Page 87 of South of Justice

Not by a long shot.

Lucía burst out of the bathroom just as Ryan stumbled back into the room, his jeans soaked in red. The rifle in his hands wavered, then steadied as he saw her.

“Breezeway,” he rasped. “One down.”

She crossed to him fast, catching his elbow, guiding him down. He tried to wave her off but his legs were alreadybuckling. They ended up crouched behind the flipped table she’d dragged from the wall.

“Stay down,” she whispered. Her head snapped toward the window. She crept low and peeked between the blinds.

A black SUV. No plates. “Shit.”

Ryan struggled to his knees. “They probably have us surrounded.”

Lucía turned toward the bathroom. There was a small window above the toilet. She didn’t wait. “Come on.”

She dragged him up. Ryan bit off a groan and leaned on her as they half-hobbled, half-sprinted to the tiny bathroom. She slammed the door behind them and twisted the lock. Then she grabbed the edge of the window and started to shove it open.

“Go,” Ryan said, pushing her forward.

“I’m not leaving you?—"

“Lucía, now!”

Something in his voice cut through. She hesitated one second too long.

The bathroom door exploded inward.

Ryan spun toward the sound, rifle coming up. The shot should have gone off, but his wounded leg gave out beneath him. He fell hard, the muzzle veering high. The round punched harmlessly into the ceiling as the man burst through the doorway.

It wasn’t Gates. It was a gringo in combat boots and civilian clothes barreling straight at them. Ryan tried to swing the rifle again, but the man was already on him, slamming the weapon aside and driving him to the floor.

Then the attacker was on her. He hit her full force. She crashed into the sink, shoulder screaming. Her hand went for the Colt. But he was fast and strong.

She got one elbow in—sharp, under his chin—but he twisted her sideways and drove her back into the wall. Her head cracked against tile. His gloved hand clamped over her mouth.

Ryan shouted—her name, she thought—but the sound was dim over the roar in her ears. Through the blur she saw him trying to rise again, blood pooling under him, one hand still reaching for the rifle.

She kicked hard. Fought. But he had the weight.

The man dragged her out. Past Ryan, who clawed toward her, rage written across his face, the rifle slipping from his grasp as the tiles ran red beneath him. Through the busted door.

Lucía twisted, thrashed, but the world turned sideways. There was a burst of hot air, then gravel underfoot.

Then: the SUV. Door open. Black interior.

She fought harder. Bit down on the man’s hand. He cursed, shoved her in. A cloth bag came down hard over her face. Then the door slammed. The locks thumped into place.

She bucked once, then again, but the engine roared, and inertia yanked her back. The tires spat gravel.

The back seat was stifling. The cloth over her head pulsed with every breath she took. Her lungs burned. Her shoulder was on fire. Her wrists had been zip-tied tight behind her, and her arms had already gone numb.

She twisted, tried to sit up.

A voice barked something from the front. “Despacio—algo se mueve.”

Lucía froze, panting. Her body vibrated with adrenaline, with panic, but her mind stayed sharp. She counted seconds. And then faintly, from outside?—

“LUCÍA!”