Chapter Eight
A shiny red pickup she didn’t recognize was parked in Silas’s driveway when Rose arrived the following evening. She closed her eyes against the blistering sunset for a second and remembered everything she’d shared with Santos last night. She was still kicking herself for telling him the truth. What on earth had come over her? She didn’t want to consider that the kiss they’d shared might have nicked her defenses and opened a hole big enough for her emotions to escape. No, she didn’t want to consider that at all.
As the cruiser cooled down and clicked in the heat, a quiet, still voice inside her head gave her another answer. The secret had festered inside her for years and, coming to west Texas and finding herself at loose ends, it had grown. The landscape was so empty, so vast, that she’d been forced to think about things she’d kept at bay for years. Santos’s arrival had not only brought up everything that was between them, it’d given rise to the secrets between herself and her mom. The perfect emotional storm, she thought regretfully. And it’d broken at just the wrong time.
She picked her way through the walking stick chollas in her grandfather’s front yard and knocked lightly on the screen door, peering through the wire mesh. “Can I come in?” Without waiting for Silas’s reply, she opened the door, its ancient hinges complaining at the effort.
Her grandfather lifted himself out of his recliner as she stepped inside, a smile breaking out across his face as he held out a hand. “Hey, baby, look who’s here.”
Her eyes went to the man on the plaid couch. After a moment’s struggle with his cane, Dan Strickland stood awkwardly.
She’d always wondered why Dan had returned to Rio County after his injury. He seemed so bitter and unhappy. Was he still searching for ways to fill the holes in his life?
Limping toward her, he smiled. “I got a new ride—bet you didn’t know it was me sitting in here bugging Silas.”
She shook her head and accepted his hug, feeling uncomfortable as she always did when he drew too close.
“It’s a nice looking pickup,” she said as she pulled away a little too quickly. “You always had a thing for red trucks, didn’t you?”
He grinned. “Maybe so, but this one is a business expense. I can’t be hauling around fancy-dancy hunters carrying $75,000 Purdys in a beat-up old Ford.”
Despite his leg, he’d become somewhat of a legend with his hunting guide skills.
“I can see your point,” she said with a smile.
Silas beamed. “Dan’s business is booming. He’s got more trips lined up this year than ever before.”
“Muleshoe, whitetail, even some javelinas. Plenty of dove and quail, too. I’m doing it all,” Dan said. “Why don’t you come with me sometime, Rose? I’ve got a group of women from Dallas going out in early November. I could work you in.” He held up both hands, palms out. “No charge.”
“I appreciate the offer, but I doubt I’d have the time.”
His expression went tight for the barest moment. She wouldn’t have caught it if she hadn’t been looking for it.
“I understand, of course. Duty calls.” He dropped his hands and stepped back. “Speaking of which, I need to get going myself.” He raised a salute to Silas, then tapped past her. “Take care.”
The door closed behind him, and the knock of his cane echoed down the sidewalk.
Silas dropped back in his chair. “Good Lord, Rose, give the guy a break. You could have been more tactful. Life’s hard enough for him already.”
“I didn’t come here to talk about Dan. I came to tell you Santos and I are heading for Mexico shortly.”
Her grandfather lifted one corner of his mouth. “Guess that explains why you’re not interested in Dan.”
She snorted. “I haven’t been ‘interested’ in Dan since I was seventeen. And I’m helping Santos look for Mom and hopefully find his informant. That’s it.”
“You’re doing the right thing,” he said when she finished explaining the trip.
Her glance fell on a ratty afghan lying on the arm of the couch. She remembered the smell of the wool and how warm it had felt draped over her as her mother had created it.“Even though it might hurt Mom?”
“She’s responsible for her actions just like we are for ours.” A fleeting expression of resolution crossed his face. He was a hard old man when it came to his daughter. “Law applies t’same to everybody.”
“I know that,” she said. “But—”
“But nothing. Santos knows what he’s doing, and you have to follow his lead. The men in these cartels aren’t the same kind of guys I used to lock up. You’re going to have to watch yourself, girl.” He reached for the coffee cup he always kept nearby. “Those sons-a-bitches are meaner than scorpions and just as poisonous. If they have Santos’s C.I., we need to pray for her.” He sipped from the mug before placing it back on the side table. Without meeting her eyes, he spoke gruffly. “Call me when you get back. I want to know you’re safe.”
“I will.” She rose to her feet and stepped to his recliner, kissing him on the forehead. The door squeaked one more time, and she was gone.
