Chapter 46
FORTY-SIX
The road blurred into heat shimmer, flat and endless, the horizon bending like light through a glass.
Gates’s abandoned SVU was one of the smoother rides they’d procured on this Odyssean journey, but Lucía still gripped the passenger armrest like it was in danger of flying to bits at any given moment.
Maybe it wasn’t in danger of flying to bits, but she felt like she was.
Beside her, Ryan drove with one hand, the other resting on the curve of the wheel. His jaw was tight. He hadn’t said much since they left the last gas station. Not since they’d filled the tank and restocked their water supply.
Her throat tightened. She adjusted the sun visor, even though the glare didn’t touch her. “I’ve been thinking,” she said.
Ryan glanced over but didn’t speak.
“I could just give it to them,” she said softly. “The fragment. I could just give it to Gates.”
He didn’t answer right away.
The tires hummed. A stretch of road passed.
Lucía went on. “That’s what all of this is about, isn’t it? It’s why they took Noah. It’s why Gates turned. They want what I have.”
Ryan’s voice was quiet. “It’s more than that. They want what it means.”
“I know.” She looked down at her hands. “The plan was to finish it. Leak the full ledger to the right channels. Let it blow apart the cartel’s financial spine. Take down the whole rotten infrastructure.”
Ryan was silent.
Lucía turned her head toward him. “But what if it’s not worth it?”
He frowned. “What do you mean?”
She shook her head. “What’s the point of toppling empires if I let a little boy die in the process?”
His eyes flicked to her again. More carefully this time.
“I’ve spent years holding onto this thing like it was the last thread keeping me connected to Mateo,” she said.
“Like if I pulled hard enough, the whole world would unravel and maybe he wouldn’t have died for nothing.
” Her voice caught. She swallowed hard. “But now? There’s this kid.
This terrified little boy, stuck between monsters.
And I could end that. I could give Gates what he wants. ”
Ryan didn’t look at her. “He’s a liar.”
“But he’s also strategic,” she said. “He won’t kill Noah if he still thinks he can use him. But if I don’t give it to him…”
She trailed off. They both knew what came next.
After a long pause, Ryan said, “If it were me, I’d give it up in a heartbeat.” He glanced at her. “I’m not saying you should. I’m saying if it were me—if it were my ledger—I wouldn’t hesitate.”
She stared at him. “You’d throw away the only chance to dismantle an international cartel network?”
“Yes. I’d burn the world down for one person,” Ryan said. “That’s not the right answer. But it is the truth.”
Lucía looked away. The desert stretched on around them, flat and empty.
Ryan wasn’t looking at her. But his hand had moved—just barely—between them. Not touching, but close enough that she felt it. “Whatever you choose,” he said, “make sure it’s something you can live with.”
The road twisted through low hills, pocked with scrub brush and scattered cactus. Ryan took the next curve and saw it, about eighty meters ahead.
Two men in uniform. A sagging cone barricade. An old navy-blue patrol car parked off to the side.
“Shit,” he muttered.
Lucía shifted in her seat. “Checkpoint?”
“Looks like.”
She leaned forward, sharp. “Those aren’t federales.”
Ryan narrowed his eyes. The man on the left wore a sun-faded uniform with a badge stitched askew.
His boots were too new for rural patrol.
The man beside him had a patch that didn’t match the shoulder emblem.
Something about the way they stood, like they were posing as law enforcement, not acting like it.
Ryan let the SUV slow, not brake.
Lucía’s voice was low and even. “Shoes don’t match. And that badge is upside down.”
Ryan exhaled through his nose. “Cartel proxy?”
“Or local muscle playing uniform.”
He adjusted his grip on the wheel. “Either way, they’re watching for someone.”
Lucía’s hand slid toward her Colt. She didn’t draw, just rested her fingers near it.
The man on the left raised a hand, flagging them down.
Ryan rolled to a stop, one hand still on the gearstick. “Here we go,” he said under his breath.
The man walked up slow, one hand resting near his belt. Not on a weapon, not yet. His other hand lifted lazily in a greeting.
Ryan rolled the window down halfway.
“Buen día,” the man said. His voice was smooth, almost cheerful. “?A dónde van?”
“Sur,” Ryan said, thick accent intentional. “Just…Salina Cruz. Vacation.”
The man smiled. “American?”
Ryan nodded. “Sí.”
The man leaned in slightly, looking past Ryan toward Lucía. His gaze lingered a second too long. “Y ella?”
Ryan glanced sideways. “Cousin.”
Lucía didn’t blink.
The man’s eyes slid back to Ryan. “Papers?”
Ryan shrugged. “Lost wallet. Rentamos el camión de un amigo. No tenemos problemas.” He kept the smile thin. Friendly. Useless.
