Chapter Two
Her questions were wiped from her mind as Rose caught up with Timothy Santos a few seconds later. They raced in unison across the blacktop, crashed through a low hedge, and darted into the open area behind the station. If she’d been in heels instead of the flats she’d dragged out of her closet, this contest would have already been over and the men she’d been chasing would be long gone.
All at once, a different pair of men bolted out from behind a tortured mesquite tree and followed the fleeing boy. They were obviously with the boy but had hung back, possibly because she would have recognized them. The idea fueled her legs, and she poured on more speed.
She was halfway to the dry creek bed that bordered the county property when the trio reached the scrawny oaks lining the slope. Headlights flickered and the men shouted as they dashed toward the twin beams. A second later, the vehicle’s door slammed and an engine screamed.
At her side, Santos lifted his gun and steadied his aim with both hands. Rose swirled, her breath catching in her chest. He’d won every shooting competition he’d ever entered, and she had no doubt he could hit the truck. Her chest heaving from the run, she cried, “Watch out! There’s a kid in there.”
From beneath a well-worn cowboy hat, Santos silenced her with a single look, the light glancing off the slash of his cheekbones as he reluctantly pointed the barrel down. The moon came out from behind the clouds, the landscape turning to silver as the truck disappeared in a whirlwind of gravel and grit. As motionless as a slab of granite, he stood before her in a wide-legged stance. “He might have been a kid, but he was a kid with a gun.”
He was right, of course—Santos usually was—but she didn’t admit it. “What in the hell are you doing here?” she asked.
Only seconds passed as she waited for his answer, but in that moment, she swung from angry to stunned as his appearance registered. He was the man she’d lived with and loved two years ago, but nothing about him looked the same. Beneath his hat his hair was long and tangled, his face thinner, his eyes haunted—a stark harshness in his expression carving lines where none had been. Even his sleeveless leather vest looked worn, scratches and rips marring the entire surface, his jeans baggy and faded. The white felt hat, silver badge, pressed shirt, and polished boots were all gone. A quintessential bad boy had replaced the quintessential lawman.
He didn’t answer.
“Santos? Did you hear me? I asked you what the hell—”
“I heard you, damnit.” He thrust his hands behind his back and tucked the gun away. “Why don’t you tell me what that was about instead?” He tilted his head toward the direction of the men’s escape.
He’d always been a master at deflecting attention, manipulating the situation, doing whatever it took to turn things his way. She’d fallen for his maneuvering more often that she wanted to admit; she wasn’t going to repeat that particular mistake. She put her hands on her hips. “Last time. Why are you here? You can’t just show up out of the blue like this and not explain yourself.”
“I have business in Rio County,” he said brusquely.
“Business? What kind of bullshit is that—”
He cut her off. “Answering my question seems like the least you can do since I saved your ass. Tell me what that was all about first.”
He wasn’t going to give up. “I’m not sure,” she finally conceded. “I think he wanted to spring one of the idiots we have locked up.” She stared into the darkness then looked up at Santos again. “I think maybe one of the local drug guys named Juan Enrique must have put him up to it.”
“If you had let me fire, we might have found out for certain. I could have hit a tire and stopped them.”
Had his eyes been this empty before? His hollow stare unnerved her, almost as much as his sudden appearance.
“And you could have hit a person, too, so unless you explain what you’re doing in my county, I need to get back to the station and get on the radio. Everyone needs to know about these guys. If you don’t want to come with me, then I suggest you take a bath, get a haircut, and leave town. You might scare some of my citizens if you hang around looking like that.”
A deep voice splintered the quiet as someone called out her name in the darkness. Rose looked over her shoulder to see Kingson Landry running in her direction, his hand on his holster, determination in his stride.
“That’s my deputy—”
Santos’s fingers latched onto her arm. His grip felt as desperate as the boy’s had been. “I wasn’t here, Rose.”
“What…?”
“You didn’t see me, okay? This is important. Tell me you understand.”
