Texas Hold 'Em (Smokin' ACES) - By Kay David Page 0,72
lose his mind.
Silas stood beside them, Dan Strickland nearby. Despite the broken window in the kitchen, Santos had called Rose’s grandfather, hoping against hope a mistake had been made and she was somehow with him. Dan had been visiting with him, and they’d both rushed over. Silas’s face paled at the sight of the blood, his weathered features crumbling. Dan took his elbow with obvious concern, but the old man pulled away and immediately cleared his expression, replacing it with his ex-sheriff’s hard glare.
“Don’t just stand there, dammit,” he told Santos. “Get yourself in gear and start working this scene.”
His gruff words broke Santos’s thoughts. He turned to the team surrounding him. “Jessie, check around and see if you can find her cell phone or her purse, then call highway patrol and tell them to get some men down here.”
The Department of Public Safety troopers were as tough as they came. Everyone in Texas was familiar with the black and white cars and the hard-faced officers. They ruled the state, and took care of everything from terrorism to speeding. If he needed help, Santos could depend on them.
“Austin, you go look outside around the house, there might be something near the broken window. And make sure her car’s still in the garage. Joaquim, you and Bentley start searching the house. They came in here and got her. Hopefully they left prints, at the very least.”
The ACES spread out, and he and King knelt beside the bloody smears painted across the bedroom wall. In the struggle, the bedspread had been pulled halfway off the bed, and the nightstand had been tipped over on top of it. The broken lamp was off to one side. King reached over and lifted up the quilted cover using a pen he pulled from his pocket. That’s when they saw Rose’s service revolver. It’d been kicked under the bed, just out of reach.
“Damn.” Santos pointed toward the weapon, and King nodded with a grim expression. “She’d never leave that behind if she could help it,” Santos said.
“She’s got a .45 in the kitchen,” Silas said. “I’ll check and see if it’s there.”
He hurried out of the room and down the hall as Santos picked up the pillow that had fallen to the floor along with the spread. He tossed it to the bed, and the sweet scent of Rose’s soap drifted up. He held back a worried groan as Silas hurried back into the room.
“The .45’s still there,” he said.
Just then, heavy footsteps pounded down the corridor toward the bedroom. Austin stuck his head around the doorframe. “A neighbor came over while I was checking the perimeter,” he said breathlessly. “His wife heard glass shatter. He said there’d been some break-ins lately, so she kept pestering him, and he finally got up to see what was going on. He spotted a black Escalade leaving, heading north up the side street. He got a partial on the plate.”
“Run it,” Santos ordered.
“I’ve already got the state guys looking, said they’ll call back ASAP.”
Austin’s phone rang ten minutes later. He listened, ended the call, and looked up. “The plates belong to a guy named Marcos Enrique. He’s Juan Enrique’s—”
“—brother,” Santos supplied with a curse. “Is there an address with the info?”
“No.” Austin shook his head. “But someone checked the tax records. They found a ranch off Highway 76 they think might be his. It’s called Las Lomas.”
“I know exactly where that is,” Dan said with sudden excitement. “It borders a place I’ve got leased for the season.”
“Lead the way,” Santos ordered. “We’re right behind you.”
…
The cloth hood was ripped from Rose’s head, and she blinked, looking blindly into a circle of light. She was lying down in the dirt, and someone was shining a flashlight directly into her eyes. She couldn’t see past it. Turning her head to the side, she tried to avoid the beam. Three sets of boots surrounded her. The two men who’d grabbed her, she guessed, and one other. She might have had half a chance getting away from two guys but not three. Closing her eyes, she sent a mental SOS. She and Santos had never had that kind of connection, but it didn’t hurt to try.
“Sheriff Renwick… Welcome to my home. I’m so happy that you dropped in.” The speaker’s deep voice was polite, soft even. And somehow vaguely familiar.
Caught in the blinding light, she tried to wring out every detail she could. Whoever he was, he had the barest hint of a