CHAPTER THREE HUNDRED AND SEVEN – THE DON’S COMPOUND

The dusty road stretched endlessly before them, the New Mexico sun beating down mercilessly on the old pickup truck. Jasmine Delacroix gripped the door handle, her knuckles white, as Garcia expertly maneuvered the vehicle around potholes and loose gravel. "So," Garcia broke the silence, his eyes never leaving the road, "you're the one Gordon was protecting." Jasmine turned to him, studying his weathered face. "And you're the one who's supposed to keep me safe now. I don't even know your first name." Garcia chuckled, a low, rumbling sound. "Just Garcia. That's all you need to know for now. And you're Jasmine Delacroix, the artist, right?" "Was," Jasmine corrected, her voice barely above a whisper. "I'm not sure who I am anymore." "Hey," Garcia's tone softened, "you're still you. Just... in a complicated situation. Now, tell me, how'd you meet Gordon?" Jasmine sighed, memories flooding back. "It's a long story. We met during an art heist investigation. He was the detective assigned