Texas Hold 'Em (3 page)

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.”

Chapter Three

Rose tried to stay calm. All she could think was Oh, no, Mom. Oh, no… What the hell have you gone and done now?

She stood and met his gaze head-on. “That’s crazy,” she said evenly, her turmoil hidden. “What kind of evidence do you have that my mother’s involved with this guy?”

“It’s straight from a source I trust completely.”

Rose stilled, her blue eyes unblinking, her heart beating painfully. “Unlike my mother?”

A flicker of some indefinable emotion crossed his expression before disappearing. It might have been defiance, or it might have been guilt. She told herself she didn’t care what the hell it was. Their relationship was over. She didn’t give him time to respond. “I haven’t seen her since before I left San Antonio, thanks to you. If she was around here, don’t you think I’d know?”

“I’m not sure.” He gave her a level look. “You tell me.”

She pretended a sudden interest in the sleeve of her uniform. She wasn’t as shocked as she should have been by the possibility that her mother might be with a man like Pablo Ortega. Gloria Renwick had lived a life that was very far from perfect, and her history with flawed men had only been one of her problems. But she and Rose had secrets, secrets that ran deeper than the bottomless canyons surrounding Aqua Frio. Santos had no idea—
nor would he ever know
—what those secrets were.

He spoke, his hand on her arm, bringing her back to the moment. “I know for certain that Gloria was Ortega’s lover a few years back, and that only means one thing—”

“You’re right,” she flared suddenly. “It means she fell for a guy she shouldn’t have. If that’s against the law, then every woman I know—including me—would be in jail.”

“You don’t understand.”

“I understand perfectly. I would think you might, too, since you were there the last time it happened to me.”

He released her, his mouth tightening. “You’re the sheriff, Rose, and you have an obligation to uphold the law. If your mother is involved with him personally, then she’s involved with his business.”

“Not necessarily.”

“Maybe not in a normal relationship, but that’s the way it works with the cartel, and you know it. Either way, we’ll find out when we talk to her. If she’s innocent and knows nothing about this, she’ll be fine.”

“She’ll be
fine
?” Rose repeated with disbelief. “And just what do you think is going to happen with her when your little conversation is finished? How does that usually work, Santos, with the cartel?”

Uneasiness flickered over his expression.

“If this guy finds out she’s in contact with someone like you, she’ll be dead before any of us could blink. Especially if he finds out I’m her daughter.”

“I’m more aware of that then you realize.”

“You’re asking me to risk my mother’s life for the chance—
the chance
—she might know something about your CI. Even if I did know where my mother is, and I don’t, asking me for help with this is pretty damn low, even for you.” Turning her back on him, she walked stiffly toward the sink, her knees shaking with anger.

He uncoiled his legs and blocked her movement, his hand snaking out to her shoulder. The kitchen suddenly felt smaller. His body took up a lot of space, but their past took up more.

“Who do you think sent those men who came after you tonight? You and I both know that wasn’t a random crime. Ortega has to be involved. Everything points to him. He’s moving into Rio County, and he won’t stop until I make him stop.”

“I wouldn’t be so sure about that, Santos. I told you about this guy named Enrique—”

“Sometimes Ortega uses the local talent.” His eyes turned stony and dark. She shivered because she’d seen this kind of determination in his gaze before, and it didn’t bode well for whomever he was hunting. “I’ve got to find this woman. She was taken on my watch. I’m responsible for what happened, and I can’t rest until I fix this and the bastard is behind bars where he belongs.”

She locked her eyes on his and shook her head. “If I thought you were right about my mother, I’d help you. But I don’t, so we’re finished. You need to leave.”

…

Rose was incredibly busy the following day, but her brain still had time to churn away at Santos’s appearance, his pleas, and the way his touch had felt. In between those troubling considerations, she dealt with a teenager’s joyride, an escaped cow, and a ten a.m. drunk at Ms. Mae’s, the only halfway decent bar in town. On the back burner, King was working to find Rose’s attackers, and she’d checked in with him almost hourly. He’d found nothing so far, and John Ramos had insisted he didn’t even know anyone named Juan Enrique, much less asked the man to instigate a jail breakout for him. He was lying, of course, but Santos had barely listened when she’d told him before he’d left last night that only Enrique sold the kind of meth King had found in his arroyo the night he’d arrested Ramos.

