Got Your Number

she'd wished anyway.
    She opened the creaky door to the van and pulled herself up, wincing against the pain in her skull, then tossed the wedding gown in the backseat. The vehicle had a peculiar odor, raising questions about what kinds of exotic things had taken place inside. Stakeouts with lots of take-out food? Sleeping on an air mattress, hiding out from the law? Transporting entire families and their belongings?
    Roxann opened the sliding door of the van and set a box on the floorboard.
    "What's that?"
    "Some of the junk from my room—I thought it was time to get it out of Dad's way." Roxann set the duffel bag on the backseat, then closed the door and swung up into the driver's seat.
    "I'm sorry you didn't get to see your father."
    "Maybe next time."
    Even through her headache fog, she detected a measure of insincerity in Roxann's voice that perplexed her. Sure, Uncle Walt was messy and poor, but he was an adoring father who thought enough of his daughter to maintain her girlish bedroom. Dee had already hired an interior designer to change her bedroom into a day spa. Twice she'd come out of the shower to find people measuring.
    She watched as Roxann cranked the engine and launched into some kind of strange hand-slapping routine on the dashboard. Then a shot rang out, sending Angora at least an inch off the seat. "What was that?"
    Roxann gripped the wheel and pivoted her head to the side, her eyes wide. Then she relaxed and sighed. "The van backfired."
    Angora managed a little laugh. "For a minute I thought someone was shooting at us."
    "Well, that's pretty unlikely, even in this neighborhood."
    But her cousin seemed genuinely spooked as she backed out of the narrow driveway and onto the quiet street. "Maybe it's just my weak stomach," Angora said in an attempt to lighten the moment, "but I don't remember the van vibrating this much yesterday."
    "You were a little preoccupied yesterday," Roxann offered wryly.
    "No offense, but this is a wreck."
    "I don't have a need for a BMW."
    "How did you know I drive a BMW?"
    "Lucky guess. Don't worry—Goldie might seem a little rickety, but she runs like a deer."
    "Goldie—is she your undercover car? Does it have a race-car engine under the hood so you can outrun the Smokies?"
    "The Smokies? Angora, you watch too much television. And the van is a regular old eight-cylinder."
    "But you do use it for your...work?"
    She nodded.
    "Can't you tell me anything?"
    "My work's not nearly as glamorous as you might think."
    Probably more glamorous than disinfecting the headsets for audio tours of the Baton Rouge River Walk Museum. "How do you find out about women who are in trouble?"
    "There's a network of counselors and social workers all over the country who know about Rescue."
    "Rescue? Is that what it's called?"
    Roxann nodded. "It's a last resort for women who want to get away from abusive partners."
    "What do you do for them?"
    "Help them and their children relocate. And, in some cases, help them establish new identities."
    "Is it legal?"
    "In most cases," Roxann said, nodding. "But there have been a few times when a woman's ex had visitation rights despite evidence that he was a threat to the children."
    "And?"
    "And in those cases, the woman is thwarting court-ordered visitation by denying her ex access to the children."
    "So she's kidnapping her own children."
    "As far as the law is concerned, yes."
    Angora pursed her mouth. "Can you get in trouble for helping them?"
    "It's possible to be brought up on obstruction-of-justice charges, or maybe contempt charges...but not likely."
    "But it's still dangerous."
    Roxann glanced in the rearview mirror. "The greatest danger is if the ex-spouse finds his wife. And some of the exes have been known to go after the Rescue volunteers who helped their wives disappear."
    "Isn't all that kept secret?"
    "It's supposed to be, but leaks are bound to occur. That's why the facilitators sometimes wear disguises or use bogus names when they transport a family. And we move around a lot."
    Angora leaned close. "You're a facilitator?"
    "Uh-huh."
    "Wow. Have you ever been threatened?"
    "Um...nothing serious." Roxann glanced in the mirror—probably a reflex, Angora decided.
    She herself had no reflexes, unless the urge to match her lipstick and fingernail polish counted. "Do they pay you?"
    "A little, but I work other jobs for my primary income, and for benefits."
    "What kinds of jobs?"
    Roxann shrugged. "Anything flexible. Lately I've been waitressing