Texas Hold 'Em (2 page)

The time had come for him to talk to the sheriff.

…

The stranger pressed the gun against her neck, the barrel cold and hard.

Sheriff Rose Renwick pulled in a breath as the man stood motionless beside the broken window of her Jeep Cherokee. His clothing was as dark as the west Texas sky, his face partially covered with a red bandana, another tied just above his eyebrows.

“Hand over the keys.” He spoke with a forced bravado.

Her body froze but her mind went into overdrive. There was something familiar about the quiver in his voice and his jittery demeanor. Despite his threat, he seemed young to her and inexperienced. While Aqua Frio, the county seat, had its fair share of nameless drifters, same as all the border towns, she wondered automatically if she’d arrested him before.

“You really don’t want to do this,” she said calmly.

Jiggling from one foot to the other, he gripped the pistol tighter, his fingers trembling. “I’ve got the gun. You do what I say.”

“And I’m the sheriff. Which means
you
do what
I
say.” She paused. “Drop the weapon, step away from the vehicle, and spread out on the ground. Hands behind your back.”

“Are you for real?”

“Do what I’m saying, then we’ll discuss that issue.”

“We ain’t discussing
nada
.” He shook his head, his momentary hesitation quickly replaced by a cocky attitude.

Courage from a crystal
, she thought. “You’re making a mistake.”

He shook his head with a twitchy movement. “Just hand me the keys, bitch.”

She sighed loudly, making her acquiescence as obvious as possible. “Okay…okay. Hold your horses.” Tilting to her left as if to open the door, she eased her right hand toward the gap between the seats. Her fingers should have found the butt of the Glock she kept there, the one she always made sure was loaded, but they brushed the floor instead.

“Don’t bother,” he gloated. “I already took it.” He curled his hand impatiently, his gaze darting toward the car keys. “Gimme the keys.”

Rose sent a quick glance toward the corner of the lot. She’d noticed the street light was out. Bob Wilson, the county’s one-man maintenance department, had taken his daughter to visit the university in Austin. Which was also why Rose’s broken vehicle window hadn’t been repaired when she’d noticed it the day before.

The shattered streetlight, the broken window, the kid with a gun standing beside her window… Meth-heads didn’t plan things—all they did was act. Someone had searched the SUV, taken her gun, and scouted the parking lot, even figured out what time she’d been leaving the station tonight. What she’d assumed was an ordinary carjacking slowly began to seem like more than that.

“We have a call-in system,” she warned. “If I don’t radio dispatch every fifteen minutes, someone will realize I’m in trouble, and they’ll close the county roads.” Her threat was only partially true. Check-in was expected in thirty-minute intervals and only happened when the officer was on duty. Unfortunately, she had just clocked out.

“I’ll be long gone by then, Miz Sheriff. And I don’t need no stinkin’ roads.” He laughed behind his mask as he drew a line down the side of her jaw with the barrel. She couldn’t stop the concern that skittered down her spine. “Get out of the car, and when you’re out, turn around.”

Whatever you do, don’t let anyone control the situation, she’d lectured her deputies when she’d first been elected sheriff. Always stay calm. Think smart. Take care.

Her instructions had been sound, but they weren’t doing her any good at the moment. To make matters worse, she’d changed before leaving the station. Just seeing a uniform intimidated some people, but she’d finally agreed to dinner with Dan Strickland, a local hunting guide and former boyfriend, and she was wearing one of the few dresses she owned. Another stupid mistake—in more ways than one.

Maybe she could make the boy think he’d found her only weapon. Her service revolver was hidden in her purse on the floorboard in front of the passenger seat.

“You’ve already got my gun,” she said. “There’s money in my wallet—it’s right here in my bag—let me get it. You can have it all. Credit cards, too. Take them, I don’t care.”

“I’m not that dumb, so shut the hell up and get out.”

In the second of silence that followed, a gust of wind powered an empty can across the parking lot. Even Pearl Mobley’s obnoxious Jack Russell was quiet for a change, leaving all her neighbors watching their television in peace. In the quiet, comprehension dawned. “This is about Ramos, isn’t it?”

