Texas Hold 'Em (13 page)

“Absolutely not,” he answered instantly. “I’m not letting you commit suicide, and that’s exactly what it would be—”

“That’s my
mother
, Santos,” she said, her voice full of desperation. “I don’t care. I have to help—”

She didn’t finish. The screech of creaking metal made both of them jerk their gazes back to the hacienda. The gate was swinging back with infinite slowness, the sound splitting the dry desert emptiness in half. Before the entrance to the compound, as patiently as scorpions, three black Suburbans waited in the heat.

Rose jumped to her feet. With a curse, Santos snagged the edge of her chaps and pulled, but this time she was prepared. She instantly rolled away and escaped his reach. Half falling, half running, she tumbled down the ridge and jumped to her feet, racing toward the gates now closing behind the SUVs. He followed, his heart pounding, not from the sprint, but from fear. If she was seen, they’d shoot her first then figure out who she was. He didn’t even want to consider what would happen if she got inside and he didn’t.

He tore frantically through the cactus-dotted brush. The gate was seconds from snapping in place when Rose reached it and dived inside, the inner wall protecting her from sight by the men inside. He spun in behind her, but as he cleared the track of the gate, he was jerked to a stop. His breath was yanked from his body with a noticeable whoosh then he was slammed to the ground. Flat on his back, his body began to move, the ground passing under him, the gravel carving a swath of pain across his skin as he was inexorably pulled in the opposite direction. Rose pivoted, her horrified expression all he needed to finally understand what had happened.

His belt was hooked on the iron latch of the gate.

Reaching out, he flailed desperately behind him. Five more seconds and he’d be crushed between the opening and the stucco wall. Rose threw herself at him and held on, but the extra weight meant nothing to the motor operating the gate. It continued down the track without even slowing. Clawing her way up his body, Rose managed to unhook the leather at the last moment, the gate clicking in place as they tucked their chins and twisted away.

He shot her a grateful look. Wasting no time to acknowledge it, Rose jumped to her feet and dashed for the nearest wall, Santos right behind her. The rough stucco at their backs, they moved in tandem, whipping their guns up, as they approached the first opening. The parking area now held a Range Rover, two Toyota Land Cruisers, and the three Suburbans. Santos lifted his gaze and saw what he’d missed before. Underneath the roofs hanging above the balconies, a man waited in each corner, cradling a gun and looking down. Above them, a row of minarets decorated the third level. He’d thought they were ornamental. He’d been wrong. They were real towers, and they had gun slits facing four different directions. He couldn’t believe he and Rose hadn’t been seen from their vantage spot, but as he stared, he began to realize why. The gunmen were focused on the inner courtyard, too, their posts momentarily deserted.

Rose edged around the corner, hurling herself toward the closest opening. He followed, praying she wouldn’t do anything more rash than she already had. Even as he wished things were different, he had to admire her courage. If mettle were all it took, this fight would already be over.

He put his hand on Rose’s arm and tried to hold her in place. A single man now stood in the middle of the courtyard, and Gloria was on her knees at his side. Dressed in dirty denim and scuffed boots, he was short and squat with longish black hair, a scraggly goatee, and a gut that hung over his belt. One shoulder was higher than the other, and when Santos glanced down, he realized why. The man’s left knee angled out at a peculiar slant. It’d obviously been broken at one time and had healed improperly. He didn’t look like the polished and handsome actors who played cartel leaders on TV.

His right hand was threaded in Gloria’s hair. Pain twisted across her features as he tightened his fingers and yanked her head back to bare her throat. In his other hand, he held a machete. He spit in the dirt and glared at Gloria. Dread rolled through Santos’s gut.

“Take a good look, my friends. Here she is.” He shook her head viciously. “This
puta
won’t be with us after today!” The crude insult echoed against the walls, along with the nervous laughter of the watching men.

Rose cut her eyes toward Santos and whispered, “Is that Ortega?”

“I don’t think so. Our only photos are worthless, but I’m pretty sure he doesn’t have a limp.”

Rose’s mother reached up and held onto the man’s wrists, trying to alleviate the pressure of his grip. “You’re making a huge mistake,” she said from behind gritted teeth. “When he finds out you’ve treated me like this, you’re a dead man.”

