Texas Hold 'Em (Smokin' ACES) - By Kay David Page 0,35

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