Page 55 of South of Justice

He ran it over in his mind. It sounded like a lead, a real one this time. The marshal in him started parsing the options, building the plan. “Okay. We start at the tax office. Find the clerk who keyed this. Or the person who gives them orders.” He stood, checked the angle of the sun through the blinds. “How far is it?”

“A fair way. It’s out past the industrial strip,” she said. “Too remote for a bus and too far for a taxi. And if we’re right about it, we might need a fast exit.” She stood, zipping her laptop into her backpack. “So we’re gonna need some wheels.”

They left the motel before dawn, sticking to side streets and alleys. Ryan hung back, letting Lucía lead the way down a crumbling back street near the freight yard, weaving through shadows and shuttered storefronts until they reached a mechanic’s lot with a hand-painted sign and a chain-link fence. Inside: a graveyard of sun-blistered sedans and salt-rusted pickups.

Lucía didn’t hesitate. She headed straight for the oldestNissan pickupon the lot: a squat, four-doorHardbodywith bald tires, a busted headlight, and peeling paint that might’ve once been red. Then she rapped on the side of the trailer that served as an office. A teenager opened the door, shirtless, and reeking of last night’smota. Ryan kept his hand near his pistol, ready to step in if things turned bad.

But he didn’t have to. Lucía didn’t raise her voice, she spoke just loud enough to make the kid nervous. And whatever she said in Spanish, it worked. Five minutes later, she tossed Ryan the keys like she’d just borrowed them from a friend.

“No papers,” she said as they climbed in. “No air con. And second gear’s a gamble.”

By the time the sun began to claw its way up over the docks, they were on the road.

The sun had just begun to burn through the haze when Ryan eased the battered truck onto the coastal road that skirted the edge of Salina Cruz. The pavement shimmered ahead, warped byheat. Glimpses of the Pacific flashed between crooked palms and low, tin-roofed shops just opening for the day.

He adjusted the mirror. Lucía was silent beside him, her face turned to the window, sunglasses hiding her eyes. Her hair was pulled back and exposed the clean line of her jaw and throat, and he had to drag his gaze away more than once. The collar of her shirt was damp with sweat already, clinging to her skin where it met the seatbelt.

They hadn’t said much since they’d left the mechanic’s yard. It didn’t matter at first; the silence gave him a chance to think about the task ahead of them and ready his mind.

But after a while, the silence began to stretch so thin it almost hummed.

Ryan cleared his throat. “You always this quiet on road trips?”

Lucía didn’t look over. “Depends on the company.”

The corner of her mouth twitched. Not a smile, exactly. But close enough to send a slow spread of warmth through his stomach. He filed the moment away, something small and private he could replay later.

He tapped the steering wheel, letting the rhythm fill the silence. He wasn’t used to this kind of company. Most of the time, in his old life, the person riding shotgun was either a fellow marshal or a prisoner. Lucía was neither. Truth be told, he had no idea what she was. She was a complete mystery. And every hour he spent with her, he found himself wanting to ask questions he had no business asking.

“You ever think about what you’d do if none of this had happened?” he asked.

She tilted her head slightly. She turned her face toward the window. Outside, the sea blurred past in glints of silver and turquoise. “I used to think I’d get married,” she said eventually. “Have a kid. Maybe two. Keep one of those…” she trailed off,searching for the words, her mouth quirking up in a self-deprecating way, “whiteboard calendars on the fridge. Learn how to cook something other than eggs.”

Ryan glanced at her, surprised.

She gave a faint smile. “I know. Doesn’t quite fit the profile.”

“It’s not that. I just…” He shrugged. “I guess I figured you were more career-first.”

“I was.” Her smile faded, eyes tracing the horizon. “I mean, I wanted both. The family. And the corner office. I thought I could have it if I worked hard enough. If I played it right.”

“And did you?”

“I got the office,” she said. “Glass walls. Expensive coffee. A mentor who saw something in me.” She paused, voice cooling. “Or maybe he just saw something he could use.”

Ryan didn’t answer.

Lucía shifted in her seat, gaze still fixed outside. “I didn’t plan to fall for that world. But I did. The elegance. The power. It felt like belonging. For the first time.”

Ryan pondered her words, trying to decipher what she meant byfall for. “And now?”

“Now? I want to burn it all down.” A long pause. “And figure out what’s left of me when it’s over.”

He glanced at her. Her eyes were still on the window, the sunglasses hiding whatever look she didn’t want him to see. But her fingers were curled tight in her lap, and it was clear to him those words cost her a lot to say out loud.

“And you?” she asked, turning to him and catching him off-guard. “If you weren’t running?”

He exhaled. “I was never much good at the whole dreaming thing.” He glanced across at her. “But maybe a quiet place. Some land. Preferably in the mountains.”