The man wasn’t Ortega. Santos didn’t know if he should feel relieved or angry. Both, he decided. Relieved, because he hoped this man might not be as bloodthirsty as Ortega so Gloria stood half a chance. And anger, because it meant he still didn’t know where Ortega was.

Jerking her to one side, the grinning man held out his arms without letting her go and waved his knife, looking up at the men and hooting. “I’m a dead man?” he laughed. “If anyone here is dead, it’s you,
La señorita Rubia
.”

“Let me go.” She pulled against the man’s relentless hold, her fingernails biting into his wrists and leaving a bloody trail. As the men began to laugh, he spit out a curse and transferred his grip on her hair to the other hand. Lifting the hilt of the blade above Gloria’s head, he brought it toward her temple, then froze as a deep voice slashed through the laughter.

“
Basta
!”

Santos jerked his eyes upward. The speaker was standing right above the spot where he and Rose were hiding, on one of the balconies facing the courtyard. Santos couldn’t see him, but if his voice was any indication, he was the one in charge. All the other men turned to look as if pulled by the same string. He jerked Rose closer beside him.

“That’s enough of your stupidity, Manuel,” the voice overhead ordered. “Release her.”

The man with the machete turned slowly, a defiant glint in his eyes. Santos could see he didn’t appreciate the scolding—if he didn’t answer it in kind, his authority was in jeopardy. His men would no longer respect him. He kicked at something beside his feet and a cell phone skittered into the open, spinning to a stop.

“My ‘stupidity’ found this phone on her,
jefe
. Are you still sure you want me to let her go?”

Santos heard a hammer click back, and so did the man standing in the courtyard. Panic filled his expression, then he simply crumbled, a neat round hole centered on his forehead. From the back of his head, blood splattered out across the bricks and Gloria, as well. His knife clattered to the ground, coming to rest beside the phone. To his amazement, Gloria scrambled for the blade, and then stood up without sparing the man a second glance. Did she know the shot had come from the balcony?

A cry of alarm sounded suddenly from the roofline. A single guard had turned, and was pointing over the wall. “Men coming!
Federales
! And more…
los motos
!”

The courtyard erupted into confusion that quickly segued into chaos. Clattering down the stairs, the guards surged toward the gate, their haste making Santos and Rose dive behind a stack of firewood pressed against the nearest wall.

They were barely in place when a deafening blast blew a gigantic hole in the exterior wall, sending a shockwave through the men running for the gate. The ones nearest the wall filled the air with strangled screams while those who still had time pivoted and tried to escape the way they’d come. Another explosion followed, and trapped between the killing zones, they spun in terror, caught between that noise and the roar of the motorcycles that were coming. A wave of
federales
poured through both openings.

The pandemonium grew instantly worse, the sounds of rapid gunfire breaking out in every direction. Before he could stop her, Rose ran for the inner courtyard, fighting through the bloody craziness, pushing to the center of the courtyard, where she fell to her mother’s side.

Santos joined her a second later. Gloria was sprawled on the cobblestones, a streak of dark blood painting a crooked path between the bricks.

…

Rose didn’t know what to do. She was afraid to move her mother and afraid to leave her alone. When Gloria opened her eyes and held out her hand, Rose cried out and grabbed it.

“Stop it,” Gloria ordered weakly. “It’s okay, Rose, please. The bullet barely grazed me.”

“You’re not okay,” she cried. “You’ve been shot.”

As he heard Gloria speak, Santos jumped to his feet and raced toward the action. The
federales
quickly gained control over the chaos a few moments later, the ACES team wading into the craziness with them. The officers forced everyone to the ground, and the gunfire dwindled into silence. Cries of innocence took its place, a pall of smoke from the explosion mixing with the sharp smell cordite. Rose barely registered the smells or the shouts. Trying to stay her panic, she swung her gaze around until she spied Jessie. “Call for an ambulance,” Rose yelled at the redhead. “She needs help. Right now.”

“The EMT guys are already here,” Jessie called out. “The
federales
brought them. Hang on, I’ll go grab them.” She ran off, firing off a rapid string of Spanish to men around her. They began to run, too.

