Page 21 of You Can Run

That made her look up. Her eyes were pale and steady, taking his measure without interest or judgment. “You would have been seen.”

“So?” He turned on her, the word sharp enough to cut. “I'm already on the news. What's the difference?”

“The difference,” she said, “is that right now they're looking for someone who might be in three states. If you show up at her door, they know exactly where you are, and they stop guessing.” She turned the blade over and drew the towel along other side. “You don't lose by being on the news. You lose by being predictable.”

Ferrera stared at her. He wanted to argue, but the logic held.

He glanced back at the television just as the footage looped again. He turned away before the cycle completed.

“They'll run,” he said, the thought settling into certainty as it formed. “Cruz will take her somewhere. Somewhere he thinks is safe.”

“Yes.”

“So we find out where.”

The ’Cuda’s engine died, and the sudden quiet rang in Dante’s ears louder than the drive had.

Agua Dulce stretched out around them in pale morning light, sun-bleached yards and sagging chain-link fences.

Santiago’s house sat a little back from the road, behind a fence. It was a single-story bungalow with peeling white paint and a patched roof. The front yard was hard-packed dirt, with a narrow strip of stubborn grass. Wind chimes hung from the porch beam, dull and sun-faded, barely moving in the still air.

Dante didn’t look at Jessica as he got out. Instead, he rested his hands on the roof of the car for a second, grounding himself, his eyes fixed on the front door.

It opened before they reached the steps.

Santiago stepped out, already alert, already reading the situation. His husband Julian came out behind him; he was tall, with kind brown eyes and a crumpled t-shirt, and put a hand on Santiago’s shoulder.

“Dante?” Santiago’s voice cut through the quiet. “What the hell is this?”

“We have a problem,” Dante said.

Santiago’s gaze shifted past him to Jessica. “No,” he said, already stepping onto the porch. His hand tightened on the railing. “No. I told you, Dante–”

“She was attacked,” Dante said. “At her place. They found her.”

“And you brought that here?” Santiago’s voice rose. “You broughtLa Manoto my front door? To my husband?”

Julian stepped forward then, his voice calm but firm. “Santiago, let’s just slow this down. Get them inside?—”

“Inside?” Santiago let out a short, disbelieving breath. “You don’t know what you’re asking, Julian.”

His eyes locked on Jessica again.

She flinched. “I’m sorry.”

“Sorry doesn’t fix what you started,” Santiago shot back. “You don’t get to walk back into people’s lives like nothing happened.”

Julian shifted slightly behind Santiago. “Santiago…” he said, more tentative this time. “Can you turn the TV on for a second?”

Santiago frowned, not looking back. “What?”

“The news,” Julian said. “There was something on this morning. I didn’t think—” He hesitated, glancing between them. “I didn’t think it had anything to do with this, but…”

Something in his tone cut through the heat of the moment.

Santiago turned slightly. “What are you talking about?”

Julian took a breath, choosing his words. “There was a prison transport attack. Out near El Paso.” He frowned faintly, like hewas replaying it in his mind. “They were showing one of the men they’re looking for but I don’t remember the name.”