…
Santos switched off the Harley and nudged the chrome kickstand in place with a battered boot, throwing a leg over the seat. Jessie had called him an hour ago and asked him to drop by the bar. She’d sounded concerned. The evening’s festivities had yet to begin, but ZZ Top blared out the open windows, the smell of smoke, fried food, and beer floating out, as well. Brandy, the brunette who’d helped patch him up, started toward him as he walked inside. Jessie cut her off halfway across the dance floor with a push on the younger woman’s shoulder. The redheaded ACES agent flashed a grin at the hoots and hollers of the other bikers as Brandy retreated, her cheeks flushing brightly.
“We need to talk.” Jessie put a hand on his face and drew it down his cheek. She was a beautiful woman, tall and athletic, with incredible curves. As ACES’ “bad” girl, her supposed job was to run the prostitutes ACES said they employed four counties over. Anyone watching her and Santos would have thought they were heading straight for the nearest bed, which was exactly what they wanted them to think.
But she wasn’t Rose. The other night refused to leave his mind, the memory of her lips pressing against his, the feel of her body as he’d pulled her to him, the pain she’d shared with him. Why couldn’t he get it out of his mind, dammit?
He put his arm around Jessie’s waist and buried his face in her hair, halfway wishing another woman could satisfy him. “What’s up?”
“It’s Dickie.” She let out a moan then pulled back and grabbed him by the hand. “Come outside, and I’ll tell you.”
Until a few months ago, Dickie Barclay had been a houseguest of the State of Texas in El Paso for possession of a controlled substance, mainly crystal meth. When his jail time was over, he’d headed straight back to Rio County. He was a skinny, obnoxious biker who belonged to a peripheral club. No one liked him and no one wanted to be around him, but somehow he always managed to know the latest gossip. Every time he saw Jessie, he made a beeline for her. She’d put up with him so far, hoping one day her patience might pay off. Santos felt a flicker of hope at her words. Maybe Dickie had finally come through with something that mattered.
They slipped out of the beer joint and walked over to Jessie’s Harley. Leaning on the bike’s leather seat, he faced one direction and she faced the other. “Dickie has a video clip on a phone he wanted me to see this morning,” Jessie said without preamble. “I thought I should tell you about it. It could be nothing or not. I’m not sure.”
“Tell me.”
“It showed two women talking. They were standing on a riverbank, or maybe next to some water, I couldn’t tell exactly. One was older, a bleached blonde, kinda heavy-set.”
“And the other one?”
“Short, maybe 5’2”, brunette with hair to her shoulders, jeans, and a T-shirt. Hispanic.” She paused, her expression troubled. “The blonde’s hands were behind her. They might have been tied, or she could have just been holding them that way. I couldn’t tell if it was Lilith or not.”
None of them actually knew her; all they’d seen was a picture. He felt his whole body go cold. “What were they doing?”
“Just talking. The brunette was waving her hands around, but the other one never moved. The clip is short, less than 10 seconds.”
“Why did Dickie show this to you?”
“I don’t think I was supposed to see it,” she answered. “What he wanted to show me was something a little more…exotic.”
“Exotic as in…?”
“Two women, three men, a dog collar, whips, high heels. Should I keep going and be more specific?”
“I get the idea.”
“He was trying to find that masterpiece when I spotted this clip and stopped him. When I asked him about it, all I could get out of him was that ‘somebody big’ had ‘done something bad to a woman,’ and I didn’t need to worry about it. I got the impression he didn’t have anything to do with it.”
“No idea who this someone big might be?”
“Not a hint.”
“Did he mention Tony Barra?”
ACES had done the protection run for the smuggler and his chapter but had gotten no more information. The Dos y Tres members weren’t happy about the ACES’s appearance in Rio County, or the ride along, and had made that clear. Santos had heard several of the riders laughing behind his back at the brick that had hit his Harley.
“Nope. But if Dickie had been aware of Lilith, and especially if he’d known she’s a C.I., he would have said so. He’d want the bragging rights on that one for sure.”
“Ortega didn’t get to where he is by being stupid. She was getting too close and learning too much. She even warned me she was going to press her chances.” ACES had had this discussion a hundred times already and his control began to slip. “Damn it to hell, this whole thing is turning to shit. What about the other woman? Did you recognize her?”
Jessie shook her head, her red hair catching the sun. “Don’t have a clue.”
“Anyone else in the clip?”