Behind them, the second man was moving now, walking slowly along the passenger side, pretending to look at the tires, the bumper.
Ryan heard the soft click of Lucía slipping her Colt free, low against her thigh.
The first man tilted his head. “You look like someone.”
Ryan chuckled. “I get that a lot.”
The man’s smile didn’t move.
There was a long pause. Then the second man called something from behind the truck—too soft for Ryan to catch.
The first man didn’t react. Not yet. The air between them turned solid.
Ryan’s thumb tapped the wheel. Then he said quietly: “You ever work with Delgado? DEA logistics, south branch?”
The man blinked.
Ryan leaned slightly toward him. “Tell him Langston says he still owes me a bottle of mezcal.”
The man stared. For a breath too long. Then he stepped back.
“Buen viaje,” he said flatly. He slapped the side of the truck.
Ryan didn’t wait. He eased off the brake and rolled forward.
Lucía waited five more seconds. Then he saw her slide the Colt back into place.
The SUV hummed as it picked up speed, gravel crackling under the tires before the road smoothed again into cracked asphalt. The fake checkpoint faded in the mirrors, just a blur of heat haze and too-long stares.
Lucía kept her eyes on them for another thirty seconds before turning forward again. “That was a bluff,” she said flatly.
Ryan nodded, jaw tight.
“There’s no Langston.”
“Nope.”
“No Delgado.”
“Could be. But if there is, he definitely doesn’t owe me mezcal.”
Lucía smiled, if only faintly. They drove on in silence for another stretch. Then she said, “Your Spanish is terrible.”
Ryan let out a short breath through his nose. “It’s part of the charm.”
She leaned her head back against the seat, exhaled slowly. “They weren’t cops.”
“No.”
“They were waiting for someone.”
He didn’t respond. Because they both knew who.
After a moment, Lucía said, “How’d you know he’d let us pass?”
“I didn’t,” Ryan said. “But guys like that don’t shoot until they’re sure you’re a threat. Uncertainty buys time.”
Lucía turned her face toward the window, her reflection fractured in the dusty glass. “He saw my face.”
“He saw mine, too.”
And that was the part neither of them said aloud. Whatever just happened at that checkpoint, it was already being passed up the chain.
Someone knew they were coming.
Ten minutes past the checkpoint, Ryan pulled the SUV off the road and killed the engine. Dust clouded up, drifted, settled.
He leaned forward, resting his forearms on the wheel, exhaling through his nose.
Lucía stayed still beside him, hands in her lap. For a minute, neither said a thing. Then, quietly, she asked, “Are we going to talk about it?”
Ryan didn’t look up. “About what?”
Her voice sharpened. “Don’t.”
He leaned back slowly, jaw tight. “What do you want me to say?”
Lucía looked out the window. “That it wasn’t just adrenaline. That it meant something.”
He rubbed his face, winced as his hand brushed the healing cut near his temple. “It did.”
Lucía turned to him, eyes unreadable. “Then why do you look like you regret it?”
“I don’t,” he said.
She leaned closer, just slightly. “You think I’m a mistake, Ryan?”
He met her eyes. “No. I think you’re a fuse. And I already lit you once.”
Her breath caught, just faintly.
His hand was still on the wheel. Hers came up, brushing the edge of the seat between them, not quite touching him, but close. “You didn’t have to come this far,” he said.
She blinked, turned toward him slightly. “What?”
“Our deal. Back in the cabin. You were supposed to help me find Noah. After that, you were free to go.”
Lucía didn’t speak.
“I’ve dragged you halfway across México. Gotten you shot at. Got you sleeping in dingy motels.”
Still nothing from her. But her jaw tensed just slightly.
Ryan exhaled. “I guess I just wanted to say…thank you.”
Lucía scoffed. “You really think I’m still here because of a deal?”
“I don’t know why you’re still here.”
Her eyes held his. “Neither do I.”
He nodded, slow.
“Still,” he said, voice low. “You stayed.”
Her mouth parted—maybe to argue, maybe to soften. But whatever she was going to say disappeared when he leaned in.
Their mouths met, tentative for just half a second.
Then it turned hungry. Lucía’s hand came up to his jaw, fingers curling against rough stubble.
Ryan’s fingers found the side of her throat, then her waist. She pulled him closer over the center console, and for a breathless moment, it felt like they weren’t in an SUV on the side of a dangerous highway.
It felt like they were the only two people in México.
The kiss deepened. Then she pulled back, chest rising fast.
Ryan rested his forehead against hers.
Lucía didn’t move. “We’re not making it easy,” she said, voice unsteady.
“No,” he agreed. “We’re not.”