Her forehead wrinkled. “What on earth is your problem? King’s going to want to know why I’m talking to some stranger out here in the dark, especially looking like you do.” Glancing over her shoulder, she saw the deputy drawing near. She turned back to Santos. “I have to tell him something—”
The night swallowed her words. Santos had already vanished.
…
Rose Renwick hadn’t changed one bit.
The dress she’d worn had clung to a body that could still stop his heart, her curves lush and her lips tempting. Her eyes still held the same distrust of him, too.
But it hardly mattered. Once she found out the truth—and she would find out—the miniscule amount of trust left between them in the wake of their breakup would disintegrate for good. She’d never want to have anything to do with him again, and he couldn’t blame her.
Prior to bringing the crew to Aqua Frio, he had done his due diligence, or so he called it. Parking down the street from where Rose lived, he had watched her place for several weeks, on and off, hoping to see something—or someone—that might end his search without it even beginning. After she entered the tiny house, her silhouette would fill each window in the same order and then she would close the drape, turning on lamps as she went from room to room. Twice she’d had people over, and low laughter had crossed the street to where he’d hidden. Once she’d gone out with someone, and they’d kissed on her front porch in the shadow of a honey mesquite.
The envy he’d felt for that man at that moment had almost sent him spinning out of control. All he’d been able to think about was how desperately he wanted to feel the softness of her lips once again, touch the curves beneath her clothes, pull her to him, and never let go.
Instead the desert’s darkness had seeped into his bones, nothing more than old memories keeping him company. He’d drunk himself into a stupor that night at the ranch, passing out then sleeping so hard, Austin actually had to come into his room the next day to shake him awake.
Reminding himself of why he was really there, he returned to the present. Rose’s jailbird mother was his main concern, and only one thing was for certain in that department: if Gloria Renwick was anywhere around, she hadn’t come to see her daughter while he had been watching.
Fragments of Rose’s conversation with her deputy drifted on the cool night air to the boulder where Santos had taken cover, her voice steady as she spoke like the sheriff she was.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about… No one was out here but me. …need to bag the gun the kid dropped and let Sheriff Wilder over in Delray County know. Call the guys down at the border then go to the jail and squeeze John Ramos. I think that kid might be working for Enrique…”
Santos tilted his head to one side and watched them return to the station. He was pretty sure Landry had been the deputy who had followed him and his crew one day. Stopping them just outside of town, the man had made his feelings obvious—bikers weren’t welcome in Rio County.
Santos waited until the crunch of their footsteps faded. When he looked again, they were in the parking lot of the station. King held the door open for Rose, and Santos watched as the deputy put his hand on the small of her back to guide her inside, a flicker of jealousy flaming hotly before he could stop it. He shook the reaction out of his head. Rose would be home sooner or later, and he intended to be waiting for her.
He circled back to the street where he’d been when he heard Rose scream, puffs of dust rising in the wake of his boots. Aqua Frio was as rough and unforgiving as the landscape. Burning in the summer, freezing in the winter. If you got stranded you could die, and if the weather didn’t get you, one of vicious dope runners would come along, cut your throat, then take the coat off your back. The other wild animals that roamed the mountains—rattlesnakes, feral pigs, even the occasional black bear—were tame in comparison.
The sound of someone’s radio playing a Mexican love song floated on the air. Even though he’d hesitated to tell Rose he was there, he didn’t have a choice after tonight. It looked like Ortega might already be making a move. Rose wasn’t going to be happy when she found out he was working in her county. She was going to be even less happy when she learned what he wanted from her.
He kept to the shadows and found the Harley where he’d left it, sitting by the curb two blocks down and three streets over. No one in his right mind would steal the bike, it was so beat-up. But it fit him. He was battered and bruised, too—the last few years had been hell.
Despite the Cobra baffles, the throaty growl of the motorcycle echoed in the empty street, the curtains at more than one of the houses flicking to the side as he passed. He drove slowly to keep the sound down as much as he could, reaching Rose’s home on the outskirts of town ten minutes later. After giving the place a quick look, he kept going, his eyes cutting to his side mirrors. The clouds had returned and a darkness too thick to stir surrounded the place. Finally he spotted the dirt road where he’d hidden the Harley before, half a mile down on the left. Turning the bike, he doused his headlight, killed the engine, and shifted into neutral, letting the big bike coast until he reached a dip in the terrain.
