Hidden (Jacobs Family Series Book 1)

by Vannetta Chapman

  “I was able to use the files he so wisely downloaded before he lasered the drive.” Sayeed shook his head. “Nothing had been accessed since 11:24 a.m. on April 4.”

  “We can assume our perpetrator isn’t interested in the music or the sweatshirt then. He only needed props,” Dana said.

  She quietly studied each person in the room to see if anyone had additional information to offer. Nina’s brown hand rose halfway in the air. Dana nodded, and the quiet woman stood. Nina was her detail person. If there was a detail they had missed, she could count on Nina to find it.

  “Something about the book bothered me. I attended high school here, and I read The Grapes of Wrath. I remember being disturbed by it then.” Nina paused, glancing around the room. “My daughter is a senior at the high school now, so I asked her about it. She hadn’t read it, which I thought was odd. I called her teacher last night. She’s a friend of mine. She said they pulled it off the reading list five years ago. The school board felt the content was too controversial.”

  Nina sat back down.

  Dana sipped again from her coffee.

  No one spoke as each person digested Nina’s news.

  Finally, Dana stood. “Possibly the book is another message from our perp. Nina, I’d like you to write me a summary of the book. I’m afraid I didn’t read it either. Steinbeck wasn’t pushed too hard in Texas.”

  This earned her a few smiles, though she could tell the mood of her group had once again turned.

  “As I mentioned to a few of you, this is likely to be a long investigation. There are no indications that we are on a critical timeline, which is why I have moved us to a code yellow, not a code red. I expect you to do your job, do it well, and be out of here at the end of your shift.” She shot a look at Ben, who had the grace to look sheepish.

  “We will not be working extra hours this weekend. If you’re scheduled, I expect to see you here. If you’re not, I don’t want your car in the lot. Cheryl is running lead tomorrow, and I’ll be in on Sunday. As for today, I want to focus our efforts in two areas. The first is the manufacturer of the spiral. Look at employees in the past year. The second is the regional database of known felons. I know it’s a long shot, but compare height and weight of the person Ben tagged on the tape. Any questions?”

  When there weren’t, the group broke up. Dana walked by Ben as casually as possible and said, “I’d like to see you in my office.”

  She didn’t slow down to note his reaction. She wanted to get this over with and move on with the investigation. The last thing she needed was personal feelings interfering with her job.

  Eleven

  Ben followed Dana into her office, thinking she looked even more beautiful than she had the day before. The woman could put a pair of black slacks and a simple, off-white blouse on the front of a fashion magazine. Whatever she wore managed to come off as classy.

  When she turned her penetrating gaze on him, Ben realized Dana’s beauty had nothing to do with her clothes. It was her amber eyes, which changed from a golden yellow to a coppery color, depending on her mood. There was a mystery and a depth there that would draw any man in.

  “Close the door, Ben.”

  “Sure thing, boss.”

  “Have a seat.”

  Although her expression hadn’t changed, something in her tone caused Ben to pause. He shut the door, but stood there, his hand on the knob. “What’s wrong, Dana?”

  She straightened the folders on her already perfectly neat desk. “There’s something I’d like to discuss with you.”

  Looking up, she pierced him with her stare. Ben had thought of her well into the night. Instead of unpacking as he’d intended, he’d flopped onto his cot and wrestled with the image of Dana Jacobs.

  “Absolutely.” Ben sat in front of her, rested his hands on the arms of the chair, and waited. He remembered the look of pain in her eyes the night before, and he knew now was not the time to rush her.

  Finally, she cleared her throat, tucked her hair behind both ears, and looked directly at him. “I’ve been very impressed with your work. I think you’re a fine addition to our team, and I’m pleased you’ve decided to work with us.”

  Ben had been chewed out enough times to know when he was being softened up, not that they bothered with easing you into a reprimand in the military. There had been a few women though, and then there was his mother. He almost laughed at the memory. One look at his boss and he knew—Dana Jacobs was about to let him have it.

