Page 26 of South of Justice

The muzzle ofthe gun never shook. Ryan kept his eyes glued to it. In her small hands, the thing looked like a cannon. The recoil alone would probably set her on her ass. But her voice had been calm, measured, and there was no mistaking the threat in it. Ryan had spent a good amount of time staring down killers, and he knew the most dangerous ones weren’t loud. They were quiet. Certain.

He raised his hands slowly, palms open.

“Back toward the cabin,” she said.

Ryan obeyed. The slope was uneven beneath his boots, the trail loose with pine needles and small stones, but she tracked him with precision.

Up close, she was smaller than he’d expected. Five foot five, maybe. But there was no mistaking the intent in her stance. Eyes sharp, mouth tense. Her shoulders moved like someone used to being hunted.

He reached the cabin door.

“Open it. Slowly.”

He did.

The interior was dim, lit only by the glow from a solar lantern on the table. Sparse setup—cot, table, laptop. Survival gear, stacked and clean.

Lucía stepped in behind him and kicked the door shut. Then she gestured to the chair at the table.

“Sit.”

Ryan moved slowly. She didn’t flinch.

The zip-ties came next. She grabbed them from a bag on the table, near the lantern, and he noted how quickly she tied him off. Not pro-level, but practiced. One looped around his wrists, another cinching them to the back of the chair, then two more securing his ankles to the legs.

“You tie everyone up before asking their name first?” he muttered.

She said nothing. But she came closer. Close enough that he could smell the trace of sweat on her skin. Her hands were steady as she checked each tie.

Ryan sat still, letting her work. Letting her feel in control. He wasn’t sure how trigger-happy she was, but he was sure of this: one wrong word and she’d put a bullet in him and vanish by morning.

She stepped back and finally spoke. “You’re tracking me.”

“I didn’t say that.”

“You didn’t have to.”

She circled him slowly, like she was inspecting a bomb. Or deciding where to place the first hole.

“Who sent you?”

“No one sent me.”

“Then who are you?” she demanded.

Ryan hesitated. He considered giving her one of the many aliases he’d used since crossing the border two years ago. Then it occurred to him that his cover had already been blown to fuck,so it hardly mattered anymore what she called him. So, it may as well be the truth. “Ryan Inglis.”

“Should I know that name?”

“Not unless you’ve been watching U.S. Marshals’ Most Wanted lists.”

She stared at him. No flicker of recognition.

“Why are you here, Ryan Inglis?”

Good question. He wasn’t exactly sure what he’d expected to happen when he found her. He’d imagined confronting her, maybe scaring her into talking. He’d hoped she’d be innocent—just a name on a list, someone swept into something she didn’t understand. And if she wasn’t?

Then he’d do what he had to. Buy time. Stall. Figure out why she mattered so much. Maybe contact the people who sent the burner phone. Maybe not. The plan had never been clear.