Returning on foot through the pasture behind her house, he sat down on Rose’s porch to wait. An hour later, a cruiser pulled into the driveway. She stepped out of it wearing a uniform instead of the dress she’d had on. Halfway up the second step, she saw his silhouette and froze, her hand flying to the holster she now wore. He was faster. He rose and grabbed her wrist before her fingers could reach the weapon.
She yanked away her arm and glared at him. “Where’s your brain? I could have shot you.”
He shook his head and lifted one corner of his mouth. “I’m the one who shoots first and thinks later. Isn’t that what you always told me back in San Antone?”
“I did, and you do.”
They’d hidden in the shelter of her porch, but he needed to get them out of sight as soon as possible. “Just unlock the door, Rose. We need to talk, but not out here.”
She followed his order without comment, her brown eyes uneasy. Once inside the entry, he glanced around the room as if he’d never been there before. “Close the drapes. All of them.”
Again she did as he instructed, returning to the living room to put her hands on her hips. “Let’s have it. Give me the truth right now, or I’m hauling your ass in.”
“For what?” He rubbed his gritty eyes in sudden weariness. If she would let him, he could fall into her bed and sleep until the second coming. Then he realized he probably wouldn’t ever get near that bed again, no matter who might show up. And he wouldn’t sleep if he were in it. “How about something to eat first?”
She picked up the phone on the nearby table and started to punch in a number.
“Wait, please. If you make me a sandwich, I’ll tell you everything. I promise.”
She was as easy to read as the gang banger he’d beat last week in a hot game of Under the Gun. She didn’t want anything to do with him, much less feed him.
“God knows you look like you could use a meal.” She spoke slowly, surprising him. “But if you don’t talk…”
“You have my word. You’ll get your answers,” he conceded. Just not all of them. “But you won’t like what I have to say,” he added.
After a puzzled look, she headed for the kitchen. He followed, the cozy atmosphere of the home more disconcerting than he’d expected. He hadn’t lived in a place this nice, this neat, this clean in so long he’d forgotten how to act. Which Rose apparently noticed.
“If you’d like to wash up, the bathroom’s over there.” She arched an eyebrow toward a hallway.
When he stepped inside the spotless lavatory, he almost wished he had turned down her offer. Leaning on the countertop, his hands on either side of the sink, he studied his reflection in the mirror. The man who stared back didn’t look familiar, but that was the problem, wasn’t it? Because the person he was looking at was exactly who he had become. He’d lost his way somewhere along the line, and that was the least of what was missing…
Rose knocked on the door. “Do you need anything? Extra soap? Towels?”
“I’m fine. Be right there.” He dropped his gaze and pumped out some liquid from a pink container by the sink, slathering his hands then lifting them to his nose. The bubbles smelled sweet and fresh, just like something Rose would pick out at the local Food Basket. He soaped the stubby prickles of his beard and swiped a hand behind his neck. He wished he could shave, but clean-faced bikers were the butt of too many jokes. Bankers and dentists pretending to be riders weren’t welcome inside the real ranks. If the posers knew what they were really flirting with, every mother’s son of them would abandon their duded-up geezer glides and run the other way.
Rose looked at him when he came out. He must have gotten off the first layer of dirt, because she nodded toward the table by the window where a white bowl sat. A contrail of steam drifted above it, the smell already making his mouth water. A glass of iced tea waited as well.
“I had some stew in the refrigerator I needed to get rid of,” she said off-handedly.
Standing beside one of the chairs, he picked up the bowl and shoveled in the food so fast it burned the roof of his mouth. He hadn’t had a home-cooked meal in months. They hadn’t been together because of Rose’s talents in the kitchen, but every bite of this tasted like heaven.
She watched in silence until he finished. “Want some more? Maybe you’d like to taste it the second time around?”
He nodded and she refilled the bowl, but as he began to eat again, he thought about why he was there, and the stew didn’t taste as good as it had before. He put down his spoon, set the bowl on the table, and lifted his gaze.
