She left through the back door, leaving a note on the kitchen counter for Lucia not to worry. Without the fog that she had hidden in, things were sharper, the world too bright. She shielded her eyes against the sun's glare and made her way to Mark's house, avoiding the main roads and places usually frequented by locals. She wasn't needed at work for another week, so she didn’t have to rush there.
In her mind, she went over everything Agent Reis had said or suggested. The man who had been imprisoned for her father's murder had likely been innocent, or at least, Reis believed he had been blameless. Had he been murdered to ensure his silence, or was that merely a coincidence?
Rosa shook her head, knowing she could not answer that question. She simply did not know anything about the man, except that he was the son of a local who had come back eighteen years prior to settle down in his ancestral home. He had been a member of the police force and had been one of the hardest in the fight against illegal immigrants.
Rosa felt her heart tighten. Lucia had lied to the FBI, telling them her mother had no family this side of the border. They did, in fact, have an aunt and a cousin, both still illegals. Resolutely she pushed that thought away. Lucia had assured her that she was on it and that they would be legal soon. As long as they stayed hidden, they were safe.
She turned her mind back to Mark and Reis' slip that made her believe he was the reason Mark had failed to turn up or send word letting her know.
She scouted the back yards ahead from her clump of scraggly bushes and then darted across to Mark's, and pulled the never used key from her pocket, letting herself in through his kitchen.
"Mark?"
She locked the door behind her and moved slowly through the small house. There was no sign of Mark, but neither was there anything amiss that she could see. Surmising that he was likely just at work, she settled down in his living room to wait, letting her mind go through what she would say.
****
Lucia found Rosa's note and swore, scrunching a paper scrap in her hands. She let out a long breath through her nose. This was all falling down around them, all because some idiot ended up falling foul of the same people she had no doubt had killed her father and mother.
And brought the FBI down on us.
She shook her head, unruly curls swaying. Maybe it was not the unparalleled disaster she believed it to be. If the man who had died, likely taking her contact with him, was of interest to the FBI, then maybe all was not lost. If the FBI could do the hard work, she might be able to only come in for the final showdown. But for that to work, they would need two things. One, for the FBI, to see this to the end for her father, not just the latest victim, and two, for the Kays, to have an inside man.
She looked back at the crumpled letter. If anyone linked to this investigation was likely to break the rules, it would be Mark Fell, and he would only do it for Rosa.
Lucia turned her eyes towards the ceiling, imagining Camelia curled on her bed, crying. She had been furious at Lucia for stopping her from going to Ian. She had given in after Lucia made it clear that if the FBI thought he was somehow in collusion with them and their past, he would be tarred with the same brush.
She let out a long sigh. Hopefully, Agent Reis wouldn't dawdle, and Ian would be interviewed today because she doubted if she could convince Camelia to stay away tomorrow too.
She moved back through the house, into her father's small study. The room had been left exactly as it had been before his death. There she allowed herself to remember their argument, his and her mother's. She had already been brought in on a few family secrets by that point, but that night she had found out another, one that had shaken the foundation of her parent's marriage.
Rosa and Camelia still did not know. She hadn't seen a reason to tell them. Since losing both their parents Lucia had locked everything deep inside, allowing her sisters the small hope that their mother was alive. She had also shouldered their father's secret life alone, keeping them ignorant and safe.
Now I no longer have that luxury.
She took a deep breath, taking in the familiar scents of ink, paper, tobacco, and woodsmoke. They got fainter every year, but they were still there.
If she wanted the answers her contact had been bringing her, then she needed to do something she had sworn to her mother she would never do.
****
Agent Reis followed the helper, a young, pimpled boy of about thirteen, into an office at the back of the mission's building.
"Please wait here. I will go and find Pastor Ian and bring him to you."
Reis nodded and the youth left. He glanced at Boone, who seemed to be mentally cataloging the room as they had been trained. Noting everything from the filing cabinet labels, to the papers on the desk, to the rubbish in the wastepaper basket by the back corner.
Leaving her to that task, he