  She cleared her throat again. “However, I’m afraid you and I have taken a step in the wrong direction. I am your supervisor, not your coworker. While I value our professional relationship, I need to make it clear what the boundaries are. If I misled you in any way, then I want to straighten it out now. I never allow my personal life and my career to intermix.”

  She’d been staring at something over his shoulder, but when she reached the last part of her obviously rehearsed speech, she looked him directly in the eyes. She didn’t even blink, and Ben had to give her credit. She believed every word she said. At least she thought she did.

  When he didn’t speak, she again fidgeted with her hair. “Do you have any questions?”

  He felt the smile grow on his face, knew he should squelch it, felt certain he was about to head into dangerous territory. As so often before, he couldn’t stop himself. Probably wouldn’t have stopped himself even if he could have.

  He relaxed into the chair and studied her. “One.”

  “Great. Ask away.”

  Ben leaned forward, his arms now resting on his knees, close enough to smell the light perfume she wore. “Did something frighten you last night, Dana?”

  She froze, much like the fox in the beam of their headlights the evening before. She covered her surprise with a frown. “I’m not sure I know what you mean.”

  “Of course, you do. We’re being honest with each other, and I hear you loud and clear. I’ll respect your request. My only question is what about last night frightened you?” He searched her face a moment longer.

  When she didn’t answer, didn’t even move, he stood and walked to the door. Before opening it, he bowed his head slightly and prayed again—silently and quickly—for wisdom. He could almost feel her struggling against the cocoon she’d built around her life. But he couldn’t force her out of it.

  “Personal lives are part of professional lives, Dana.” He looked up at the three pictures he knew she treasured. “We can no more separate the two than we can leave our hearts at home in the morning.”

  He turned then, looked at this woman he could so easily care for, and smiled. “I’m not really sure I’d want to if I could. But I am sorry I frightened you.”

  With that he turned and walked out of her office.

  Twelve

  Ben’s watch only had to beep twice before he was up and out of bed Saturday morning—if 3:00 a.m. could be called morning. Glancing around his apartment in the predawn darkness, he realized his military habits weren’t going to die easily. Not that it mattered. There was no one to irritate with his rituals.

  He padded across the room, in the darkness, and flipped on the coffee maker. Then he opened the blinds, which allowed in a small amount of light from the apartment’s perimeter security.

  The apartment was an efficiency—tiny by most people’s standards, though much larger than anything he’d had overseas. The design was old, but solid. It worked for him.

  Turning on the water to the shower, he dropped to the floor and began his regimen of push-ups and sit-ups. By the time he finished, the water was hot, and he was wide awake.

  Twenty minutes later he was in the Chevy truck, headed toward Nina. Yesterday had been a lesson in frustration. No one had made progress on the case, and Dana had been careful to steer clear of him.

  This was his first Saturday in Taos. He’d asked Nina to arrange the meeting. She agreed without probing for any details as he knew she would. It was the Apache custom to stay out of other people’s bu
siness. He explained it was important for him to see the father of a close friend, and the meeting needed to take place at the beginning of the day as the sun rose over the reservation’s eastern boundary.

  It was all he needed to say. She’d told him to meet her at the western edge of El Vado Lake State Park an hour before sunrise.

  Ben drove west out of Taos with the window down, his thoughts on his friend and the promise he’d made so many months ago. He was grateful that today he could keep his word. He didn’t understand why Joe had to die, didn’t presume to know why he had been allowed to live. As he passed through Carson National Forest, he trusted God would give him the words he would need to ease the pain Joe’s father must still feel.

  Ben didn’t consider himself good at comforting others. He only knew he was fulfilling a promise to a friend, and he had no choice in that matter.

  Nina’s Ford Explorer was parked on the side of the road. She stepped out when Ben pulled in beside her.

  “Good morning, Nina.”

