Page 52 of South of Justice

She could hear the water running behind the closed door, the rhythmic hiss and splash of it unnervingly intimate. Every time she caught the rhythm, she imagined steam curling around his shoulders, tracing the bruises across his ribs. She’d seen them earlier, when he peeled off his shirt with a wince. Her eyes had lingered too long. Again.

She closed the laptop gently and stood, pacing the cramped length of the room. The window showed nothing but theglowing edge of the sign and a parking lot slick with oil stains. Somewhere nearby, a motorcycle revved and faded into the night.

A buzzing itch of tension had settled into her skin. Restless. Uneasy.

The bathroom door creaked open. Her pulse jumped.

Ryan stepped out, towel around his neck, shirtless and scrubbed clean. His jeans hung low on his hips, revealing the V-cut in his abs that pointed southwards like a goddamn arrow. His hair was damp, curling slightly at the edges. He looked younger. Softer. But no less dangerous.

Lucía tried not to react. She failed.

He caught her eye, then looked away just as fast.

“Your turn,” he said, voice low and rough.

She nodded, edging past him, careful not to touch. Inside the bathroom, she let the door click closed and exhaled slowly. Her reflection in the mirror looked like someone she didn’t quite recognize. Her cheeks were flushed, her eyes a little too wide. She splashed water on her face, as if cold would burn off the distraction.

When she came out, towel in hand, Ryan was lying on top of the blanket, one arm behind his head, the other draped across his chest. His pistol was on the bed beside him. He was flipping a cartridge in the air, catching it, flipping it again. The motion was hypnotic.

“Everything okay?” he asked.

She squeezed the water out of the ends of her hair with the towel. “You still mad at me?”

He stopped flipping the cartridge. “No.” A pause. “Maybe.”

She crossed to the second bed and sat, elbows on her knees. “I didn’t mean to snap earlier.”

“I know,” he said. “You’re under pressure. So am I.”

A long beat.

“You think we’ll make it out of this?” she asked.

Ryan’s mouth quirked. “I used to. Not so sure anymore.”

She paused for a long beat. “Why are you really on the run?”

He was quiet for a moment, then said, “Surely you must have Googled me by now.”

Lucía gave a faint smile. “Actually, no. Some things I prefer not to turn to the internet for.”

He let out a dry chuckle. “Well, that’s new.”

She waited.

“I was a deputy U.S. marshal,” he said. “Served on a fugitive task force out of Tennessee. I did good work. But I made a mistake. I got compromised, and I put a protected witness in danger. Crossed lines I shouldn’t have.”

Lucía said nothing.

“I let her down. In more ways than one.” There was a long pause. “So I ran.”

“Do you regret it?”

He was quiet again, then said, “Every day.”

“If you could go back,” she said, “would you?”

“To the Marshals?” He snorted. “There’s no going back. Once you cross a line with them, you don’t return.”