Page 61 of South of Justice

Gates opened the back door of his vehicle. “Put her in. I know a place we can take her.”

Ryan hesitated just a breath longer. Then he nodded.

He eased Lucía into the SUV. Gates moved around to the front and slid behind the wheel.

Ryan got into the back seat, never taking his eyes off him.

Trust would come later. Right now, he had to keep her breathing.

Ryan crouched in the back of the SUV, knees braced against the seat in front. Lucía lay across the bench seat, her head in his lap, skin slick with sweat and grit. Blood stained the collar of her shirt and had soaked through the bandage he’d hastily wrapped around her shoulder. The fabric clung damp to her side, and her breath came shallow and fast.

The bullet was still inside.

“You got a med kit?”

Gates’s eyes met his in the rearview mirror. Keeping one hand on the wheel, he reached across and opened the glove box. Pulled out a white plastic box.

Ryan grabbed the box, resting it on the front seat console. He opened it and did a quick stocktake: bandages, gauze pads, alcohol wipes, a sheet of ibuprofen, an instant cold pack, some scissors, gloves and a bottle of iodine. Better than nothing. But nothing that would treat a bullet wound.

He ripped open a couple of gauze pads and held them against the wound, applying pressure with both hands. “Sorry,” he muttered.

Lucía blinked up at him, dazed. “Not your fault.”

She was trying to be brave, but he could see the strain in her clenched jaw, the sweat gathered in her hairline. She’d lost too much blood. Her skin was clammy and pale.

Gates was speaking again, but Ryan had drowned him out.

His focus was on Lucía’s face. It was drawn and sweat-slicked. Every time the SUV hit a bump, her lashes fluttered like she was caught between dreams and pain. Her hand twitched against his thigh.

He couldn’t stop replaying the moment he’d heard her sayI’m hit. The words had landed like a gunshot to his own gut. That instant, sickening jolt, as if the ground had been yanked out from beneath him.

It wasn’t just adrenaline or shock. It was something deeper: the creeping realization that he might lose her. Not just a partner, or a source of intel.

Her.

The thought scraped at something raw and vulnerable he hadn’t let himself examine—not in years. He’d watched too many people vanish behind the veil of violence and bad timing already. He couldn’t do it again. Not with her.

He tightened his grip on her hand. She didn’t stir.Please, he thought, and didn’t know who he was asking.

He glanced up to find Gates watching him from the front seat.

Ryan looked up, voice rough. “Why the hell have you been tailing us?”

Gates didn’t look away from the road. “Watching,” he said. “There’s a difference.”

“Why?”

Gates exhaled. “Because I’m hunting the same thing you are. Noah Carmichael.”

The name landed hard.

Lucía was barely conscious now, blood soaking the seat beneath her. “You’re not after Ryan?” she said, voice hoarse.

“No,” Gates said. “And right now I think we’ve all got more urgent problems.”

“Can you take us somewhere safe?” Ryan asked.

Gates nodded once. “I know just the place.”