Page 86 of South of Justice

Lucía dove for cover near the bathroom door, bracing herself on one elbow, gun up.

Ryan fired back once through the open doorway, fast and low, forcing the shooter to duck.

Another burst cracked from the stairwell outside. Dust and drywall ripped into the air.

Lucía pressed her back to the wall. “This wasn’t a trade. It was never a trade.”

No, Ryan realized.It was a kidnapping.

A figure in dark clothes ducked behind a support column at the edge of the breezeway. Too far to see clearly, but the rifle silhouette was unmistakable.

He counted seconds.

The shooter fired again, controlled bursts. Not cartel spray-and-pray. Tactical.

Ryan breathed through the pain in his ribs. “They brought pros,” he muttered.

Then he took a deep breath and, keeping his back to the wall and his gun tight to his body, angled himself around the doorway.

From inside the room, he heard a sudden crash. Lucía must’ve tipped the table, made cover for herself.

More shots from the breezeway slammed into the door frame. Wood splintered. Ryan’s thigh stung—he’d been grazed. He pressed his hand against it, felt warmth.

Blood.

“Son of a bitch.”

He leaned out again—one eye, one arm—and fired three more shots.

This time one of them hit.

The shooter staggered back with a grunt, dropped to one knee. Rifle clattered. Ryan took the chance and limped down the breezeway, gun leveled. He kicked the weapon away and shoved the man onto his back.

Bald. Bearded. Pale-skinned. American.

The man coughed wetly. “You’re…Ryan Inglis.”

Ryan aimed the PPK square at his forehead. “Wrong day to be a fan.”

“Wasn’t supposed to be you,” the man gasped.

Ryan’s jaw locked.

“It was always the woman. You were…the variable.” The man blinked blood. “They want her alive.”

Ryan’s trigger finger twitched. “Who’s they?”

The man smiled. It was ugly and red.

“You don’t want to know.”

Then he died.

Ryan rose, chest heaving, shoulder screaming. He grabbed the dead guy’s rifle and whirled back around. “Lucía!” he shouted, voice raw.

No answer.

But he had a feeling the worst part hadn’t started.