Page 5 of South of Justice

“Not biologically,” Gates said. “But close enough to matter.”

The man whistled under his breath. “So you think he’ll come out of hiding for the kid?”

Gates didn’t answer. He just stood and headed for the door, taking the file with him.

“So what is this really?” the contact called after him. “A child recovery op, or a rogue marshal clean-up job?”

Neither, Gates thought but didn’t say. He just pushed open the door and stepped back out into the Texas heat.

FOUR

The coffeeat Club Persephone tasted like it had been filtered through motor oil, but Ryan drank it anyway. At least the taste distracted him from the image of that kid on the screen.

The sky outside was a flat, lifeless grey. It wasn’t even noon, and the heat was already pressing in. A fly buzzed against the barred window. He sat at a small table near the back of the club—off-hours, dead quiet—and opened a second burner phone. One of two he kept in a cloth pouch in a lockbox under the floorboards upstairs.

If they were watching the boy, they were watching for a reason. And if that reason had anything to do with Kylie’s death, or the men who had used her and discarded her, then he was already running behind.

The phone felt heavier than it should’ve in his hand. He stared at the screen for a full minute before scrolling to a number he hadn’t used in over a year.

Mark Lyman. One of the few people who might not shoot him on sight. Or worse, turn him in for a promotion.

Emphasis on themight.

Years back, they’d worked together in the Caribbean fugitive unit. They’d shared six months of late-night stakeouts, heatstroke and impossible cases. Mark had once taken a bottle to the ribs in Curaçao, and Ryan had been the one to patch him up with a stolen first aid kit and a hotel towel.

In return, he’d helped Ryan out of his own tight spot a year ago, when he’d lent him his car to drive to Panama City Beach and find a woman named Jessica Meeks.

That was the last time they’d spoken. It was also the last time Lyman had ever seen his car, but that was a whole other story.

He was more than a colleague. Maybe not quite a friend. But back then, Lyman had looked at him like he was someone worth backing.

Ryan rubbed his hand across his mouth. This was a risk. A real one. If Lyman was wired, if the number was monitored, if someone even flagged a ping off a tower, Ryan could have a drone over his head before sunset.

He knew he should leave it alone, that he should pack his bag and disappear south. But Noah was just a kid. Kylie’s kid. A kid being watched, maybe worse. And Ryan had very few allies left. So he hit “Call.”

One ring. Two. Three. It clicked. No voicemail. Just dead air.

Then—

“This number is not in service.” The mechanical voice cut sharper than expected.

Ryan stared at the phone. Hit redial. Same result. He tried the old work cell Lyman used to carry. Nothing. Then his backup contact, the Gmail they’d used for dead-drops.

Login failed.

He tried again.

Password changed.

He exhaled, feeling a sharp pain in his chest. Then he closed the phone and sat still for a long time. The kind of still that didn’t feel strategic. Just…empty.

The walls felt like they were closing in now. He pushed away from the table and paced once across the room. His boots thudded softly against the floor.

He poured himself another cup of the sludge-coffee and sat again.

Think.

He ran through a mental list of names. One he knew for sure was a no-go: Tomás Gates. They’d come up together at Glynco, friendly rivals through the academy, always neck and neck on quals. Later, they’d served on the same task force, back when Ryan was second-in-command of the Two Rivers Violent Fugitive Unit. Gates, ever the poster boy, had headed it. He’d always been the kind of guy who knew how to play politics, keep his nose clean and his boots polished. Ryan could still picture him, leaning against his SUV, in the humid Tennessee dusk. That easy laugh, the one that made you forget how sharp the guy really was. Once, Ryan would have trusted him with his life. Now? He wouldn’t.