“Just the two of them.”
“Vehicles?”
“None that I could see.”
“Did you recognize anything at all about the location?”
“Nothing, but it was definitely around here. The landscape was empty and brown, except near the water’s edge.”
“Is there any way you could get me a copy of the video? Maybe steal the phone?”
“I got the feeling it wasn’t his phone. I think he’d found it, and everyone had been passing it around. I saw him slip it to Keeper afterwards.”
“What’d Keeper do with it?”
“He put it in his pocket and made a face at Dickie. I guess it was Keep’s.”
A cloud of dust kicked up as three bikers pulled into the parking lot. Their conversation was loud and crude as they dismounted and shuffled toward the bar.
Jessie waited until the men disappeared inside. “So what should I do?”
“The only thing you can do—keep digging.” Santos pushed off the bike as he grinned and straightened up. “And try not to become a star in Dickie’s next big production.”
…
Rose got out of the cruiser and walked up to her front porch with the key in her hand. Hesitating on the steps, she studied the empty street in front of her house. While she’d been at Silas’s place, the sun had sunk behind the mountains, leaving only a hint of light behind their shadows. In another minute or so, the street would be completely dark. Just down the road in Terlingua, an environmental group had come out against “light pollution,” saying outdoor lighting cut down on the ability to see the stars. Rose could understand their position. In a few hours, the stars would be sitting on the roof of her house.
She unlocked the door with a sigh and started inside, her mind a jumble of thoughts and images. About Santos, of course, but Dan, too. He’d been such a different person back in high school. Then again, so had she. If Santos had gone to their school and she’d known him, she was pretty sure she’d be able to say the same about him.
She stepped inside, took two steps, then froze, her senses suddenly focusing. The house was silent but something was very wrong. The air felt…disturbed. Someone who didn’t belong had walked through her home and left a trail.
She flipped the snap on her holster and slowly withdrew her weapon. Her glance made a circuit around the living room and then slid into the kitchen. Everything looked fine, but it wasn’t fine and she knew it. Keeping to her left, she walked into the kitchen, the counter against her hip as she made her way to the half bath. A quick glance told her it was empty. She cut her eyes to the back door. The lock was still thrown. No one had broken in, but she knew herself well enough by now to recognize the signs. Someone had definitely been inside.
Her hands clasping her gun, she headed for rear of the house to the bedroom and bath. The place was tiny, and Silas had built it for himself, leaving out as many nooks and crannies as he possibly could. He didn’t like hiding places, and for good reason. Doors made all cops nervous —you could never tell what was behind one.
With the wall at her back, she silently slipped down the hallway until she drew even with the larger bathroom. She pushed the door open with one foot, and it swung backward with a lazy motion, hitting the counter behind it then bouncing once, the thud unexpectedly loud. The bath was as empty as the other two rooms.
Her steps muffled by the carpet, she continued down the hall toward her bedroom. She stopped when a flickering light inside the room caught her attention. The beam painted the opposite wall with narrow ribbons that looked as if they were dancing.
Her finger tightened on her weapon, and she stepped around the corner.
A tall candle, precariously balanced, rested in the middle of her bed. The wick had burned halfway down, and the lurid figures painted on the outside of the glass container leapt manically around the flame. The glass in the window next to her bed had been shattered and a sudden gust of dry wind urged the light to flicker higher. But the room was empty.
She relaxed her grip slightly, her stare returning to the candle as she moved closer. The painted decoration showed an angel dressed in red armor with giant white wings. He was holding glittering gold swords in both hands, a vengeful and violent expression on his face. Underneath his booted foot a demon cowered, his terrified eyes peeking out from long-nailed fingers that covered his face, his hideous shape curled in a clearly useless effort to protect himself.
“San Miguel Arcángel,” she murmured, recognizing the figure. “What are you doing in my bedroom, señor? Who brought you here and lit you up?”
A small piece of paper just underneath her bed skirt fluttered as another puff of wind came through the broken window. Using the barrel of her weapon, she bent over and pinned it to the carpet, dragging it closer.
It was a receipt for the candle from a store…in Mexico City.
The bottled candles were a staple of the locals and beyond. They used them to bless new babies and send the old ones to el cielo, to slay their enemies and to beg for the winning numbers. A candle could help many things—no problem was too big or too small—but each one had a very specific purpose.
St. Michael’s candles were burned for many purposes, but in Rio County it only meant one thing.
Someone was about to die.