Chapter Twelve
Rose failed in her attempts to ignore Santos the rest of the day. She felt his hooded gaze follow her every move, and when they accidently touched at lunch, his hand lingered on hers way too long. A brush of their bodies as they’d passed in the hall finally made her accept that no matter how hard she tried, she wasn’t going to succeed in looking the other way. He was there. They’d made love. They were probably going to do it again.
Obviously sensing the tension between them, Reina came into the living room late that afternoon and announced she and Jonathan were going to a friend’s house for a few hours. The woman had a child Jonathan’s age, and she’d called unexpectedly asking if they’d like to come over and see their new puppy. Jonathan had begged to go, Reina explained with a knowing expression, and she didn’t have the heart to say no.
Santos walked his sister and the little boy to the door then came back to where Rose sat, a magazine on her lap. She’d been trying to distract herself with it for half an hour. She’d had as much luck with that as she’d had avoiding Santos’s gaze. He sat on the couch right beside her.
“There’s another place to sit right over there.” She pointed to one of the matching chairs that flanked the couch.
“I’d rather be here.”
She dropped the magazine and her pretense. “Why? You know this can’t go any further, Santos. We made love, we both enjoyed it, now let’s move on. I told you it meant nothing more, and it doesn’t.”
“Don’t lie, Rose. We’ve known each other too long for those kinds of games.”
“It’s not a game,” she protested, turning to look at him better. “It’s the truth.”
He leaned over and lifted her chin. He locked his eyes on hers. “If you want the truth, then you need to think a little harder about last night. What happened between us in that bedroom was the truth, and you can’t deny that, no matter how much you want to.”
Her automatic protest sounded lame, even to her. “You’re making too big a deal out of thi—”
Santos drew her toward him and kissed her, his lips silencing her better than his words. She felt her arguments dissolve before they could even form. Who was she trying to kid? She wanted it as much as he did. Her arms lifted and she wrapped them around his neck, her fingers pushing their way into his hair. A trace of the soap she’d found in Reina’s bathroom came to her, and beneath it, even stronger, she smelled the achingly familiar scent that belonged to Santos alone. Blindfolded and helpless, she would always recognize that incense. It created a visceral response in her that she couldn’t stop if she tried. She was ashamed to admit she’d found one of his shirts after they’d parted, and she’d slept in it. After two nights of torture, she’d thrown it away in a fit of pique, upset with herself for acting so needy.
His hands slipped off her arms and trailed down the length of her spine. Through the fabric of her blouse, she could feel the heat of his touch. When his fingers reached the waistband of her jeans, they slipped inside and caressed her back with a feathery lightness. She shivered, and he flattered his palm against her skin as if to reassure her.
She felt anything but comforted.
She transmitted her emotions, and he raised his face. She thought he was going to ask her if she wanted him to stop. The question wasn’t necessary. He read the answer in her eyes, and he dropped his lips to her neck, his kisses soft as they fell along the curve of her shoulder.
Their lovemaking last night had been a needy combination of frustration and longing. This was something far different. It spoke of all they’d had and lost and wished they could find again. Deep down in the core she desperately wanted to hide, she felt the tug of that emotion. She wasn’t strong enough to fight it, and Santos didn’t even want to try.
He nipped the spot she knew he would find, and she moaned, just as he knew she would. When they’d been together in the past, all he’d had to do was touch that place with one finger, and she’d been his for the taking. It made her angry that her body could respond to him that easily. How could it betray her with such fierceness?
She didn’t have an answer, and it wouldn’t have mattered anyway. He kissed his way lower, his mouth seeking her breasts. Removing the lacy bra and her phony resistance, his lips teased her. Slowly, methodically, he continued, his hands unzipping her pants and sliding them off her hips. His mouth followed.
She moaned with pleasure, the growl starting deep in her throat until she couldn’t stand it any longer. She was still struggling to catch her breath when he peeled off his clothes and tugged her down to the carpet beside him. He stretched his body on top of hers, his hands drifting slowly downward. His fingers found all the places that matched the tender trigger of passion on her neck, and once again, she lifted herself to meet his touch. By the time he entered her, she was begging for a release from the desire he had created.
