Page 103 of South of Justice

The blade plunged up beneath the shelf of his ribs. He gasped. She yanked sideways. He went down hard, gurgling.

She followed him to the floor, hand over his mouth, eyes locked on his as the light drained out. When it was done, she rolled off him, chest heaving.

His gun was still holstered. With trembling hands, she took it and placed it on the tray. Then she quickly stripped his shirt, his boots, his pants. Every movement sent sparks of pain through her whole body, but she managed to shove feet into his pants, trying not to notice how they were still warm from his body. She had to roll the waistband over several times to make them stay up, and roll up the sleeves of the shirt, but at least she was covered. The boots were way too big, so she jammed her feet intohis thick socks instead. They would provide both padding and muffle her footsteps.

Then she picked up his pistol, and stepped through the door, dressed in the borrowed skin of a soldier.

FIFTY-SEVEN

Night had sunkits teeth into the desert. The compound’s outer floodlights threw jagged shadows across the perimeter fence, cutting the scrubland into sharp slices of white and black. Overhead, the stars hung cold and remote, indifferent to the war brewing below.

Gates crouched behind a rusted fuel barrel near the edge of the depot, breath low and steady, finger tight on the trigger of his Glock. Sweat slicked the back of his neck.

Stacks of chemical drums lined the fence. A broken forklift sat listing to one side. A rusted utility shack glowed faintly from a single overhead bulb. He moved past it, then heard footsteps ahead. Close.

He kept low, ducked between two barrels.

And saw Reyes.

The little bastard strolled like he belonged here now. Tactical harness, sidearm, the smug entitlement of someone who’d finally stopped pretending he was the help. Gates could feel it roll off him like heat.

He stepped out of the shadows, fast and silent. Grabbed Reyes by the vest. Slammed him into the barrel hard enough to make the metal clang.

Reyes gasped, reaching for his sidearm, but Gates already had the Glock pressed under his chin.

“You make a move, I turn your jaw into soup.”

Reyes froze, breath wheezing. “You should’ve stayed in the fucking closet.”

Gates shoved him to the ground, pinned him with one knee, forearm tight across the throat. The Glock didn’t shake in his hand.

“Where is she?”

“Hangar,” Reyes choked out. “North quadrant. Big one. They’ve got her restrained.”

“Javier?”

“Been in there with her for a while.”

Gates’s stomach knotted. “Alone?”

Reyes tried a grin, blood on his teeth. “Don’t act shocked. You knew how this worked when you signed on.”

Gates’s jaw clenched. “I didn’t sign up for this.”

“The hell you didn’t,” Reyes rasped. “You just thought you’d keep your hands clean.”

He grabbed Reyes by the collar and dragged him upright. “You took a kid, then you tortured a woman for a password. What’s your number, Reyes? What’s the sum that makes you this kind of man?”

Reyes spat blood, half-laughing. “You tell me. You’re still cashing the same checks.”

The sound that left Gates wasn’t a word, it was a low, animal growl. The shot rang out, hitting Reyes just below the chin, before ricocheting off the fuel tanks. His body slumped beside a leaking drum, blood pooling under his collar.

Gates stared at him for a moment, breathing heavily, then he stepped back. And that’s when he saw it. A small flame licking along the ground, straight toward the chemical barrels.

“Shit—”

He backed up fast, just as the first drum ignited with a loud whoomph, sending a fireball skyward.