Page 24 of South of Justice

Ryan stood, the sea wind tugging at his clothes. The waves below crashed with that same hypnotic rhythm, relentless, patient. “How long do I have before someone else finds that breadcrumb?”

“Could be days. Could be hours. Depends on how many people are watching.”

Ryan turned toward the path, already picturing the mountain terrain, the kinds of places someone like Lucía might hide. Remote trailheads. Abandoned logging cabins. Places with no signal and no exit strategy.

“Send me everything.”

Lázaro didn’t move.

“You’re sure you want to chase this? You said yourself, you’re not the guy who hunts bad guys anymore, Inglis. You’re just another one of us now.”

“I don’t have time to question it.”

Lázaro ground out the cigarette. Then he pulled a flash drive from his pocket. “Here. One-time loadout. Burn it after.”

“Thanks.”

“Don’t thank me. If she’s as smart as I think she is, you’re walking into a trap.”

Ryan looked down the path again, heart ticking faster now.

“Maybe,” he said. “But at least it’s one I can see coming.”

SEVENTEEN

Humming.There was a humming sound coming from…somewhere. It was soft and low but growing louder.

Lucía woke with a start. The cot creaked beneath her as she bolted upright, breath catching in her throat. Her tank top was damp with sweat. The cabin was still dark, the faintest sliver of blue at the window marking the hour before dawn.

The sound was a low buzz coming from her laptop.

She flung off the covers and dropped into the chair, bare feet hitting floor. The screen flared to life.

Tripwire triggered.

Her stomach dropped. One of her cloaked identities—one she’d left dangling as bait—had been pinged.

She pulled up the data trail. The access signature was layered, stacked with enough VPNs and route bounces to make most analysts give up.

But she wasn’t most analysts.

She parsed the signature again. It wasn’t cartel. Too careful. She scrubbed deeper, looking for code patterns. The metadata was precise. Calculated. Like a field op running tech support.Fast, clean, professional, but not the kind of chaotic aggression cartel traffickers used when probing for targets.

Government?

No. Not directly. Too freelance. But good.

Her breath slowed. Her fingers hovered over the trackpad. “They sent someone,” she whispered. She stared at the screen, her own reflection ghosted in the black background.

It wasn’t the cartel coming in with guns blazing. Not yet. Whoever this was had taken the bait, and now they were moving. Which meant she wasn’t safe. Not even here.

But she knew the trail now. And this time, she wouldn’t wait to be caught.

EIGHTEEN

From the momentLázaro handed him the flash drive, Ryan had been moving. He drove south to Guerrero Negro, then from there he paid cash to a man with a skiff to cross the narrow sea at dawn. They docked at Santa Rosalía, a dust-coated town clinging to the coast.

From there, a night bus inland. Three hours of bouncing over half-paved roads beside a family of goats and a drunk who sangcorridosin his sleep. At first light, he hit the Guaymas airport and bribed his way onto a cargo flight heading toward Oaxaca. The plane touched down just after four p.m.