Page 41 of You Can Run

Julian.

Ferrera went still. “Miller,” he repeated.

He stepped closer to Julian and crouched, bringing himself to his level, and the shift from standing to crouching was somehow worse than the kick had been.

“Where?”

“I don't know,” Julian said, shaking his head hard enough that the cut at his throat reopened slightly. “Please. That's everything. We don't know anything else.”

Ferrera watched him for a moment, then stood.

He checked his watch. Then he looked back at Santiago. There was no anger in his expression, which was worse than if there had been.

“If this Miller turns out to be nothing,” he said, “I'll come back. And I won't be in a hurry.”

The woman reappeared in the doorway, giving a small shake of her head.

Ferrera nodded once. Then he walked out.

The house swallowed his footsteps. The remains of the front door shifted in the frame as it was pulled closed.

Silence.

Santiago lay there, the pain in his ribs constant, his hands numb behind his back. He turned his head slowly. Julian was staring at him.

“I'm sorry,” Julian whispered.

Santiago closed his eyes. Opened them.

“Next time,” he said, his voice steady despite everything, “you let me die first.”

The Sicaria stepped off the porch and pulled the door shut behind her, though it barely held in the ruined frame.

Ferrera was already in the rental, one hand draped over the wheel, tapping an impatient rhythm. She could feel the energy coming off him from across the driveway, even more volatile now that they were moving again.

She didn't go to the car. Instead, she reached into her pocket and removed a second burner phone—not the one Ferrera knew about. She turned slightly, angling her body away from the windshield, and dialed the single number stored in its memory.

The call connected on the second ring.

“Yes.”

The voice was soft, higher-pitched than you'd expect for a middle-aged man.

“The target has left the secondary location,” the Sicaria said, keeping her voice low. “He's with the woman. They're mobile.”

“Direction?”

“They referenced water before leaving. Given proximity and available routes, the Gulf is the most likely destination.” A beat. “And we have a name. Miller.”

The pause that followed was brief, but she heard the recognition in it before he spoke. “Miller,” he said. “I know that name. He's old Bureau. Witness Protection, originally, a legend in the program before he started selling his services privately. He has bolt-holes from the Delta to the Keys.”

The Sicaria waited.

“Find the car,” the voice said. “I'll find the man.”

The line went dead.

She held the phone for a moment, then powered it off and slipped it back into the pocket. Then she crossed the driveway and got into the passenger seat.