He didn’t give it to her. Instead he drew away and demanded she create the same need in him. By the time they came together again, her heart was pounding furiously. She clenched her hands against his back, and he flexed at her touch, the muscles bunching beneath her fingers into powerful ripples. His touch turned into fire, the rhythm between them building faster, her reactions instant and unrelenting. She’d acted like a different person when they’d made love last night, and now it was his turn to seem like someone else. All at once, she was with a stranger. A lonely, dangerous stranger who was holding her as if he’d never let her go.
She clasped him just as tightly, feeling the very same need.
…
They left Reina’s house in the predawn darkness and headed for the village where Enrique’s mother supposedly lived. While the road flashed under the Harley’s tires, Santos allocated his thoughts about his and Rose’s lovemaking to the very back of his mind. He replaced them by concentrating on the conversation in Reina’s courtyard. The idea of Ortega and Juan Enrique being connected seemed plausible even though he certainly didn’t like the possibility. It complicated the issue, to say the least. But the devil was in the details, and those remained elusive no matter how he looked at it. A couple of miles from the outskirts of the town, he pulled the bike off the potholed road and into the brush. He silenced the engine and removed his helmet. “I want to wait here for a bit and make sure no one saw us leave Reina’s.”
Rose took off her helmet, too, and sat motionless with her arms wrapped around his waist. She dropped her head to his back. “I don’t want my mother to be involved with all this.” Her voice was whisper soft in the stillness of the desert. “The violence, the craziness, the…uselessness of it all. I hate it.”
“You’re supposed to hate it. That’s why we’re the good guys.” He eased away from her and stood. Above them, the stars stabbed the black velvet sky, their piercing points shimmering as he stared. In different circumstances, he would have thought the sight beautiful. Right now the unrelenting darkness seemed as deadly as everything else in this part of Texas. He sat back down, this time facing her, his thighs bracketing hers as his hands went to the column of her neck.
Beneath his fingers, her skin was warm and smooth. “I don’t want anyone involved in it, especially the kids who have their whole lives ahead of them. That’s why we’re here, Rose. We both want to stop it.”
She reached up and held onto his wrists. “I’m not sure we can win the fight. I think they’re gaining on us when I see things like what happened to Hernandez’s sister.” She shivered. The movement had nothing to do with the cool night air.
“It’s hard not to feel that way. But we can’t just give up. That’s not who we are.”
For the first time, he saw doubt in her eyes. “I’m not sure I can live with the idea of my mother being involved with people like this. It’s so contrary to everything I know about her.”
“Give her some credit.”
Her eyes widened as he spoke. Defending Gloria was obviously the last thing Rose expected out of him. “She raised you,” he explained. “And she did a damn fine job. Not to mention that fact that she did it on her own. She made some mistakes, some really bad ones, but she’s tough and she’s smart, and so is her daughter.” He leaned forward and skimmed the soft rose flesh of her mouth with his lips. “Despite what that daughter did last night.”
Rose stiffened. “We agreed that what happened between us didn’t mean anything.”
“No. I promised you no strings. That’s different.”
She dropped her fingers from his wrist. “Santos—”
“I told you already I’m not playing any games, Rose. I can’t make love to you and pretend it was just sex.” He put his hands on her waist and tugged her closer. “I haven’t changed that much. And I refuse to believe that’s what you want.”
“We can’t undo the past.”
“But we don’t have to repeat it, either. I’m not the person I was before ACES.”
“And I’m not the rookie cop who thought you could do no wrong.” She shook her head. “I’ll help you find my mother and maybe, just maybe, she can help us locate your agent, but that’s all this is about, Santos. My heart can’t afford any more than that.”