  As every other time he’d seen her, Nina’s long, black hair was combed into a single braid down her back. The slacks and cotton blouse were similar to what she wore to work, but covered with a down jacket.

  “I spoke with Joe’s father. Follow me in your truck. Then you’ll need to walk a short distance.”

  “Thank you.”

  She nodded once, her expression revealing neither curiosity, approval, nor disapproval.

  Even in the darkness, the drive into the reservation meshed with Joe’s descriptions and Ben’s own memories—a rugged land dotted with piñon-pine mesas, mountains, and ponderosa-pine forests.

  Nina pulled over when they’d reached the front of a rundown, gas station. This time she didn’t get out of her car. Ben hitched his backpack over his shoulder as he walked up to her rolled-down window.

  “Follow the path behind the station. After a mile and a half it circles around to the north side of the mountain. Mr. Tafoya knows you’re coming.”

  Joe smiled. “Thank you, Nina. I appreciate you getting up early on your day off.”

  “My daughter has her final track meet today. I would have been up early anyway.” Nina slipped the Explorer into drive and pulled away into the darkness that was fading into morning.

  Ben thought of searching for the flashlight in his pack, but decided he wouldn’t need it. His vision had adjusted enough to make out the worn path. The light would merely diminish his night ability to see.

  As he walked along the path, his hiking boots pounding against the earth that had been the home of Joe and his family, he thought of that summer so long ago. He had been a boy then, intent on seeing new places. Answering the ad for help at the Days End Ranch had felt like an adventure. He’d met Joe on his first day. They’d become fast friends instantly.

  It had been a summer of chasing girls, none of which they’d caught, and fishing for trout, which they’d had better luck with.

  Ben glanced up at the sky. Stars were disappearing in the morning light. They reminded him of how much richer his life was for having known Joe Tafoya. Reconnecting in the army had been more than coincidence. It had been destiny.

  Rounding the corner in the trail, Ben saw an older man, sitting with his back to him. The man’s hair was long, braided, and gray. He wore a padded, flannel shirt to ward off the coolness of the morning. Sitting cross-legged, he faced where the sun would soon rise.

  Ben slowed his steps, not wanting to intrude. When Joe’s father still didn’t turn, Ben lowered his backpack to the ground and sat beside him. He didn’t speak, didn’t want to interrupt this important moment in the Apache tradition. Joe had described it to him many times as they’d watched the sun rise over the Arabian Desert. So Ben sat beside the father of his friend and waited for the warmth of the sun to crest the mountain and brush his face.

  When it did, he felt as if he’d been touched by his friend.

  He was startled when Mr. Tafoya spoke. “You must be Ben.”

  “Yes.” Ben shook hands with the man, looked into his eyes, and was surprised to see peace there. He recognized loss as well, but it had been softened by acceptance. “I brought something for you.”

  He reached into his T-shirt and felt the two sets of dog tags. He didn’t have to look to know which one was Joe’s. The explosion had scarred the metal. Pulling it over his head, he handed it to Mr. Tafoya.

  “Joe and I made each other a promise that if anything ever happened we’d deliver these personally.”

  Tafoya looked down at the dog tags. His hand was old and wrinkled, more than it should have been for a man his age. It didn’t take a genius to figure out he’d spent most of his life working on or around this mountain. The lines of truth were etched there.

  He closed his hands around the scarred metal, then slipped his son’s military ID over his head. “Joe talked about you a lot the year you were here. You two were always out trying to find trouble, mainly in the form of girls, according to Joe.”

  “We did our best. Not many girls wanted skinny boys who had their minds more on old trucks and where the best trout were.”

  Tafoya laughed. “It didn’t stop you both from trying.”

  Ben looked out over the landscape in front of them. It was the land Joe would have worked if he had come home. “Sometimes I wonder if I filled his mind with my stories, my dreams. Maybe if I hadn’t come here that summer, he wouldn’t have joined up. Maybe he’d still be here.”

