Chapter 10 #2
Ryan answered without hesitation. “You leave. Because this place is compromised the moment Ferrera starts pulling threads. And he will. People like him don't have to search, they just apply pressure until someone else does the searching for them.”
He glanced once more at the street, scanning without appearing to, then turned back. “There's a man in Galveston named Miller. He runs transport off the books, no paperwork and no trail. He’s got a boat, and he moves people who need to stay lost.”
Dante spoke for the first time. “And we're just supposed to trust you on that?”
Ryan met his gaze without flinching. “You're supposed to trust that I've got no reason to burn you and every reason to keep her alive.”
The her hung in the air. Jessica watched Dante register it—the specificity, the way Ryan hadn't said you or both of you—and she watched him decide not to push it, though the decision clearly cost him.
Ryan reached into his jacket and pulled out a phone, holding it toward Jessica. She stepped forward, closing the distance between the porch and the steps, aware of Dante's attention on her with every movement she made.
“Number's already loaded,” Ryan said as she took it. “Call when you're close.”
Her fingers closed around the phone. It was warm from his pocket, which for some reason made her throat tighten.
“And you?” she asked.
Something crossed his face. “I'm already on their radar. If I stay near you, I make you visible, too.”
Santiago leaned against the porch post, arms crossed. “The Marshals are still looking for you.”
Ryan nodded. “And if they find you with me, it triggers federal protocol. Protective custody, oversight, relocation on their terms. You disappear, but into a system. Not off the map.”
Jessica shook her head before he'd finished. “No. Not that. I'm done with systems.”
Ryan studied her for a moment, and she had the uncomfortable sense of being seen clearly, more clearly than she wanted, by someone who understood exactly what she was refusing and why.
“Then this is how it has to go,” he said.
The wind chimes on Santiago's porch shifted in the breeze. It was only a soft sound, but it felt as loud as clanging bells to Jessica's ears.
“Ryan,” she said.
He looked at her. And for a moment the professional distance dropped, just enough for her to see what was underneath.
The weight that came from caring about someone you'd already decided you couldn't help.
She recognized it. She'd seen it on Dante's face two years ago, walking away from her for what he'd thought was the last time.
“Stay alive,” Ryan said. It was delivered like he half-expected her to disobey it.
Then he turned around, got back into the truck. The engine caught and held, and then he was pulling away, dust settling slowly behind him until the street looked exactly as it had before he'd arrived, as if he'd never been there at all.
No one spoke for a few seconds.
Then Santiago exhaled, sharp and decisive, like a man closing a door in his own mind.
“Ten minutes,” he said to Jesscia. “Water. Food. Then you're gone.”
Santiago's house was old but clean, and smelled like laundry detergent and real coffee. Jessica felt out of place in it immediately, like she'd tracked something filthy across the floor on the bottom of her shoes.
Dante and Santiago disappeared down the hallway, their voices dropping into Spanish, low and tense.
Julian touched her elbow lightly, guiding her toward the kitchen.
“Sit,” he said, not unkindly, just direct.
Jessica lowered herself onto the stool at the island and placed Ryan’s burner on the counter.
She was aware of everything at once—the sequins still clinging to her skin with dried sweat, the faint tremor in her legs she was hoping he couldn't see.
Her hands didn't know where to go, so she folded them together in her lap and held them there.
“I'm sorry,” she said, the words coming out quieter than she intended. “About the timing. And...everything.”
Julian filled a mug from the kettle. He set it in front of her—not coffee, just hot water—like he'd already decided what she needed without asking. Then he moved to the back door and turned the deadbolt.
“Santiago doesn't talk about Chicago,” he said, returning to the counter.
Jessica stared at the steam curling upward.
“But he doesn't have to.” Julian leaned back against the counter, crossing his arms. “He still wakes up some nights like he's there.”
The words settled into her chest with a slow, familiar weight.
“He was just a kid,” she said. “Dante tried to keep him out of it. Tried to keep all of it away from him.”
“He did,” Julian said simply. “And it worked. Santiago went to school. He built something real. He patches people up now instead of watching them bleed out.” A small pause. “He stopped expecting the worst every time someone knocked on the door.”
“And now I'm here,” she said.
“Yes. Now you're here.”
“I'm not staying,” she said. “We'll go as soon as I figure out where.”
Julian studied her for a moment. There was a flicker of calculation behind the steadiness, and she realized he wasn't just assessing her. He was measuring what her presence was going to cost, running the math on what happened to the lives in this house if the people following her found it.