Page 63 of South of Justice

He tossed the rag in the sink and faced Gates. “What do you know about Noah?”

Gates rubbed a hand over his jaw. “Came across my desk a week ago. Missing persons report, filed out of Tennessee. Grandmother named Diane Carmichael. Said her daughter had died and the boy was all she had left. Claimed he up and vanished without warning.”

Ryan exhaled but said nothing.

Gates continued. “When the nameKylie Inglisshowed up on the maternal records, that flagged the whole damn system. Her death, the circumstances, and who she used to be married to.” He gave Ryan a pointed look.

Ryan didn’t flinch. “So they handed it to you.”

“Pulled me off a cartel smuggling case in Laredo. Gave me the file. Told me to follow the smoke.” He paused, tilting his head slightly. “Everyone in the Marshal’s Service knows the Inglis story. But I still ran the trace myself. Did my own digging.”

Ryan said nothing. A silence opened up between them.

Then Gates added, more softly, “I met Kylie once, you know.”

Ryan looked up, surprised.

Gates gave a half-shrug. “Years ago. You were stationed in Memphis, I think. Some fugitive hand-off brought me through town. She came to the field office. Sat in your car for two hours while we finished up the paperwork.”

Ryan glanced away, jaw tight.

“She looked tired,” Gates said. “Thin. Nervous. But she smiled when you came out. I remember that.”

Ryan said nothing, but his knuckles were white where they gripped the counter. Then he asked, “You believe he’s still alive?”

Gates exhaled before he answered. “I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t.”

Ryan could feel Gates watching him, but he said nothing. Just nodded once. Then he added quietly, “If you know all about me, you know I’m still on the Marshals’ Most Wanted list, right?”

Gates gave him a long look.

“And you’re not planning to haul me in?”

“Not unless you give me a reason to.”

Ryan arched a brow. “That easy, huh?”

“Look, I’m not here to score points. The mission is the boy. If bringing you in was my priority, we wouldn’t be having this conversation.”

Ryan let that sit. He didn’t fully believe it, not yet. But for now, they had a shared goal, and that was enough.

He returned to Lucía’s bedside. Her breathing was slower now, less ragged. Her skin was still pale, but no longer ghost-white. He adjusted the blanket over her, letting his hand linger near her shoulder.

She’d made it through—barely.

Gates appeared in the doorway and tossed him a bottle of water. “Get some rest. I’ll take first watch.”

Ryan didn’t reply. He took the water and sat in the chair beside her, eyes fixed on the rhythm of her chest rising and falling. Outside, the wind rustled through dry brush, and the hush of distant waves pulsed against the rocks below.

THIRTY-NINE

Lucía woke slowly,surfacing from a dreamless dark that left her limbs heavy and her mouth dry. The ceiling above her was unfamiliar: bare, wood-paneled, a ceiling fan spinning on the lowest setting. The light in the room was golden, the kind that meant the sun was either rising or setting. Her body ached like it had been filled with lead. Even blinking took effort.

Pain pulsed through her shoulder as she tried to shift. Not sharp, but deep, the kind that made her stomach clench and her teeth grit. Bandages. Stiff fabric. A tug beneath her skin that told her something foreign had recently been removed.

She wasn’t dead. She hadn’t been taken. That much she could piece together.

A soft rustle drew her gaze. Ryan sat in a chair nearby, head bowed, one hand resting on his knee, the other wrapped around a water bottle. He looked like he hadn’t slept. His shirt was bloodied—her blood, she guessed—and his jaw was shadowed with stubble. There was a tenseness in his shoulders that hadn’t eased, even in rest. When he saw her stir, he leaned forward.