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