Don't Go L.J. Breedlove (books to read fiction TXT) 📖

stuff a 3-year-old could accumulate. And none of it could be left behind, Rafael had informed him. Which left the trunk packed tight.

The phone rang. “Answer,” Ryan said briefly.

“Ryan, it’s Vic.”

“Everything good?”

“I don’t know.”

“What?” Ryan pulled over. His heart pounding.

“Where are you?”

“Troutdale. I pulled over.”

“Here’s what I know. The family Teresa was with pulled into Twin Falls this morning, and ICE was waiting for them. They’ve been detained, along with everyone else working for that farmer, who I gather is pissed. Anyway, I don’t know who all was scooped up, and we may not know until later this week.” He took a deep breath.

“But Teresa was supposed to stay in Nampa and wait for me,” Ryan protested.

“Yes, she was. But I haven’t heard from her. I don’t know where she is. There is always a chance she went on to Twin Falls with them. She liked them a lot, and they liked her. What do you want to do?”

“Ryan started the car, signaled carefully and pulled back out into traffic. “I’m going to Nampa, of course,” he said. “I’ll find her. If she calls? Get a telephone number!”

“She was using a burner phone that one of the guys bought when we talked yesterday. I don’t know if she even has one now.”

“Where was I supposed to find her, Vic?” Ryan felt the dominant inside him take control. “Tell me what you do know.”

“Right. She’s supposed to meet you at a Mexican place called El Caporal in Nampa. She’ll check there at 2 p.m. have lunch, read, whatever until 5 p.m. when they start to set up for dinner. If you’re not there by then, she’ll be at Denny’s downtown at 7 p.m.”

Ryan did the math. “I’ll be there before 5 p.m.”

“There’s a time change.” Vic warned.

“Idaho is in a different time zone?”

“Changes in Oregon, actually.”

“So, it’s an hour later, there?” Ryan eased up the speed a bit. “I should still make it. If – when she calls, tell her to sit tight at the El Caporal. I’m not comfortable with her at Denny’s.”

“Not a lot of choices in Nampa,” Vic said. “And if she doesn’t call? Or she’s not there?”

“Then I’ll go on down to Twin Falls,” Ryan said. “But you get that family the best attorney you can find in Twin Falls, you hear me?”

“Already done. I figured you’d say that,” Vic said.

Ryan was beginning to see the advantages of money. “Did you see the story on the Eyewitness News website?” he asked, and when he said no, he told him to call it up.

“Holy shit,” Vic said. “Did you shoot him?”

“No, the Provost did. Just like the story said. But Black had that gun pointed at me, not him,” Ryan said. “I’m a bit shaky this morning. So, it would be a really good thing if we can find Teresa!”

“Papa?” Rafael said, anxiously. “¿Mamá? ¿Dónde está Mamá?”

“I forgot he’d be able to hear,” Vic apologized. “I’m off the phone. I’ll call you if I hear anything, but a warning: one, there is no phone service between Pendleton and La Grande, so no news won’t mean anything. And it’s spotty reception from there until Ontario. Second? Don’t go through Grant County. They’ve got a constitutionalist sheriff. You know what means?”

“Sovereign citizen,” he said.

“Yeah, and that guy is just crazy. Thinks he answers to no one,” Vic said. “So, don’t go there. Call me when you get there.”

“When I get there,” Ryan said, “when.” He disconnected and coaxed a bit more speed out of the Prius.

“Papa?” Rafael was about in tears.

“It’s OK, baby,” he soothed. “We’re going to go get your mama.”

Chapter 25

2 p.m. Wednesday, Oct. 28, 2020, Nampa, Idaho — Teresa was nervous. Something was wrong. She could just feel it. The family had tried to get her to go to Twin Falls with them, but she could hear Ryan say plan the work, work the plan, and she refused to go with them. But there were rumors flying, and she just got bits and pieces in the campgrounds. Without the families she was traveling with, she didn’t have any connections to anyone here. She didn’t have a phone, which was really stupid of her. But she heard La Migra in murmurs. Here? Where? It worried her. So, she left her bag in a locker at the showers and started walking into Nampa. She was pretty sure she knew where the restaurant was, but she had expected to be able to get a ride into town. But no one seemed to be going into town. People had gone to the orchards. But they’d been quiet, aloof. And she couldn’t ask for a favor. She didn’t want to be noticed. No one did.

There had been a raid, she decided. But not there. She didn’t know where. But she trusted her ability to blend into Nampa proper better than most of the migrant workers could. And better than she could in the campground with the migrants. A woman alone? That was a problem. And she wasn’t Mexican, she was Mexican American, and by herself, it was obvious.

So better she walk. She was wearing blue jeans, a T-shirt, running shoes. She hadn’t dressed like this since she’d left Portland. In camp, she’d worn a cotton skirt and a button up blouse like all the other women did. Now, she wanted to look American again. That phrasing bothered her. We are all Americans, she thought fiercely.

By the time she got to the Mexican restaurant she was hot, tired and hungry. She went inside and just let the cold air blast her. It might be October and turning fall in Portland, but it was still hot during the days here. Not for long, she knew. That’s why there was such a push to get the last of the fruit picked and head on south.

Abuelita had said they wanted to get out before the election too. No one was sure what would happen, either way. And Mexicans had more experience with political unrest than Americans