Disclaimer: I don't own Juárez.
"We just spent 10 days in Juárez."
Ten days in a city that made him long for Croatia. Never mind that the con was going down in one of the safest neighborhoods in the city or that the injuries he'd sustained were more from Parker and her damn piñatas than from the little fighting he'd had to do. Actual violence was pretty calming; it was waiting for the shoe to drop, the possibility of violence, being so damn on edge, that killed him.
He'd known he'd need a day or so of fishing and cooking his catch to settle himself back to Boston-standard paranoia, up a notch from last year courtesy of that blackmailing bitch, instead of the coiled rattler state he'd been in since they'd crossed over from El Paso.
And then on the drive home, he'd caught himself assessing Parker like a threat, estimating the time it would take to lay Nate out, and sizing up where in that outfit Sophie might be hiding a gun. He still wasn't where he should be, but he'd had to force himself to adjust before his instincts had him going too far.
They second the wannabe soldiers surrounded them, he knew he'd gone too far the other way.