Page 28 of You Can Run

Ferrera turned that over. That was a man who'd already been compromised long before tonight and was now trying to ride the current instead of drown in it.

“He says he knows where Castaño is going,” the Sicaria said. “Could be bluffing.”

“Could be,” Ferrera agreed. “But look at the message again. He doesn't say he knows where Castaño is. He says he knows where Castaño will go. That's not a guess. That's someone who knows enough about Castaño's connections to predict his next move.”

“Or someone who wants us to think he does.”

Ferrera looked at her. “What does he gain from that?”

The Sicaria tilted her head, acknowledging the point. A bluff only worked if the bluffer could survive being called on it. Whoever this was, he believed what he was selling, or was desperate enough that the distinction didn't matter to him.

“He's jealous,” Ferrera said, the certainty settling into place as he said it. “Listen to the message. You want him, you go through me. He's not offering information about the woman. He's offering Castaño. He wants Castaño specifically dealt with, and he's willing to hand him over to make it happen.”

The Sicaria pocketed the knife. “A cop with a grudge and a dead man's phone. That's either an asset or a trap.”

“At this point, what's the difference?” Ferrera leaned back in the chair. “We need a direction. He's offering one. If he's real, we get Castaño's location. If he's not, we've lost nothing but a day.”

“So you want me to make contact?”

Ferrera nodded. “And don't give him anything. No confirmation of who we are, no names, nothing he could record or hand to someone above him.”

The Sicaria left, pulling the door shut behind her.

TWELVE

Dante kepthis eyes on the road, his hands light on the wheel, but every nerve ending he possessed was tuned to the woman in the passenger seat. She was sitting as far away from him as the door would allow, staring out the window at the passing telephone poles.

The scent of her was filling the cabin. He shifted gears, the vibration of the Hemi rattling through the floorboards. He still wanted to scream at her. But mostly, he just wanted to pull the car over and hold her and tell her that he was going to make everything okay.

“You’re checking the mirror every ten seconds. And not for cops.”

Dante exhaled. “I’m making sure we aren't being followed.”

She finally turned toward him. Her eyes were tired, the blue looking washed out in the harsh morning light. But she was still the most beautiful woman he'd ever seen. “Who is the El Merc guy anyway?”

“I only met him twice,” Dante continued. “Twice was enough to last me three lifetimes. He used to work in a place called Unidos Logistics that operated out of an old dartboard factoryin El Paso. Inside was a distribution hub for enough heroin to keep the entire Eastern Seaboard high for a decade.” He glanced at the rearview mirror again, checking the empty horizon behind them.

“He didn’t walk; he strutted. He wore this complicated shoulder rig with two nickel-plated Desert Eagles. Flashy and arrogant. He had an entourage of mercenaries that made the local cartel guys look like Boy Scouts.”

Jessica shifted in her seat, her gaze fixed on his profile.

“He was the one who handled the drivers,” he continued. “He paid triple, sometimes quadruple, for a big load. Men lined up for those jobs. But I never saw the same driver more than two or three times. Ferrera was paranoid as fuck. He lived in a world where everyone was a DEA plant. So, he had a policy for terminating his staff.”

Dante’s hand shifted to the gear stick. “And when El Merc terminated you, he didn't give you a pink slip. He gave you a hole in the head and a shallow grave in the scrubland.”

He finally looked at her, and the raw fear in his eyes was plain to see. “And now he’s out. And he knows we were the two people who helped the feds map out his entire logistics chain.”

“And you think he’s the one coming for us.”

“I know he is.” The certainty in his voice filled the car.

She looked away first, back out the window.

“And Trent?” she asked after a moment. “You really think he had something to do with them finding me?”

Dante felt something hot and immediate rise under his skin. “A local cop with a gambling problem and a girlfriend who won’t tell him where she came from?” he said. “That’s not a coincidence, Jessica.”

“He loves me.”