Page 60 of South of Justice

“This is gonna hurt like fuck,” he said, pulling out his pocket knife and lighter.

Lucía gave him a faint, wry smile. “That your version of bedside manner?”

“Don’t get used to it.”

He sterilized the blade and carefully widened the tear in the skin, hoping to spot the bullet. Nothing visible. It was lodged too deep. Her body jerked under his hands, a cry catching in her throat.

“Damn it,” he swore under his breath. “It’s too far in. I can’t get it.”

“Don’t stop,” she panted. “We can’t go to a hospital. We can’t.”

“Then what the hell do you suggest, huh? You bleed out in the dirt?”

Her hand found his wrist. Weak, but steady. “Just…stop the bleeding. Buy us some time.”

He wrapped the wound as best he could with gauze and tied it off with a torn strip of his own shirt. It wasn’t enough. Her pulse was too fast. Her skin was losing its color.

A low groan escaped her lips. She was fading.

And then he heard the crunch of tires on gravel. Faint, but growing louder.

Ryan’s head snapped up. He was on his feet, pistol out, finger on the trigger. There was a plume of dust in the distance, rising off the road they’d just come down.

A vehicle, approaching fast.

Ryan stepped in front of Lucía, shielding her with his body. There were no trees. No cover. Nowhere left to run. If it was the mercs again, this was it.

He squared his stance and raised his pistol.

The SUV crested the slope and began to slow. Its shape came into focus—big, boxy, government-issue. Tires crunched over gravel as it rolled to a stop ten yards away.

The driver’s door opened. A tall man stepped out slowly, both hands raised in plain view. He was broad-shouldered, olive-skinned, maybe mid-forties. Wearing tactical pants, boots, a soft-shell jacket zipped halfway up. A U.S. Marshals badge swung from a lanyard around his neck, catching the light.

His face was unmistakable.

Deputy U.S. Marshal Tomás Gates.

“Easy, Ryan,” Gates said, calm as ever.

Disbelief slammed through Ryan like a punch. The gun didn’t waver. “How the hell did you find us?”

“We’ve been following cartel signals. This area lit up like Christmas when that tax office got hit.”

Lucía stirred weakly behind him. Ryan’s glance flicked to her, then back to Gates.

“She needs a doctor.”

“Yeah,” Gates said. “And she’s not gonna make it much longer unless we move now.”

“Why should I trust you?”

“Because you don’t have a choice.”

Ryan’s jaw clenched. The silence stretched taut.

Finally, he lowered the gun. Not all the way, but enough.

He turned, crouched down beside Lucía. Her eyelids fluttered. Her lips were cracked, whispering something he couldn’t make out. He lifted her again, slower this time. Her head fell against his chest.