Page 35 of South of Justice

He didn’t tuck it behind her ear. He simply held it. Studied it. Studied her.

Then, after a heartbeat that stretched too long: “You should go home.”

Lucía nodded, throat dry. “Yes.”

He released the strand of hair.

She gathered her things with hands that didn’t tremble until she was facing away from him. As she stepped into the hallway, he didn’t follow. He didn’t need to.

He’d already made sure she would never forget this night.

TWENTY-FOUR

Lucía and Ryanleft the cabin before sunrise, hiking down the narrow trail in silence, neither quite ready to break the fragile agreement they’d made. The sun had been nothing more than a dull glow behind the trees then, but by the time they reached the bottom of the ridge and hitched a ride with a produce truck heading west, the heat was already building. The ride was slow, bumpy, and smelled like onions. The truck hit the outskirts of a town with a leaning sign and a single cellphone tower.

Civilization, Lucía thought.

“Food,” Ryan said, nodding at a roadside café.

He hailed the driver to stop and they got out, lugging their packs in tow, which doubled as a disguise: to a casual observer, they looked like backpackers. A couple, maybe. Him American, her a local. As much as Lucía wanted a shower and to wash her hair, she knew better than to draw attention to herself by trying to look clean, rested, or soft. As much as it grossed her out, dirt and fatigue were a kind of disguise.

The café had peeling turquoise walls and plastic tables, and the only thing worse than the Wi-Fi was the coffee. But Lucía had made do with less.

She sat at the far end of the open-air patio, one foot hooked around the leg of her chair, her back to the wall. The laptop was open on the table in front of her, antenna angled to steal whatever signal she could. The screen glowed with her improvised data trap: a digital fishing hook cast into cartel waters. Her hands moved quickly, shoulders tight.

Across the table from her, Ryan chewed the last bite of historta al pastorand pushed aside the empty plate. He hadn’t said much during the meal, too busy inhaling it like a man who hadn’t eaten properly in days. She couldn’t blame him. Her own plate was scraped clean.

He watched her without a word now. She could feel him more than see him, elbows resting on the table. He hadn’t touched his coffee. Or blinked much, for that matter.

“You’re staring again,” she said without looking up.

“Just trying to figure out if you’re actually doing something or pretending real hard.”

She arched an eyebrow. “You want to do this part?”

“I’d rather have a root canal.”

“Then hush.”

A flicker of movement on the screen caught her eye in a darknet node she’d been monitoring since the Alpha_C3 drop. The timing was right. The encryption pattern too close to be coincidence.

Her pulse kicked. She tapped into the stream, fingers flying.

“What is it?” Ryan asked, sitting forward.

“Something just moved. A dummy account. Only it’s not dummy anymore. Someone logged in.”

“Who?”

“Too soon to tell. But it’s cartel-connected. Could be someone involved with moving money related to the kid.”

“Can you trace it?”

“Not fully. But I can isolate the access route and see what city the signal passed through before hitting the chain.”

She paused. Zoomed in.

Salina Cruz.