Page 42 of You Can Run

Ferrera turned to her immediately. “Well?”

“We have a lead,” she said. “Miller. He's a specialist, moves people who don't want to be found. My contact is pulling his file now.”

The wordcontactdid what it was meant to do; it gave Ferrera enough to feel informed without giving him anything real. He didn't know who she called. He'd never asked directly,because asking would mean admitting he didn't already know, and Ferrera's pride wouldn't allow that.

“Where?” Ferrera pressed.

“Gulf coast, most likely. We use the cop to track the car. By the time they find their hole, we'll be behind them.”

Ferrera's jaw tightened, his fingers flexing on the wheel. Not with satisfaction, with something hungrier than that, something that had less to do with the operation and more to do with Castaño.

“Good,” he said.

Gravel spat from the tires as they pulled away. The house shrank in the mirror behind them.

SIXTEEN

The alarmon Dante’s watch didn’t make a sound; it vibrated, a low, insistent pulse against his wrist that pulled him awake all at once.

He didn’t move immediately. He lay on the edge of the mattress, eyes fixed on the thin seam of light pressing through the gap in the curtains, watching as the last traces of neon green faded into the washed-out grey of early morning. The room felt colder than it had a few hours ago, the window unit rattling softly as it pushed out stale, overworked air.

Beside him, Jessica shifted.

The mattress dipped slightly, just enough that her warmth brushed against his arm before she settled again, and the contact lingered longer than it should have.

Dante pushed himself upright, his joints protesting as he reached for the pistol on the nightstand and checked it by feel. The familiar weight grounded him “Time to go,” he said.

Jessica didn’t startle. She opened her eyes slowly, already alert, already watching him in a way that told him she hadn’t really been asleep at all.

She sat up, the oversized shirt slipping slightly off one shoulder, and the ruby ring caught the first clean line of daylight as it edged into the room.

The lie from last night hadn’t gone anywhere. It still sat right there between them.

“Did you sleep at all?” she asked, brushing her hair back from her face. There was something unguarded in the question, something that hadn’t quite made it back behind whatever walls she’d rebuilt overnight.

“Enough,” Dante said, because anything else would invite a conversation he didn’t trust himself to finish.

He stood, pulling on his boots, glad they gave himself something to do that didn’t involve looking at her for too long.

“We need to be on the I-45 corridor before the morning traffic builds,” he added. “If we time it right, we disappear into it.”

Jessica slid off the bed and crossed the room. She moved toward the bathroom, then slowed as she passed him, stopping just within his space without quite touching him.

“Last night…” she said.

Dante didn’t let her finish. “Last night was a mistake.” The words came out steady. “We were tired,” he continued, still not looking at her. “Adrenaline does that. It makes things feel bigger than they are.” He tightened the laces on his boots. “It doesn’t change anything.”

Silence stretched for a moment, full of everything neither of them was willing to say.

Jessica didn’t move away immediately. He could feel her still there, close enough that it would have taken almost nothing to close the distance, to undo everything he’d just said.

But he didn’t.

“Right,” she said quietly.

Dante straightened and finally looked at her. “Get dressed. We’ve got a lot of miles to cover.”

Jessica held his gaze for a beat longer than she should have, then turned and disappeared into the bathroom. The door closed with a soft click.