In the silence of the newly repaired SUV, she headed home that evening with a purple dusk falling, her thoughts returning to Santos and what he’d said.

The idea of her mother being involved with a criminal like Ortega was disturbing, but what had surprised Rose more was how she’d responded to Santos. Even though he looked completely different, he still had the same smoldering way about him. His voice deep, his face lean, his stare even more intense than it had been before—she hadn’t been able to stop her automatic deep-down-in-her-gut reaction when he’d grabbed her wrist, her body’s betrayal bitter. Maybe she had more of her mother in her than she’d known. His reckless appearance had ratcheted his already sexy appeal even higher.

She was almost to the front door when a quick motion down the street caught her eye. Her pulse taking a leap, her fingers closed over her pistol’s grip. Then a coyote trotted out from under her neighbor’s Mexican Poinciana bush. Three pups followed. Releasing her breath, she sent a quick look in either direction and continued up the steps, feeling foolish.

Once inside, she pulled her drapes then switched on the lamp, collapsing on her sofa to lift her eyes to a framed photo on the opposite wall. A neighbor had taken the picture on her first day of school. Her mother was standing beside her, clutching her hand, a proud smile on her face. At the time, she had known nothing about it, but Gloria had taken care of her daughter by whatever means she could, her crimes petty ones that Rose’s father had taught her when the two of them had still been teenagers—before either had finished high school, before Gloria had gotten pregnant, before he had fled town.

She would attempt to do better with some dead-end job, and then something would happen. Rose would get sick, or the car would break down. An unexpected bill might come in. One time her mother had just flat run out of money and food at the very same time, and she’d had to miss work so they could stand in line at the food bank. For whatever reason, the job would evaporate, and she’d go back to doing what she knew best.

Then Mike Slider had come along and offered what Gloria had thought might be refuge from their grinding existence. An awful man who knew nothing but beer and beating, he had hidden his true personality until after they’d married. He’d proceeded to make both Gloria’s and Rose’s lives a nightmare they couldn’t escape.

If anyone deserved to get what he had coming, even in her eyes,
especially in her eyes
, it had been Mike Slider. She and her mother had taken his abuse until it reached the point of no return.

Gloria had been sentenced to a Texas prison for three years following his death. A kind judge and an understanding jury had been her salvation. Her mom had read Rose’s emotions when she’d walked out of the courtroom and mouthed the words “I love you…” over her shoulder. Rose had sent them back with tears running down her cheeks. She could remember the devastation of that day as if it had happened last week. But Gloria had done her time and paid for the crime. In fact, she’d paid much, much more than anyone, including Santos, could ever appreciate.

Even though he didn’t know the secrets Rose shared with her mother, those very secrets perfectly represented the conflicting philosophy behind their breakup. His job was his job, and it meant everything to him. He simply didn’t care who got hurt, or why people did what they did, nothing mattered but the job.

After she’d left prison, Gloria had drifted in and out of Rose’s life, and they’d both been okay with the arrangement. When Santos began repeatedly to warn her that having Gloria around could hurt her career, she didn’t believe him, and even if he was right, she’d told him, her mother was her mother and they needed to stay in touch, even if it was infrequently.

Then one day Santos told Rose flat out to sever the already tenuous ties she and Gloria shared. He said her mother had gone back to her old ways, and he didn’t want Rose to get hurt. Telling her she was too close to see the situation clearly, he’d insisted she cut Gloria out of her life. Rose had refused.

A month later, Gloria was gone.

At the time, Santos said all he wanted was for Rose to be safe, and that wasn’t possible if she was still seeing Gloria. His insistence and Rose’s refusal had torn them apart. After a final blow up, he’d moved on. She couldn’t deny that, at the time, she’d been relieved. But it had still hurt.

Going home to west Texas, Rose had left San Antonio, coming to Rio County to find her mother. Once there, she’d run for sheriff. She’d been a shoo-in because her grandfather had just retired from the same position. But after two years, she still had no idea where Gloria might be.