He cupped her head with one hand and pressed his mouth to hers, this kiss long and slow. She tasted sweet and sexy, and he wanted her even more than he had earlier. No, he thought suddenly, wanted wasn’t the right word. He craved her; the need coursed through his blood with a raging desire that put to shame any of the drugs Ortega sold. With a tiny, frustrated groan, she kissed him back, her fingers tightening on his leather vest, her breasts pushing against his chest.
Tearing his mouth away, he dropped it to her throat, the bristles of his beard scraping the tender skin red. She didn’t seem to mind, in fact she drew him even closer. His heart stuttered, and he couldn’t hold back. His hands went to the zipper on her jeans, and he yanked her into his lap, the heat building between them as surely as it had last night.
Overhead, a shooting star blazed a path through the darkness. He closed his eyes and kissed her once more. Rose had captured his heart. Again.
…
It didn’t take too long to find the Enrique home. The house was the largest structure in the village, the stucco a bright orange that somehow fit with the blue-tiled roof. Off to one side of the yard, a concrete grotto provided shelter for a small religious statue. Similar shrines dotted homes, large and small, on both sides of the borders. This one looked well-tended with a vase of fresh flowers before. Santos pulled into the driveway then circled in behind one of very expensive SUVs parked there, pointing the big Harley toward the street. “You sure his mother won’t recognize you?”
“Nothing’s a sure bet right now,” Rose answered, pulling off her leather gloves. “But I doubt it. She was in jail when I got elected sheriff, and she came here as soon as she got out. His grandmother’s a different story. She shouldn’t be here, though. They’re completely estranged.”
Taking off his helmet, he led the way up the sidewalk. Because they’d polished their backstory before leaving Rio County, they were ready when a man opened the front door, pushed past a screen, and came outside. Slim but muscular, he wore pressed jeans and a loose-fitting short-sleeved shirt that didn’t quite cover the gun-shaped bulge at his waist. His black hair was neatly trimmed, his skin lightly bronzed. He would have been handsome except half his face was horribly scarred. The tight, shiny skin spoke volumes about the fire that had obviously caused the damage.
“Can I help you?” he asked in a friendly voice.
“We’re looking for Juan Enrique,” Santos said, holding his helmet at his side. “I’m Santos, and this is Angela.” Santos spoke again when the man didn’t answer. “Is he here?”
“What makes you think someone by that name lives in this house?” the disfigured man finally asked.
“He told me he did.”
“And when was that?”
“The last time I saw him,” he answered. Rose watched as his jaw went tight, and a coiled tenseness rippled over his body. “Is he here or not?”
The man hesitated minutely, and Santos used the pause to his advantage. “I have something I owe him.”
“You can give it to me.”
Santos smiled slightly. “I don’t think so.”
The shadow of a woman appeared behind the screen door. “Who is it, Marcos? Do they know anything about your brother?”
“They’re asking for him, Mama. Nothing more. Stay inside. Don’t worry.”
“Let them in,” she ordered. “I’ll decide if I’m going to worry or not.”
He shrugged, then stepped away from the sidewalk and held out his hand, waiting for Rose to go first. She entered, Santos trailing her. As they climbed the four steps to the porch, the door swung open to reveal a heavyset woman wearing a flowered housedress. In her fifties, maybe older, she had blond hair that’d been bleached into straw and a worried expression on her face. She did a double-take when she saw Rose, then let them in the house, which was neat and clean. The furniture was expensive and well-made, as was the rug under their feet.
“Do you know my son? I haven’t seen him for a week. I’m getting worried.”
“We’re looking for him, too. We thought he might be here.” Santos ducked his chin at Rose, and she pulled out a paper bag. It was folded over two times and bound with a rubber band. Austin had provided the cash that it held. Rose gave the package to him, and he handed it to the woman. She opened it and flipped through the bills, then turned it over to the man from the sidewalk—Juan’s brother, if she had told the truth. He smirked at Santos and slipped it under his shirt to tuck inside his belt.
The way she’d accepted the envelope gave testament that she knew what her son did for a living. Regardless, as any mother, she was clearly worried about him. “You’ve done business with Juan?”
“You could say that,” Santos replied.
She sank into a couch and waved toward two nearby chairs. “Tell me what you know.”