Rose raised an eyebrow. “Lose your appetite?”
“You’ve got a problem,” he said instead of answering her.
“I’ve got more than one.” She tipped her glass of tea in his direction. Her eyes swept his vest, his jeans, and the scruffy straw cowboy hat he’d put on the kitchen counter.
“Let’s start with the basics. First, tell me why you look like that.”
“My appearance is the least of your troubles.”
“If you’re talking about something official, this conversation should be happening at the station. And if you’re talking about something personal, don’t waste your breath. We’re over.”
“I’m talking about Rio County. And this isn’t something I can take care of at your office.”
“You don’t look like a person who can take care of yourself, much less a problem.”
“Just let me finish.”
She held out her palm in a “go ahead” motion.
“There’s a new cartel moving into the area—up and down the river around here—”
She started shaking her head while he was still talking. “I stay on top of that kind of thing. I know all the players.”
“Not this one. The man in charge is known as El Brujo.”
“The Sorcerer?” she asked.
“His real name is Pablo Ortega.”
“So what kind of ‘spells’ does he weave?”
“The kind you can’t even imagine,” Santos said grimly. “He does all the usual—dope, gambling, and hookers—and as a sideline, he’ll have his men kill anyone you want dead and make them suffer beforehand. Usually, he tends to his first love, which is smuggling weapons across the Texas border to sell to people in his own country who shouldn’t have them. And I’m not talking .22s.”
“That’s a federal offense. Let the feds take care of it.”
“They know what’s going on. But it’s not that simple.”
She studied him, her eyes meeting his for a long silent moment. “Does this have something to do with ACES? I heard the whole Ammunition, Contraband, and Explosive Suppression team was disbanded. In fact, I heard you got fired.”
Santos stiffened as he realized she’d bought the cover story they’d circulated. Was it that easy to make her think the worst about him? “I retooled the team. We’ve changed our approach, and now we’re undercover.”
He picked up his spoon, only to let it drop again. He didn’t like to think about the problems they’d had even before Lilith had gone silent. Leaks, confusion, misinformation. He’d found himself wondering about things he didn’t want to wonder about, including the question of just how close his confidential informant remained to Ortega and all his tempting wealth. It wouldn’t have been the first time a confidential informant had turned double agent.
“It was a good plan except…”
“Except…?” Rose’s voice seemed to soften, but he wasn’t sure. Maybe he was imagining it. He hadn’t seen much kindness lately.
“I’ve got a source in as deep as a source can go. And I haven’t heard from her in weeks.”
“Her…?”
Keep it simple. One wrong word and she’d know he was lying. She always had. “We call her Lilith.”
She gave a curt nod. Using cover names protected everyone involved, especially on a deal like this one.
Then she frowned. “Is she local? Someone I know? Is that why you’re here?”
Careful, he warned himself. “She’s from here, yes, but I knew her back in San Antonio.”
“If she’s from around here, I should be able to find something on her. I could ask around—”
“No.”
This was exactly what he’d thought she would say and was exactly what he could not let happen. In fact, preventing Rose’s involvement in this was one of the primary reasons he was there. She simply couldn’t find out what was happening until he was ready for her to know the facts. He didn’t have to guess how she’d react if she’d accidently learned he was in Rio County undercover. A preemptive strike had been his only viable choice. He’d told himself to go big or stay home, so he’d fabricated the one lie he knew would get her attention.
“No. The last thing I want is to draw attention to her. And if I’m wrong about why she’s gone silent, it could blow her cover. And then she’d be dead.” Rose blinked at his bluntness but he continued. “I sent her out here almost two years ago. She only communicated with us sparingly—she couldn’t get away more frequently, so when she first went quiet, we didn’t get too worried. We thought she just couldn’t get out. That was six weeks ago. She hasn’t shown up, and we haven’t heard from her.”
“Do you think she’s dead?”
“I have no idea.” He reached for his tea and took a long swallow, wishing it were something stronger. “Ortega wants to establish himself in Rio County, and she’s about as close to him as you can get. If he found out the truth, he’d kill her and never give it a second thought. There are plenty of other possibilities, though.”
