Page 54 of South of Justice

And why had she let Javier do it instead?

Or maybe it wasn’t a case of herletting. Maybe it was a case of himtaking.

Or worse, her letting him take.

Lucía sat on the edge of the tub. A lump rose in her throat. She swallowed it down.

The cartel didn’t just kill people. They erased them. They rewrote timelines and histories, altered official records, made it so you never existed. Mateo hadn’t just been murdered. He’d been wiped from the world. And every time she got closer to someone, she felt the echo of that threat inside her chest.

She hadn’t let anyone in since.

She thought of the way Ryan had looked last night, half in shadow, half in that lurid neon glow. The sound of his voice in the dark. The rawness in it when he spoke about regret.

She wanted to keep her distance. She’d planned to. But something about him made her forget how. He was dangerous in a way she hadn’t prepared for. Not because he carried a gun. But because hesawher, even when she didn’t want to be seen.

She hadn’t told him the whole truth about Javier Esquivel.El Escriba.She hadn’t told him that he was the first man who’d ever made her feel seen. And the first man who made her doubt herself for it. His control had been so subtle at first. So polished. So charming. By the time she realized how carefully he had shaped her…

It was too late.

Lucía closed her eyes and let the memory drain from her, but it clung stubbornly, leaving a sour taste on her tongue and a hollow ache in her chest.

Even now, after everything—after Mateo’s death, after years on the run—she could still feel the ghost of Javier’s grip at the nape of her neck. The weight of his gaze. The way he had made her question not just what she was doing but who she was.

Her fingers brushed the tile wall beside her, grounding her in its cool roughness.

She inhaled deeply through her nose, counted to five, then exhaled slowly. Then she rose from the edge of the tub.

She wasn’t the same girl Javier Esquivel had molded all those years ago. Not anymore.

She was someone else now. Someone who would finish what Mateo started.

Ryan sat on the edge of his mattress, elbows on his knees, listening to the shower hiss shut. A few minutes later, the bathroom door clicked and steam spilled out. Lucía stepped into the doorway, toweling water from the ends of her hair. She caught his eyes for half a second, then moved past, set her towel on the chair, and reached for the laptop.

“Morning,” he said.

She lifted a hand in answer, already flipping the lid, the screen lighting her face. He stood, went to the tiny kitchenette, and poured boiling water into two paper cups with instant coffee. It tasted like burned cardboard, but it was better than nothing.

When he handed her one, she barely glanced up in thanks. “I take it you’ve found something?”

“The shipping warehouse was definitely a front,” she said, fingers flying. “Money flowed through it and promptly vanished.”

He eased onto the bed opposite, watching the muscles in her jaw work as she focused. It was like seeing a storm gather. Controlled energy. Nothing wasted.

“So what are you looking for?” he asked.

“Something sloppy,” she said. She scrolled, stopped, scrolled back. “The shell company is registered in Chihuahua. Transactions cross-check to a seafood supplier west of Puerto Cortés.” She trailed off, eyes narrowing.

“Got something?” Ryan asked.

Lucía nodded slowly. “Altamar Seafood. On paper, it’s shuttered. But there’s activity in the subsidiary accounts. Tiny movements. Cleaning crews. Furniture rental. And one invoice for child-sized clothing.”

Ryan’s stomach flipped. “You think that’s where they’re holding the kid?”

“Could be.”

“Any way we can make sure this time before we go in all-guns-blazing?”

She nodded. “Whoever filed this line will know. It’s a little local tax office.”