Uncertainty suddenly flickered in his dark eyes.

Kingson Landry, her chief deputy, had arrested a drug mule Sunday night as he’d darted through one of the arroyos dotting the Landry ranch. The smuggler obviously hadn’t planned on King riding his fence line at midnight. She wasn’t too sure what had brought King out that time of night to do what he was supposedly doing, but had been glad he’d caught the man.

King had finally learned that the mule supposedly worked for a low-rung drug seller named Juan Enrique, and that’s whose drugs he’d had on him when he’d been arrested. Enrique was the perfect example of how far Rio County had fallen. A poor kid himself and smart enough to know better, he’d joined the cartel while he was still a teenager. He’d been in and out of trouble until he’d realized he was losing money with his foolishness. He’d disappeared at that point. Now his work was done by kids like the one in front of her.

“John Ramos isn’t worth your life, and neither is helping Enrique,” she said softly. “Someone’s taking advantage of you. Things like this never work out the way you plan, and this won’t, either. If you don’t bring Ramos back, they’ll kill you. You’re better off going to jail. One way or the other, this is not going to end well for you. Give me that gun, and maybe we can work out a third option.”

“I’m tellin’ you, this
ain’t
about Ram! Or nobody named Juan! Now can get out of the damned car, or I’m shootin’ you where you sit.” He grabbed her left arm, his eyes wild, his fingers biting into her flesh. “Your choice,
puta
.”

Without any warning, she ripped her arm from his grip and grabbed for her purse, but her sleeve got caught on the gearshift. The momentary delay gave the boy enough time to seize a handful of her hair. Jerking her backward, she screamed and opened the car door, yanking her out of the SUV.

She tumbled from the vehicle with his fingers still twisted in her hair. Young or not, the guy topped her by a good four inches, his arms bunched beneath his light jacket with sinewy muscles, his eyes glittering with a jacked-up determination. Even with all her experience, it wasn’t going to be easy to take him down, especially without any weapons.

He threw her against the car door, jabbing her with the gun, this time hard enough to really hurt. She gasped as the pain registered, then shunted the response aside. “Turn around,” she said from behind gritted teeth. “And put your hands on the hood.”

He laughed and threw her toward the fender. “How about you do that instead?”

Her light summer dress swishing around her knees, Rose did as he ordered, her plan forming quickly.

If she was fast enough, she could turn and catch him by surprise. Grabbing the pistol was going to be the complicated part, but she’d been in tighter situations and managed.

She took a breath, relaxed her body, and made a quick promise to God to show up at church on Sunday. A second later, she shrieked and pivoted on one foot, flinging her elbow toward his nose. The solid connection rippled down her arm. Blood exploded from his nose, and his hand jerked up as he cursed. Taking advantage of his momentary confusion, she shot out her right leg to hook it behind his.

He spun away, but, lunging for his forearm, Rose grabbed and hung on, her sweat-slicked grip locking on his wrist. Just as her fingers found the barrel of his gun, he flipped his hand and captured her fingers instead. The triumphant grin that crossed his face didn’t last long. Leveraging her weight, she threw her body against him and pushed. He’d expected her to pull away, and he fell with a grunt, pulling her with him.

The wind caught her skirt as they hit the ground and rolled, the filmy material tangling around her legs and trapping her. The boy immediately twisted and gained the upper position. The gun hovered over her cheek just as she caught a flash of movement from the corner of her eye. Twisting her head to look, her attacker’s gaze followed hers.

Someone was running toward them.

Without a second’s thought, his stunned eyes widening, the boy jumped to his feet and fled, the gun clattering to the asphalt as his shadow vanished into the darkness.

The pounding footsteps drew closer, and like a ghost taking form, her would-be rescuer appeared. He yelled without slowing down. “You okay?”

With a single startled glance, she recognized the silhouette. Broad shoulders, slim hips, a reckless grace that was impossible to ignore… She’d made love to that body too many times to pretend she didn’t know who he was. “Go,” she cried. “I’m right behind you.”

What was he doing here? What could he possibly want? Why now? Why here?

Why him?

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.