And now Santos wanted her to help him find the very woman he’d told her to avoid. She’d give him credit where credit was due.

He had balls.

She threw a salad together, then took a bath and went to bed, but sleep refused to come, no matter how hard she tried to find it. A summer storm’s dry lightning flashed in the distance outside her window while unrelenting images of her past with Santos flashed equally bright behind her eyes: the reflection in the mirror of their naked bodies tangled in the sheets, margaritas on the patio of their favorite Mexican restaurant, the weekend they had spent on Padre watching the waves come in.

She gave up at five a.m. and stumbled out of her bed to the kitchen, leaning against the counter with her eyes closed as the coffee pot gurgled. Carrying a full mug to the tiny porch off the back of her house, she sat down, sipped, and waited, the scent of coffee mingling with the clean, crisp morning air. Silas Renwick showed up right before the sun, just as she’d expected he would. Her grandfather had built-in radar that pinged whenever she was troubled.

He gave her a kiss and walked into the kitchen, reappearing with his own mug a few minutes later. He took a taste before speaking, the rocking chair creaking as he sat down beside her and pushed off.

“Just saw Dan off to the ranch,” he said conversationally. “He’s got a bigwig from Houston looking to bag something he can brag about.”

Daniel Covington was a hunting guide, and he had been her high school sweetheart. Whenever he came to town, her grandfather’s place was always his first stop. After a tractor had rolled over Dan’s father on the family ranch, Silas had taken it upon himself to mentor the fatherless boy, and they’d been close ever since. Rose suspected she and Dan had dated more as an offshoot of his relationship with Silas than anything else.

He’d followed her to San Antonio and become a cop a year after she did. He was too late. She had already met Santos by then. A risky sting operation and a bullet to the knee had ended Dan’s career.

She tensed, expecting her grandfather to say she needed to reschedule the dinner she’d skipped with Dan when Santos showed up. She’d only agreed to go in the first place to placate her grandfather and possibly put the topic to bed once and for all, but she had no intention of calling Dan now. She’d almost rather face the kid with the gun again.

“How’s he doing?” she forced herself to ask. “Every time I see him, he seems angrier than the time before. If you think I’m rescheduling that dinner I had to cancel, don’t hold your breath.”

“I’d be unhappy if I was him, too,” Silas said mildly. “God knows he’s got plenty of reasons. You broke up with him, you’re a cop, and he can’t be—”

“That’s enough,” she said, holding up her hands in defeat. “I suspect you didn’t come over to chit-chat about Dan.”

“That’s true.” He glanced at her from the corner of his eye. “I heard you had some company t’other day. Two different kinds, as a matter of fact.”

Silas knew everything. Sometimes he even knew it before it happened. So much for Santos’s deep cover, she thought ruefully.

“The one who tried to help bothered you more than the one with the gun.” His voice held no uncertainty.

“And just what makes you think that?”

“You can handle a bad guy, but Timothy Santos has always sent you ’round the bend.”

“He’s a bad guy, too. At least in my book.”

“If that’s the case, your book is missing a few pages.”

Her fingers went tight on her coffee mug. Silas had had plenty of unkind words to say about Santos after he’d broken her heart, but basically he liked Santos because they were two of a kind. Her grandfather’s tenure as sheriff of Rio County had lasted for more than twenty years. Quick with his gun and even quicker with his handcuffs, her grandfather had seen it all. Anyone he caught breaking the law found themselves in the county jail, at least for one night. In his opinion, which wasn’t humble at all, arrests came first; the courts handled whatever followed.

“You might change your mind when you hear what he had to say about your daughter,” she retorted. “He thinks Mother might know a drug lord who has something to do with a missing—”

“Informant.”

His information net was extensive, but even she didn’t think it was this wide. “How did you—?”

He waved off her question. “Are you going to help him find your mother?”

“He’s gone undercover as a biker. The setup is crazy insane, and helping him would put the entire department in danger—”

“That doesn’t answer my question.”

“Maybe you’re asking the wrong question. Don’t you care that Mom might get hurt in all this?”