Page 5 of You Can Run

She stepped back. “I’m not leaving with you.”

He stared at her like she had announced gravity was optional. “You’re refusing protection?”

“I’m refusing being run out of my life again.”

Ryan dragged a hand through his hair, muttering something under his breath that sounded a lot like a prayer. Or a curse. It was hard to tell with him.

And then he said the exact words guaranteed to make her blood boil: “Ma’am, you’re being unreasonable.”

She threw a heel at him.

He dodged. Barely.

“That the best you’ve got?” he asked, breath steady.

“No,” she said. “And you know it’s not.”

He continued to survey her calmly. Now that she was dressed—mostly—he allowed his eyes to travel below her collarbone. Not in a lascivious way; Ryan didn’t do that. But in a way that still made her feel uncomfortably studied.

“What happened to the plan?” he asked.

She shrugged one shoulder. “What plan?”

“Dance therapy. You were going to get qualified in it. Said it was your dream. Not…” he gestured vaguely at the room around him, “this line of work again.”

She crossed her arms over her chest but said nothing.

“You promised, if I recall correctly.”

“Yeah, well, I also thought I was probably going to die before we found civilization after that hurricane, so I guess it was easy to make promises back then.”

She was lying, and they both knew it. Her dream of dance therapy had died the moment she realized her “happily ever after” with Dante in Agua Dulce was a hollowed-out shell of what they once had. Dance therapy now felt about as far off a dream as running for president. Or getting back with Dante.

Ryan dropped his voice to a low, serious rumble, bringing her back to the present issue. “Jessica. They are coming for you. If you stay here, you won’t survive.”

She opened her mouth—to argue, to lie, to insist she wasn’t afraid. But fear flickered anyway. He saw it. Of course he fucking did.

He stepped aside, giving her a clear path to the back door. “This isn’t a request. Come with me.”

Jessica glanced at the door. At her locker. At the life she had once again stitched together from sequins and scraps. And then she looked at him. “No. I’m not leaving with you.”

Ryan’s jaw set. “Then I’ll find Dante,” he said. “And he’ll make you listen.”

Jessica’s breath caught. “You wouldn’t.”

He was already walking away. “Try me,” he said, without looking back.

TWO

Dante Cruz tightenedthe last bolt on the Camaro with a jerk that strained the tendons in his forearm. He leaned back, wiped a smear of black grease across his forehead, and listened to the engine tick.

Midnight had settled over Agua Dulce. He kept the volume low on the old radio on the work bench, letting the soft hum of Tejano music fill the space. He didn’t usually play it; it pulled at memories he’d rather stay buried. But tonight, the silence had felt more oppressive than the heat.

He heard footsteps on the gravel outside, then his brother Santiago appeared in the doorway, still in his hospital scrubs. “You still at this?”

Dante didn’t look up from the tool tray. “Client wants it Friday.”

Santiago leaned against the doorframe. “It’s Tuesday, Dante. Go inside. Eat something that doesn’t require microwaving.”