Page 73 of South of Justice

From the ridge above, muzzle flashes burst like fireworks.

Ryan dove, twisting mid-air so that Noah was shielded beneath him. The sand exploded in a spray of dirt and pebbles as bullets chewed into the shoreline inches from where they landed.

Gates was already pivoting, firing back in short, disciplined bursts. His stance was clean, no panic. Every shot was a message.

“Board now!” he barked.

Lucía swung the boat closer, the hull grinding over rocks and sand. Ryan pushed up, grabbed the edge of the railing, and shoved Noah aboard. Then he followed, pulling hard until his knees hit the deck. Reyes went next, then Gates vaulted in last, landing with a thud and immediately scanning their rear.

Lucía jammed the throttle forward. The boat roared and peeled away, throwing a wake of white water behind them. More shots rang out, wild now, chasing ghosts.

Ryan fell back against the bench, chest heaving, Noah held tight. He could feel the boy’s heartbeat against his ribs. Lucía turned from the wheel. Her mouth was drawn, but her eyes searched his with desperate clarity. “Are you okay?”

He looked at her. Then at Gates, who was crouched near the bow, watching the compound vanish into the smoky dark.

“Yeah,” Ryan said, though it didn’t feel true. “We’re okay.”

FORTY-THREE

The boat ride back had beenquiet. Gates piloted with eerie calm, the small motor cutting a low drone through the black water. Lucía sat in the back, watching the wake stretch behind them like a scar. The air was salt-thick and humid, but she barely felt it. Her gaze kept slipping to the bow, where Ryan sat with Noah curled against his chest.

The boy hadn’t said a word since the compound. He clung to Ryan like a lifeline, his small hands twisted into the fabric of his shirt. Ryan kept one arm around him, protective and still, his free hand resting lightly on the boy’s back. There was a softness in his face Lucía hadn’t seen before, something she hadn’t known he was capable of.

For some reason, it unsettled her.

After docking in darkness, they walked. A long, cold trek through scrubland to where Gates had stashed the SUV, hidden beneath a camouflage tarp in a dry arroyo. Noah shivered in Ryan’s arms the whole way. Gates drove them in silence, headlights off, one hand on the wheel, the other drumming his thigh with a strange, patient rhythm.

By the time they crested the final ridge and the safehouse came into view, a familiar unease had settled in Lucía’s chest.

Inside, the place was untouched. The trauma kit still lay open on the kitchen counter. The bloodstained rag from Lucía’s earlier wound had dried stiff. The chair Ryan had sat in, watching her sleep, remained angled toward the bed.

Ryan carried Noah in and laid him gently on the couch in the living room. The boy stirred but didn’t wake. Lucía watched as Ryan knelt beside him, brushing the boy’s hair back with an unconscious tenderness that caught her off-guard.

Gates moved efficiently, setting his gear near the door, then checking the perimeter through the warped blinds. “We’ll stay here until first light. No chatter. No lights.”

Ryan didn’t answer. He stepped into the kitchenette, opened a bottle of water, and drank half in one go.

Lucía lowered herself onto the kitchen chair, her body still protesting the motion. Everything ached. Her bandages were soaked with sweat, and her skin prickled beneath the gauze.

“Kid needs electrolytes,” Gates said. “And rest.” He pulled a small packet from his bag and held it up. “I’ll mix this into water. It’ll help.”

Ryan returned to Noah’s side, handing him the bottle once Gates had added the powder. The boy drank, eyes still foggy with fear. Ryan murmured something low. Lucía couldn’t make out the words.

She turned her attention to Gates.

His bag was pre-packed. Everything in place for a quick getaway. “You planning to get him out tonight?” she asked quietly.

Gates met her gaze. “Soon. The longer we stay, the more exposed we are.”

Ryan looked up sharply. “You’re not taking him anywhere without telling us where.”

“Of course not,” Gates said.

Lucía caught Ryan’s eyes. Weariness was written into the lines of his face. He nodded once. The look he gave her was intimate but distracted. Like he was still halfway inside that compound, still hearing footsteps and gunshots.

The overhead fan stirred the humid air, but not enough to stop the sweat from collecting in the hollow of Lucía’s throat. She’d washed the grime and blood and salt spray from her skin in the bathroom with a washcloth, careful not to aggravate her wound. But no sooner had she dressed in fresh clothes than she was damp with sweat again.

She sat cross-legged on the edge of the bed, elbows resting on her knees, her ghost laptop closed in front of her. She hadn’t let herself think about the ledger in days. The hunt for Noah had occupied her attention completely and forced it to the periphery of her mind. Maybe that was why she’d been so quick to offer to help. Distraction as a form of protection.