Bond of Darkness by Diane Whiteside Read Free Book Online Page B

stay there. If he took one of them as a hostage or they were hit by bullets…
    Her throat tightened.
    Steve slammed her truck to a stop and jumped out, her beloved Sig-Sauer coming into her hand like a lover. Her Kevlar vest shifted slightly before settling back into position. "Stop! This is the Texas Rangers! Drop your weapon!"
    He glared at her, still standing far too close to those campers. He was more impressive than she'd expected, average height and very fit. He seemed familiar, somehow. A wanted poster, maybe?
    "Yield to a woman?" He shook his head and made a very rude gesture. He edged toward the closest camper, who eyed him warily.
    Dammit, anybody who'd shoot two cops just for walking up to the door could hardly be trusted around a group of civilians.
    Her brilliantly revolving lights splashed briefly over the bystanders, who squinted or threw up an arm—but still didn't run.
    And her backup was still on the far side of those creosote bushes. It was up to her to protect them.
    "Sir, drop your weapon! You're under arrest!" She repeated it in Spanish.
    He cursed her and broke into a run.
    Her bullet sent grains of sand flying into his face. He whirled to face her, his gun swinging up with the smooth familiarity of long practice.
    "Drop your weapon!"
    His finger tightened on the trigger—but she got off the first shot of a bitter fusillade.
    The spectators finally screamed and scattered like turkeys.
    By the time Emanuel Villalobos—or Gilbert's Crossing's two-nine—arrived, Steve was standing over a dead body. Several people were retching loudly in the background. Her empty stomach badly wanted to join them and she knew damn well she'd be pouring a lot of peppermint tea into it over the next few days.
    Villalobos came up beside her, silent until he blocked her view of the corpse. "I called it in. Backup will get here within five minutes."
    "Thanks." An empty paper bag had more potential than she did at the moment. The only colorful item in the world right now was that corpse's name, highlighted in red on a million wanted posters. She'd recognized the matching face the instant her flashlight's beam had hit it.
    She turned to face Villalobos, accepting the need to follow protocol.
    "Are you hurt?"
    "Not that I know of." She could have used Ethan Templeton, though. He was the only man who'd ever understood when she needed to be cuddled or really well laid.
    "Paramedics will want to look you over, of course."
    "Thanks." She went back to pondering the dead man's identity. "At least we know why he was so trigger happy."
    "We do?" Villalobos cocked his head.
    "He's Manuel Ramirez, El Gallinazo's top executioner."
    "El Gallinazo? Shit."
    "Yeah." Or worse, since the nickname "The Buzzard" came from the corpses that brutal drug lord liked to leave behind for scavengers.
    And unless she could talk her captain out of following the rulebook—hah!—she'd be unable to help protect her people.
     
    COMPOSTELA RANCH, TEXAS HILL COUNTRY OUTSIDE AUSTIN
     
    The night was oddly quiet, with only the fountains' babble to fill it. The horses' usual reassuring mutters and occasional thuds were gone, lost with the animals' departure to a safer stable. Even the dogs and cats had been evacuated, together with the unarmed prosaicos. If there was to be an attack tonight, nobody wanted the innocent beasts injured. The plants and trees barely whispered in the slight breeze.
    Long limestone buildings, crowned with steep metal roofs, flowed over the hilltop, its elegant trees and rose gardens concealing the protective rifle pits and storm shelters. Jean-Marie and Gray Wolf, Don Rafael's two eldest hijos, patrolled the gardens, wary and dangerous as prowling mountain lions.
    A single fountain flung itself toward the moon on a nearby hill. It was the only waterworks never silenced, even in drought or when a vampiro awoke for the first time, shaken and uncertain. A few white tombstones slept nearby, in between ancient oak trees.
    A helicopter's