Her amusement disappeared. “Let’s go.”
They all grumbled appropriately, then scooted off the cracked vinyl cushions. The customers relaxed noticeably when Rose said hello to one or two of them as she escorted the bikers out.
“What did April mean about you being popular?” she asked Santos under her breath when they reached the sidewalk outside.
“King was in there a few minutes ago. He’s not happy you let me go.”
“I’ll deal with him later.” A deep frown crossed her forehead, her blue eyes troubled. “We need to talk.”
“Not here.”
“I agree. Where are you staying?”
“We’re out at the ranch. Not in the big house—we’re bunking in the old place on the back ridge. But everyone’s staying there—and we need some privacy. Meet me by the horse pens on the south side.”
They agreed on a time, then Rose spoke again. “I’ll be there—unless you’re planning on having some other company.” She lifted an eyebrow toward the diner where the waitress waved from the window.
“She’s a little young for me.” He let his stare slide over Rose’s face. It lingered on her lips before he raised it to her eyes. “I’ll wait for you instead.”
…
The crew was lounging on the other side of the street where the Harleys actually were illegally parked. Santos started toward them, then slowed his stride when a stealthy rustling sound in the darkness behind him drew his attention. Edging his hand underneath his cut, he ducked into the shadows of a nearby storefront. A fragment of murmured conversation reached him, the dry wind making it sound closer than it probably was. Two voices, he thought, off to his right. A low brick wall leaned haphazardly next to the building. Whoever was speaking was behind it.
“Make sure you aim good,” one said. “We ain’t gonna get two chances at this one.”
“Are they still in the diner?”
A short pause followed, then a curse. “They’re gone, damnit. I don’t see ’em nowhere. Do it fast.”
He wrapped his fingers around the grip of his pistol just as a brick sailed over his head, through the air, and directly into his Harley. His agents reacted identically, a variety of weapons suddenly appearing in their hands as the bike’s alarm shrieked. Leaping over the wall, he turned the corner in time to see two shadows dart away. Austin and Bent ran after them while Joachim and Jess froze in place, their eyes sweeping the darkness, their pistols following. Down the street, Bent scrambled over another fence, this one at least six feet tall, and Austin did the same, but they were back ten minutes later, shaking their heads.
They gathered around his bike where a puddle of oil was spreading beneath it.
Stepping off the curb, he leaned over and looked at the destruction. The missile had hit his filler cap, knocking out the plug and releasing all the liquid. The guy’s pitch had been perfect—unless he’d been aiming for one of the agents and had hit the bike instead.
He started to straighten, then saw a scrawled message on the back of the brick. The words, written in thick black marker, were ragged and misspelled. He read the Spanish message out loud, translating as he went.
“There’s room in the desert for more skeletons.”
…
Santos was still staring at the damaged motorcycle when Rose’s cruiser came back down the street it’d just left.
He lifted an eyebrow as she exited the vehicle and came toward him. “April called,” she explained, nodding toward the diner. “She saw all the excitement. We don’t get much of that around here.”
He glanced back toward the diner where the young waitress was standing in the window. He lifted a thumb and mouthed “thanks,” and she waved back enthusiastically.
Rose read the note. “I’d like to chalk this up to vandals, but I don’t guess that’s possible, is it?”
“Probably not.”
“Bag it and write up a report,” she wearily ordered King who had arrived just before her. “And be sure to get some photos.” She turned back to Santos. “A description would really help.”
“I’d give you one if I had it.”
He didn’t mention one of the men had an athletic form that had looked vaguely familiar…maybe like the deputy standing nearby? As if she could read his mind, Rose gave him a funny look, then stepped over to King who was already talking to the others and making notes.
Santos turned his back and punched a number into his cell phone.
“You shouldn’t be calling me on this line.” His boss, Taylor Greenberg spoke before Santos could. “This better be important,”