“We’re looking for a couple of other friends,” Santos said. “We thought they might be with him.”
“Who are these friends?” Marcos asked.
“Just some women we know.” He shrugged. “We thought one of them might be with him. A blonde, nice looking. About your age.”
Juan’s mother made a scoffing sound. “He has plenty of women, just like his father always did. But he likes them young and beautiful. Like her.” She nodded toward Rose.
“That doesn’t answer my question,” Santos pressed.
“And you have a lot of those for just a friend.” Enrique’s brother, if that’s who he really was, looked at him through narrowed eyes, his distrust obvious.
Santos’s expression stayed stony. “You would too if you were in my shoes, amigo. Let’s just say I owe him money…but he owes me something in return.”
The woman grunted, accepting his answer before continuing.
“I might have seen these women. I couldn’t say for sure.” She suddenly narrowed her gaze and sent it back to Rose, studying her face. Rose held her breath, then the woman seemed to dismiss whatever she’d been thinking, her mind returning to the problem at hand.
“We’ve driven by Juan’s house every day, but his car is never there,” the woman said. “We banged on the door, looked through the windows. I’ve called him on his phone, on his cell phone, I text, no answer. Juan made me promise on the Holy Bible, I would never go inside his home if he wasn’t there, but I don’t care anymore. I told Marco we’re going over there today and breaking down the door if we have to.”
“Where do you think he might be?” Rose spoke for the first time. “You must have a clue.”
“Where do I think he is?” Her voice turned harsh as she looked at Rose. “What do you think I think? He’s in his grave. If he wasn’t, he would have called me.”
“He has dangerous associates.” Santos pulled the mother’s attention back to him. “Maybe he made someone important unhappy.”
She slumped against the sofa cushions, the flash of anger she’d directed at Rose gone as fast as it’d come. “When I told him to be careful, he insisted he was fine. He pointed to his chest and said no one dares to go after the man at the top, but if he was such a big shot, why did he run like a rabbit when the big wolf came?”
“Who’s the big wolf—?”
She waved off Santos’s question, her hand fluttering in a gesture of uselessness. “I told him he was going to get eaten. I told him it was even better to be arrested than dead. He didn’t listen to me. And now he’s gone.”
“Mama…” Marcos switched to Spanish. “That’s enough! You don’t know these people. They could be co—”
“Silencio!” Confident they couldn’t understand, she tilted her head to where Santos sat. “Cops don’t look like that. They want to help people. This man has a stone for a heart.”
“Please…anyone can look any way they like these days.”
“I’m not talking about his clothing, bebo. Look at his eyes,” she ordered. “Cops don’t have eyes like that.”
Like Rose, Santos gave no indication he understood. “You shouldn’t mess with El Brujo—” he started.
“Who said anything about someone named that?” she interrupted sharply. “I didn’t mention that name. You must have dreamed that up.”
She threw her palms up to stop him from answering. “No,” she said, shaking her head. “Don’t say another word. I don’t want to know more. Marcos will go to Juan’s house this afternoon, and then I’ll decide what to do.” Her expression told Santos Juan’s mother knew Marcos was going to break into Juan’s house, and she approved. She just wanted to keep her own hands clean in case Juan reappeared.
He lifted his gaze to Juan’s brother. “I can go with you,” he offered. “You might need some help.”
The silent communication they exchanged was one Santos usually shared with other cops. It was an acknowledgement that they both knew something bad was waiting for them.
Still, Marcos looked as though he wanted to refuse, until his mother spoke. “Take him,” she ordered in a voice that brooked no argument. “Don’t wait any longer. Go now.”
As Santos stood, Marcos reached for a jacket hanging over one of the chairs. He stopped and pointed his finger at Rose as she started to rise, too. “Not you. You wait here with my mother.”
“She goes where I go,” Santos said. “I’m not leaving without her, so if you want my help, she comes with us.”
Marcos looked at his mother, and she nodded wearily. “Take her, too,” she said. “And bring me back some answers.”