Page 32 of South of Justice

“I’m cautious.”

“No,” he said. “You’re smart. There’s a difference.”

She stood, pacing toward the windows. Below them, the city glittered like a mirage. Somewhere out there was the version of her that hadn’t taken this job. She wondered what she would have been doing. Maybe she was out on a date with a hot guy, which was something this version of her hadn’t done in forever.

Mateo’s voice was quiet behind her. “He watches you, you know. Esquivel.”

Lucía turned slowly.

“Everyone sees it,” he went on. “You think it’s subtle, but it’s not. He looks at you like you belong to him.”

Her face didn’t change, but something in her shoulders tightened.

“He’s never touched me,” she said.

“That doesn’t mean he hasn’t made a claim.”

She didn’t respond. Only crossed her arms, holding herself in the silence.

Mateo stood now too, closing the distance between them, but not invading it.

“Lucía,” he said softly. “I know it’s not my place. But if you ever need out, if something happens, I want you to know I’d help you.”

She met his eyes.

The affection there was quiet, steady. Not obsessive. Notpossessive. Just…real.

And she wanted to believe in it. She wanted to believe in someone. So she stepped closer, close enough to smell the cologne on his collar, faint and clean. For one moment, it felt like she might reach for him. Let herself fall toward the safer gravity.

But then, down the hall, the elevator chimed.

She tensed. A long pause followed. No footsteps. Mateo looked toward the corridor. When he turned back, Lucía was already gathering her things.

He didn’t press. He just watched her go.

TWENTY-TWO

Lucía packedher things in silence. She hadn’t spoken since they agreed to work together. Ryan sat a few feet away by the door, silent, checking over his gear but never fully taking his eyes off her. He wasn’t hovering, but he wasn’t leaving her alone either. Maybe he was giving her space. Or maybe he just didn’t trust her enough to let her out of his sight.

She zipped the bag, then sat heavily on the edge of the cot. She’d spent nine years vanishing. Building walls between herself and the world. Moving like a shadow through digital corridors and dusty roads. And now she was choosing to surface. To act.

With a man she didn’t know, let alone trust.

She snuck a glance at him while pretending to focus on rechecking that her pistol was still loaded. Annoyingly, his handsomeness was still the first thing her brain decided to flag every time she looked at him. Annoying,andstupid.Okay, so he’s attractive, she chided herself.He looks like a cowboy off the cover of one of my mom’s old Mills and Boons. Complete with the baby blues and the jawline that could chisel ice.

She focused instead on his less superficial traits. To build a character profile of him. He had the look of someonewho’d buried more than one body for the badge. But there was something behind his eyes when he talked about the boy. Not desperation exactly. Not guilt. Something harder. More enduring. Like he’d carried a thousand regrets and was trying not to add this one to the pile.

She shoved her Colt into a side compartment of her backpack, then leaned forward and rubbed her hands over her face. Her stomach churned.

She wasn’t supposed to care. Not about strangers. Not about kids she’d never met. But the thought of that boy—frightened, alone, used as leverage by monsters like El Escriba—made her sick. Mateo had always been the bleeding heart. The one who’d pushed her to see there was a human cost behind the misplaced numbers, the false invoices and fake payrolls. The one who’d convinced her that flagging those wire transfers was as good a way as taking out the cartel’s stranglehold on their city as going in all guns blazing.

The memory of him hit her like a bruise. Her throat tightened. She pushed the thought away, then returned her focus to her packing.

Ryan crouched by the door, checking his gear for the third time. The mag of his weapon was full. The safety clicked cleanly. His pack was well stocked with all the bare essentials for disappearing again if this all went to hell.

Which it probably would.

Behind him, Lucía moved quietly, zipping compartments and coiling cables. He didn’t watch her directly, but he could almost feel her movements. She wore anonymity like armor: hair tied tight, no makeup, clothes that were clearly designedto make her look anonymous. Forgettable. She needed to try harder in that regard. The thin black turtleneck sweater and low-slung cargo pants she was wearing did nothing to make her anything but immediately memorable to anyone who appreciated the female form. And her lack of makeup just highlighted how her attractiveness was natural.