Chapter 22
TWENTY-TWO
Lucía packed her things in silence. She hadn’t spoken since they agreed to work together.
Ryan sat a few feet away by the door, silent, checking over his gear but never fully taking his eyes off her.
He wasn’t hovering, but he wasn’t leaving her alone either.
Maybe he was giving her space. Or maybe he just didn’t trust her enough to let her out of his sight.
She zipped the bag, then sat heavily on the edge of the cot. She’d spent nine years vanishing. Building walls between herself and the world. Moving like a shadow through digital corridors and dusty roads. And now she was choosing to surface. To act.
With a man she didn’t know, let alone trust.
She snuck a glance at him while pretending to focus on rechecking that her pistol was still loaded.
Annoyingly, his handsomeness was still the first thing her brain decided to flag every time she looked at him.
Annoying, and stupid. Okay, so he’s attractive, she chided herself.
He looks like a cowboy off the cover of one of my mom’s old Mills and Boons.
Complete with the baby blues and the jawline that could chisel ice.
She focused instead on his less superficial traits.
To build a character profile of him. He had the look of someone who’d buried more than one body for the badge.
But there was something behind his eyes when he talked about the boy.
Not desperation exactly. Not guilt. Something harder.
More enduring. Like he’d carried a thousand regrets and was trying not to add this one to the pile.
She shoved her Colt into a side compartment of her backpack, then leaned forward and rubbed her hands over her face. Her stomach churned.
She wasn’t supposed to care. Not about strangers.
Not about kids she’d never met. But the thought of that boy—frightened, alone, used as leverage by monsters like El Escriba—made her sick.
Mateo had always been the bleeding heart.
The one who’d pushed her to see there was a human cost behind the misplaced numbers, the false invoices and fake payrolls.
The one who’d convinced her that flagging those wire transfers was as good a way as taking out the cartel’s stranglehold on their city as going in all guns blazing.
The memory of him hit her like a bruise. Her throat tightened. She pushed the thought away, then returned her focus to her packing.
Ryan crouched by the door, checking his gear for the third time. The mag of his weapon was full. The safety clicked cleanly. His pack was well stocked with all the bare essentials for disappearing again if this all went to hell.
Which it probably would.
Behind him, Lucía moved quietly, zipping compartments and coiling cables.
He didn’t watch her directly, but he could almost feel her movements.
She wore anonymity like armor: hair tied tight, no makeup, clothes that were clearly designed to make her look anonymous.
Forgettable. She needed to try harder in that regard.
The thin black turtleneck sweater and low-slung cargo pants she was wearing did nothing to make her anything but immediately memorable to anyone who appreciated the female form.
And her lack of makeup just highlighted how her attractiveness was natural.
He forced his attention back on checking his kit, which didn’t need checking. He didn’t trust her. But he’d agreed to her plan, and now he was betting everything on a woman he’d known for less than an hour.
The thought almost made him snort out loud. He bit back a smile at the irony. He had known Jessica Meeks for a grand total of three days before he’d nearly thrown everything away for her. He was going to beat his own record.
But the alternative was handing her over to people who’d kidnapped a child. Or maybe being forced to kill her himself.
Lucía thought she could trace the boy. She’d sounded confident, maybe even sincere. But confidence didn’t mean shit in the real world. The cartel had deeper pockets and more bodies. They could buy time. They could buy blood. He’d seen what they left behind.
What worried him wasn’t just the cartel. It was what would happen if the two of them succeeded. Because if they found the boy and saved him, what then?
He was still a fugitive. Still a man with a burn notice from his own government. If he handed Noah over to the authorities, he’d be arrested on the spot. And if he tried to run again, with a kid in tow—one that wasn’t even his—he’d be hunted harder than ever.
His freedom was already a fiction. This plan—Lucía’s plan—just chained him tighter to the consequences. He didn’t want to think about what would happen if they failed.
He scrubbed a hand over his jaw, the rasp of stubble grounding him.
Then he straightened, reached into the side pocket of his pack and pulled out the kidnapper’s burner phone.
He’d done what they’d asked, he’d found Lucía Duarte.
But whatever their further instructions were, he didn’t want to hear them.
Crossing to the table, he set it down. Lucía didn’t say anything, but when he looked up, her gaze had shifted briefly to the phone. Then to him. Her expression seemed to relax, if only for a second. She gave a tiny nod.
He straightened, rolled his shoulders, and checked the time. Not long until first light.
Lucía moved to join him, boots quiet on the floor.
He opened the cabin door and led the way outside. The mountain air bit at his skin, sharp and cold. The first sliver of dawn split the horizon, painting the treetops in pale light.
Ryan paused, turning to look at her. “You ready?”
Lucía nodded. “As I’ll ever be.”