  Tafoya was silent for a time. When he spoke, his voice was strong and brooked no argument. As he spoke, Ben realized he must have struggled with similar questions. “When the Army men first drove up in their official cars, we knew what the news was. They don’t come here unless it’s to tell us our sons or daughters won’t be back. I suppose it’s the same for your people as well as ours.”

  A hawk soared in front of them, dove, and found its prey.

  “Later they sent his body and a flag. The flag sits in a place of honor in my home. Joe wanted to serve his country. The Jicarilla Apache people have a long tradition of being hunters, gatherers, and artists. Jicarilla means little basket maker. We came to this land from the Canadian North, and for centuries we have flourished here.” Tafoya breathed deeply of the clear morning air, then turned his gaze on Ben. “Even when Joe was a young boy he had a strong sense of honor. He would stand up for the little ones in the schoolyard. His Granddad once said Joe would have been a warrior in the old days. It was in his blood to defend. You only reminded him of what he was. I think though, by meeting you, he was able to recognize his calling. In the end, he was able to live his life with honor.”

  Ben nodded, worked to swallow the lump in his throat.

  The old man finally stood and began walking back down the path. Despite his age, he was still quite agile. Ben had to hurry to keep up with him.

  “I come here at least once a week to honor the ways of my people, but like Joe I have embraced the teachings of Christ. This is what gives me peace, knowing I will be united with my son and even my wife who went before him. This is why I can work each day and do so with the strength of the hawk and the peace of the deer.”

  Ben cinched up his backpack.

  “I would be dishonest though if I said I don’t miss Joe.” Tafoya paused on the trail, put his hand on Ben’s arm, and looked him in the eye. “Nina says you’re living in Taos now.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “I’d welcome a visit if you happen to be out this way.”

  “My weekends look as if they’re going to be free.”

  The old man’s smile widened as he began walking again. “I suppose you have fishing gear in your pack.”

  “Fishing gear, water, even some lunch. I was hoping you’d join me—go out along the Chama River. Joe and I used to find excellent rainbow trout there.”

  Tafoya laughed. The heaviness in Ben’s heart eased to hear the sound. Somehow Joe’s father had found a way through his grief. No doubt his faith had helped him through—his fait
h and the members of his tribe. Ben had weathered his losses much the same.

  “I walk a trail like this easily, but I can’t go running off down the river like a young man. You may go as my guest though whenever you wish as long as you share your catch.”

  He slapped Ben on the back, and they shook on the agreement.

  Thirteen

  Three hours later, Ben sat beside the old creek, enjoying his lunch and wondering if the four trout he’d caught were enough. They weren’t large, but they would fry up well. He could leave now and give them all to Tafoya, or stay and fish for more, which would allow him to take one or two home.

  Finding the old fishing spot along the river had been no trouble at all. He and Joe had visited it often that summer so long ago.

  Washing the last bite of his sandwich down with a slug of water from his bottle, he decided one more fish couldn’t hurt. The day was still mild, and he couldn’t resist the lure of the trout slapping the top of the water.

  Pulling the pole off the ground, he checked to make sure the dry fly he’d been using for bait was still securely attached. He was reaching out to cast it into the stream when his cell phone rang.

  Checking the display, he saw it was the office.

  “Marshall,” he said.

  “We have a code red,” Captain barked. “What’s your ETA?”

  Ben began disassembling his rod as he spoke. “Three hours.”

  “Hold please.”

  By the time Dana came on the line, he’d retrieved the trout and was jogging back down the trail toward his truck.

  “Ben? I have to start the briefing in thirty minutes. Call me then, and I’ll put you on the speakerphone. We’ll leave the minute you arrive.”

  “Type of threat?”

  “Semi-truck, loaded with explosives. Currently parked at Philmont Boy Scout Ranch. We have an anonymous tip they will move within the next six hours.”

  “Final destination?” Ben increased his pace.