Page 12 of You Can Run

Jessica leaning across the seat to kiss him at a red light; Jessica’s bare feet resting on the dashboard; Jessica laughingwhile the engine roared beneath them as they tore down Lakeshore Drive with the city lights exploding around them.

Dante stood there staring at the tarp, Ryan’s words creeping back into his head.

They found her.

Bullshit.

But what if–

He shoved the thought away.

Ryan didn’t look back at the workshop. He just walked to the dusty Toyota Tacoma with Mexican plates, the familiar weight of failure settling on his shoulders. The sun was just starting to rise, the sky paling over the scrubland.

He slid into the driver’s seat and shut the door quietly. For a long moment, he just sat there with his hands on the wheel, staring at nothing. He’d expected resistance and anger. What he hadn’t expected was how much Dante’s refusal felt like déjà vu—he’d put up the same wall as Jessica. He had the same stubborn pride, the same certainty that staying put was strength.

It never was.

Ryan exhaled slowly and started the engine. He badly wanted to call Lucía, the woman he loved and who he'd been forced to leave back in México. She would know what to do next, she was the smartest person he'd ever met. But he knew the first thing she'd tell him was to stay off his phone and not call her, not matter what. She had enemies far worse than the USMS hunting her. They had an agreed meet-up point just south of Piedras Negras, and he was going to make it if it killed him. At least he could say he tried.

As he drove, the road out of Agua Dulce stretched empty and straight ahead of him. Two years on the run had taught him one thing: you couldn’t save people who didn’t want saving.

His phone buzzed on the console.

Ryan glanced down. Unknown number.

His stomach tightened. He didn’t answer right away. Instead, he pulled the car onto the shoulder, dust billowing up around the tires, and cut the engine. The sudden silence pressed in.

The phone buzzed again. He swiped to answer.

“Ryan.” Her voice was low and tight, her breathing fast.

His spine went cold. “Jessica,” he said. “Talk to me.”

“There’s someone in my apartment.”

Everything in him went sharp and still.

“Where are you?” he asked.

“In the bedroom,” she whispered. “I heard wood on the door splintering when someone tried to get in. I didn’t see anyone. Trent’s gone.”

Ryan's world narrowing to a single point. “Good,” he said. “Stay quiet. Stay exactly where you are.”

Ryan restarted the car and set his phone back in his dash cradle. “Do you have your phone on silent?”

“Yes.”

“Good. Don’t hang up.” He waited a beat then asked, “How long do you think you have?”

“I don’t know,” she said. “But whoever it is… they’re not rushing.”

That was worse. Amateurs kicked in doors and grabbed what they wanted. Professionals took their time.

Ryan merged back onto the road, already calculating distance, routes, contingencies that were probably useless. Corpus Christi was miles away.

“Jessica,” he said, voice dropping into the tone that had once convinced her to trust him with her life. “Listen to me. If youhave somewhere reinforced—somewhere you planned to never use—go there now.”

Silence. Then, quietly: “I already am.”