Page 83 of South of Justice
Lucía waited five more seconds. Then he saw her slide the Colt back into place.
The SUV hummed as it picked up speed, gravel crackling under the tires before the road smoothed again into cracked asphalt. The fake checkpoint faded in the mirrors, just a blur of heat haze and too-long stares.
Lucía kept her eyes on them for another thirty seconds before turning forward again. “That was a bluff,” she said flatly.
Ryan nodded, jaw tight.
“There’s no Langston.”
“Nope.”
“No Delgado.”
“Could be. But if there is, he definitely doesn’t owe me mezcal.”
Lucía smiled, if only faintly. They drove on in silence for another stretch. Then she said, “Your Spanish is terrible.”
Ryan let out a short breath through his nose. “It’s part of the charm.”
She leaned her head back against the seat, exhaled slowly. “They weren’t cops.”
“No.”
“They were waiting for someone.”
He didn’t respond. Because they both knew who.
After a moment, Lucía said, “How’d you know he’d let us pass?”
“I didn’t,” Ryan said. “But guys like that don’t shoot until they’re sure you’re a threat. Uncertainty buys time.”
Lucía turned her face toward the window, her reflection fractured in the dusty glass. “He saw my face.”
“He saw mine, too.”
And that was the part neither of them said aloud. Whatever just happened at that checkpoint, it was already being passed up the chain.
Someone knew they were coming.
Ten minutes past the checkpoint, Ryan pulled the SUV off the road and killed the engine. Dust clouded up, drifted, settled.
He leaned forward, resting his forearms on the wheel, exhaling through his nose.
Lucía stayed still beside him, hands in her lap. For a minute, neither said a thing. Then, quietly, she asked, “Are we going to talk about it?”
Ryan didn’t look up. “About what?”
Her voice sharpened. “Don’t.”
He leaned back slowly, jaw tight. “What do you want me to say?”
Lucía looked out the window. “That it wasn’t just adrenaline. That it meant something.”
He rubbed his face, winced as his hand brushed the healing cut near his temple. “It did.”
Lucía turned to him, eyes unreadable. “Then why do you look like you regret it?”
“I don’t,” he said.