Rose turned back to her mother. “Lie still,” she ordered. Whipping off her jacket, she pressed the fabric at the red streak across her mother’s hair line. “I need to stop the bleeding.”

Her mother’s fingers tightened on Rose’s arm. “I didn’t want you here. You weren’t supposed to—”

“Shhh, Mother. You shouldn’t be talking.”

To Rose’s amazement, her mother laughed weakly. “I haven’t seen you in years, and you don’t want me to say anything?”

Rose couldn’t stop the tears that filled her eyes. “That’s not what I meant.”

“I know what you meant. But we have to talk, Rose. I have to tell you about Santos—”

“He doesn’t matter. Not right now. All that matters is getting you some help.” Rose turned her head. “And I hear the medics coming.”

She was pushed aside as the emergency techs dropped to their knees in the dirt, their hands a blur as they checked out her mother’s wounds. A moment later, they lifted her in one fluid motion to the gurney they’d brought. As they started to push her away, Rose jogged to keep up, her hand finding her mother’s, their fingers linking.

Just as her mother said, they’d been apart for years, and now that she’d found her again, Rose couldn’t bear to let her go. But she had to when they reached the ambulance and began to load her mother into the back. The EMTs protested as Rose jumped in beside her mother. She ignored their objections. Wrapping her arms gently around her, Rose whispered, “I’ll come to the hospital as quickly as I can, and we’ll talk when I get there. I love you, Mom. I—”

“Go do your job,” her mother interrupted. “I wouldn’t have it any other way.” She took a ragged breath but she still managed to return Rose’s hug. She began to cry again as her mother’s reassuring hands patted her on the back. “Don’t worry, sweetheart. I’ll wait for you,” she promised. ”I’m not going anywhere.”

…

Santos and the team searched the villa from top to bottom. Inside the sprawling compound, they found everything from gold-plated guns to an elaborate movie theater with fur-clad recliners. There were bedrooms lined in silk, a paneled library full of books, and a marble-clad dining room, including a table and chairs, also carved of marble, that would serve dozens. The table was laid out as if ready for a banquet with silver platters and crystal wine glasses. But paper towels served as napkins, and metal tray tables sat beside the fur recliners. The complex represented a bizarre combination of wealth and poverty.

Everything imaginable was there…except Ortega.

Striding out the nearest door and into the courtyard with the rest of the ACES team, Santos shook his head at the captain of the Mexican officers who was overseeing the loading of all the men he’d rounded up. They exchanged a chagrined look before Santos turned to Rose. Her stance was stiff and unforgiving, her eyes cold, her lips narrowed. Before the wailing ambulance had carried Gloria away, Santos had cuffed her to the gurney after Rose relinquished her place by mother’s side.

She glared at him now with anger…and disappointment, lifting her gaze as he neared. “No sign of Ortega?”

He wiped his brow on the sleeve of his shirt, dust from the search still clinging to his hair and face. The storm had broken and fled, leaving the quadrangle sweltering. It could have been hell. For Santos it was. “We looked top to bottom. No sign of him.”

“Tunnels?”

It wouldn’t be the first time a cartel member had escaped that way. They’d dismantled a warren of them between Texas and Mexico a few years ago. “Gloria told me he has a helicopter pad right behind the house. I called Austin, and they told me he’d be long gone before they could even get something up. He’s probably out of the country by now. Your mother said he’s got homes sprinkled all over the place—Guatemala, Belize, El Salvador.”

“What about his men?”

“As many as we could catch are in there.” He tilted his head toward a yellow school bus the
federales
had commandeered. “Padilla pulled two of them out and locked them in one of the rooms. He and Joaquim talked to them.”

Padilla?”

“Alazo Padilla. He’s the
capitán
of the federal agents. He’s been my contact inside Mexico since the very beginning. He’s the one who knew we were in Mexico when we visited Enrique’s family. I trust him as much as I do my own people. I just came from talking to him.”

“And…?”

“The men inside insist they know nothing about anyone named
El Brujo
.”

She spoke with disgust. “Right.”

“According to them, Manuel didn’t send the boy with the knife to scare you.”

“Manuel?”