normal.”
Celia raised an eyebrow, reminding Angela so much of her twin sister Marena that it hurt. Angela’s twin had been three months’ pregnant when she’d left her husband to follow Angela into witness protection. While she and Marena looked alike, there were enough differences. Marena was curvy and Angela athletic. Marena’s face was a bit rounder. Things like that.
Celia looked more like Angela than her own mother.
But maybe that was because Angela had purposely gained weight this past year, trying to change her appearance, fine-tune her disguise, keep Celia safe.
Angela had been the only family around when her sister had given birth. She’d held Celia as a baby, seen the first tooth, heard her niece’s first word.
They’d separated after Marena had been shot, left for dead, most definitely by someone connected to their father or her husband. Angela’s twin had lost her left leg at the knee and assumed that whoever was tracking them would have an easier time finding a one-legged target.
Marena had decided to relinquish her daughter into Angela’s care.
Didn’t matter how much Angela protested.
A mother’s ultimate sacrifice.
And now she was missing.
“Surely,” Celia said without leaving the window, “after what just happened, you want us to leave. It’s what we always do.”
Angela closed her eyes, hating the decisions she had to make and the reasons behind them. Celia griped that she wanted to go back to a big city, wanted a mall, but Angela had seen her standing in the yard, mesmerized, looking at the mountains as the sun went down.
“We should go,” Celia suggested.
“We’ll give it twenty-four hours.” She’d done everything right, had never gone back to Illinois, had never contacted any friends or relatives and was always on the lookout for anybody acting suspicious.
Of course, everyone acted suspicious.
* * *
AFTER A TOO-LONG DAY, Angela and Celia drove into Scorpion Ridge where they shared a surreal supper and a quick stop at the grocery store, before returning home. Cordon tape still marked the spot. A police cruiser was in the Rubios’s driveway.
So much for hiding in the middle of nowhere; the big city had come to them.
That night, long after Celia had gone to bed, Angela sat in a chair looking out the front window and hoping nothing would move.
At midnight only the shadows leered at her. Even the moon and stars were behind a layer of clouds. Inside, Angela tried controlling her heartbeat.
Hiding never got easier.
Around two, she fell asleep in the chair.
The next morning the cul-de-sac was as before. Right before noon, a sheriff’s vehicle pulled up in front of the Rubios’s cabin and Rafe Salazar, the sheriff Angela had contacted, went up their path, knocked on the door and then went inside.
Other than that, it was as if the attempted abduction and shooting had never taken place.
A good hour later Sheriff Salazar knocked at her door, as she’d known he would. Celia came out, looked the sheriff up and down and retreated to her room. She’d been taught that the police were the good guys, but she’d picked up on whatever negative vibes Angela gave off and knew to keep a low profile.
“Angela,” Sheriff Salazar said. “I hear you were a hero yesterday.”
“Unplanned. How is the man who was shot?”
“He’s going to be fine. Seems the Rubios’s garbage container slowed the trajectory of the bullet. It changed a scenario that could have been critical to just serious.”
Angela remembered the blood. She didn’t want to see what critical looked like.
“Sorry I wasn’t around,” Salazar continued. “I know my deputies handled it just fine.” He looked at the door Celia had just closed. “Let’s step out back.”
Angela’s yard spread a perfect vee of about three acres before bumping against the Santa Catalina Mountains. An old picnic table sat on the back patio.
“I half expected you to be gone.” The sheriff tested the picnic table’s bench before sitting.
Angela sat across from him. “I considered it.”
“What made you stay?”
“Personal