“Traffickers?”
“That’s one option,” he said carefully. “She certainly fits the bill—blond, blue eyes, slim and beautiful.” He couldn’t stop himself. “You remind me of her in a lot of ways.”
Rose looked down and wiped her tea glass with the back of one finger, her expression closed. The silence built. All he could hear was the hum of the refrigerator.
She spoke as if he hadn’t. “So you think this guy, El Brujo—Pablo Ortega—had something to do with all this? She didn’t just disappear and leave you hanging?”
“She wouldn’t do that,” he said with a flat voice.
“How do you know for sure?”
“Because I know her.”
A heartbeat went by. “I see.”
“It’s not what you’re thinking,” he said quietly. “But I’ve already said too much. Any more and I’d be risking everyone involved.”
“Dammit, Santos, in case you didn’t hear me before, I am the sheriff. I got involved the minute you set foot in Rio County.”
“I’ve told you what I can for now. In the meantime, no one can know who I really am or why I’m here. Not even your deputy.”
“King’s a respectable man. He’s well thought of, and his family’s been here since the republic. He could help. He’s got contacts—”
“Doesn’t matter,” Santos put the image of the deputy’s hand on Rose’s back out of his mind.
“You’re good, Santos,” she conceded. “Maybe the best cop I’ve ever known. But even you can’t handle something like the cartel by yourself.”
He knew what the praise cost her. “Like I said, the feds know I’m here. And so do the border guys.” He braced himself for her reaction. Interagency rivalry was legendary within the ranks, and Rose had even more reasons than that to object to his presence.
She shrugged and spoke dismissively. “The feds have their hands full, and the border patrol guys are cool. They have their job. I’ve got mine. When we think we need to know each other’s business, we share.”
He raised an eyebrow. “No territorial conflicts?”
“The nearest office is run by a woman.” She smiled. “That’s one of the reasons we work so well together. No need for a tape measure.”
“That is an advantage.” His gaze fell to the curves beneath her uniform before he returned to the subject at hand, frustration deepening his voice. “Our cover’s not going to last forever, so the clock is ticking. For us and for my informant.”
“I take it that cover has something to do with the patch on your jacket?”
“We’d been planning the operation for a while. It was the fastest way to get closer.” He slanted his shoulder toward her. Her eyes skimmed his sleeveless leather vest. The bikers called them “cuts” or sometimes referred to them as their “colors.”
Embroidered across the shoulders was a fan of five cards. A royal flush. Overlapping them was a laughing skeleton racing a bike with two guns crossed over his chest. Its bony fingers gripped the handlebars as a streak of fire curled up from beneath his tires, a white cloud billowing behind. Scrawled at the top were the words “Smokin’ ACES.” At the bottom, where she’d seen other riders with patches that indicated the Chapter’s home, the vest was bare.
She shook her head. “A motorcycle gang? Are you crazy, Santos? Those guys are hardcore. I’m sure there are plenty of good bikers out there—I know a lot of them are veterans—but some of the clubs around here are mixed up with the cartels in a big way.”
“And that’s exactly why we’re using the cover. We’re offering protection for Ortega’s money runs. He hasn’t bitten yet, but we come highly recommended from a ‘Chapter’ out in California. All of us have sheets as big as Texas.” This time he leaned over the table, his voice grim. “The bikers aren’t our target, Rose. Ortega is.”
“I understand what you’re saying, and I admire your…ingenuity, but this situation is—”
“This isn’t a situation, Rose. Ortega is an animal, and my CI has quit talking to me. We aren’t going to let something like this be swept under the rug. We’re going to do whatever it takes to get her out.” Here came the tricky part. “I think there’s someone in the area who might be able to help. If anyone can give us accurate information on El Brujo, it might be this person.”
She waited expectantly, her blue eyes locking with his. “Well? Who is this mystery person with all this information?”
He came to his feet and planted his hands on the table in front of her, looking her straight in the eye. “I’m looking for your mother. We think she’s with Ortega, and I need your help to find her.”