Page 36 of South of Justice

“There we go,” she murmured.

Ryan leaned in. “That’s something, right?” he said.

She nodded slowly. “It’s a lead.”

She glanced up and their eyes connected in a way that almost felt physical. She suddenly felt hyperaware of him. Of the way he smelled like dust and sweat and soap. Of how close his hand was to hers.

There was a time and a place for such observations, and this sure as hell wasn’t one of them.

She cleared her throat. “We’ll need to access public records next. Trace the ownership of that shell company.”

“And you think that’ll lead us to the boy?”

She exhaled. “It might. And if not, it’ll lead us to whoever’s moving money to keep this operation afloat.”

Ryan leaned back, nodding slowly. “I guess you are pretty good at this.”

She sat back in her chair. “My father used to say numbers never lie. People always did.”

One of his eyebrows spiked and his lips curved up in a smirk. “And I thought I had trust issues.”

She tore her eyes away from his mouth. “Then I guess we go to Salina Cruz.”

Lucía saved the logs and disconnected. As she packed up the laptop, she felt his eyes on her again, not hard this time. Not suspicious. Just watching.

She didn’t like how aware she was of it.

TWENTY-FIVE

NINE YEARS AGO

The office was almostunrecognizable after hours. Gone was the whirr of printers, the dry shuffle of paper, the low clatter of keys. The air felt thicker, stiller. Only a few lights remained on, strategic pools of glow that made the hallways seem longer and the shadows deeper.

Lucía stood outside Javier’s office door, smoothing her blouse. She wore black tonight, a high-neck silk shell tucked into fitted slacks, and no jewelry but the slim silver watch she never took off. Her hair was pulled back sharply, as if the right hairstyle could armor her against the undercurrent of whatever this was.

The meeting had been scheduled that morning. A calendar invite. No details. Just:

7:30PM – Esquivel. Mandatory.

She knocked once.

“Enter.”

Javier sat behind his desk in a dark shirt—the cuffs rolled neatly to mid-forearm, no jacket, the top button undone.

She stepped in. The door clicked shut behind her.

He didn’t rise.

“Sit,” he said, gesturing to the chair across from him. His tone was easy. Even…casual. But the air felt wrong.

Lucía sat and crossed her legs, trying to appear composed.

Javier picked up a pen and gestured to the portfolio. The desk was mostly clear except for one thick, bound portfolio. “You’ve been working on this case, yes? The restructuring of the Biomarx shell network?”

“Yes. I updated the compliance map last week. And flagged the three accounts that didn’t reconcile against the Costa Rica filings.”

A small smile touched the corner of his mouth. “I saw. No one else caught that.”