When she was sure they weren’t paying attention, she slipped out the back door. She hustled around the side of the house to where her father’s sedan was parked. Throwing open the car door, she dropped down onto the floorboard. She covered herself with her blanket. Her body trembled so hard with excitement that her teeth knocked together. She didn’t know how long she waited before her ears perked up at the sound of her father coming up to the car. Once he was inside, she took shallow breaths, afraid that he might somehow hear her breathing over the car’s engine.

After the car made a few turns, Sam knew they were getting on the interstate, and from there, she imagined they were heading from the suburbs into Miami. Her mind whirled with different scenarios of what her father had to do. Maybe he was going to meet with an informant or do some undercover work. Those thoughts sent excitement pounding through her veins.

It seemed like an eternity before the car pulled off the interstate. It coasted along at an even speed, and then they made another turn. At the way she was shaken about, she imagined they had abandoned the paved road for gravel. Once they came to a stop, Sam eased the blanket off her face, taking a deep breath of the fresh air.

Her father turned off the car and then fumbled around in the front seat. The unmistakable scratchy sound of a radio filled the silence. “This is Agent Vargas checking in at 1901 Liberty Avenue.”

“Roger that, Vargas. Do you seek assistance?” another voice crackled over the frequency.

“No. Just a routine information exchange.”

“Good luck. Ten-four.”

“Ten-four.”

A few minutes went by. The blaring of motorcycle pipes came from behind them, causing Sam to jump where she hid. She couldn’t imagine what business her father could possibly have with a motorcycle gang. The last time they were in the city, a group of bikers had roared past them. The emblem on the back of their leather vests had frightened her even more than the noise had. It was a skull that looked as though it had an American Indian headdress. Her father had called it a “death’s-head.”

Wondering if this biker was part of the same scary group, Sam eased up to peer out the window. Out of the shadowy darkness, a man dismounted his bike and came strutting across the parking lot. As he grew closer, the lone streetlight allowed Sam to get a better look. Long, dark hair spilled over his broad shoulders, but she couldn’t make out much of his face since it was covered in a beard. Even in the dark, he wore a pair of sunglasses, and Sam wondered how he could possibly see anything.

“Good to see you again, Willie. You have the location of the drop like you promised?”

“No,” the man muttered in a gravelly voice.

A frustrated grunt came from her father. “I thought we had a deal. The location of the drop ensured the close of the case, but most of all, it kept you out of jail.”

Willie shrugged. “All I have is a message.”

“What is it?” her father questioned, both caution and apprehension filling his voice.

“People who fuck with the Rogues get put to ground.”

“Oh shit!” her father muttered before he began frantically shifting in his seat.

An explosion like a cannon blast went off beside the car. Sam bit back her scream at both the noise and the fact that something warm and sticky showered over her in the backseat. A few seconds ticked agonizingly by . . . or was it minutes? Sam’s heartbeat drummed so loudly in her ears she was sure her father and the man were going to hear.

After the roar of the motorcycle started up, she realized the biker was leaving. When she was sure that he was gone, she slowly rose into a sitting position. “D-Daddy?” she questioned in the silence. When she dared to look into the front seat, a scream tore through her chest, but after she opened her mouth, nothing would come out. Blinking furiously, she sat frozen in horror at the sight of the gaping wound in her father’s head and the blood and something else spattered across the front seat and the dash.

Immediately, she knew he needed help. Someone had to come and put her father back together. With trembling fingers, she fumbled with the handle on the door. Once she got it open, her feet dropped onto the gravel, but her wobbly legs barely supported her as she went around the back of the car. After opening the passenger-side door, she slid inside.

She pried the radio from her father’s hands. Her shaking fingers pressed down on the button he had taught her to use. Of course, they had just been playing around then. “H-hello?”

After she released the button, it seemed like an eternity before anyone responded. “Kid, this is a police frequency you’re on. Get off it before you get yourself in trouble.”

As if from instinct, her anger overrode her fear. “My name is Samantha Vargas. My father is Agent Antonio Vargas. He’s been . . .” Glancing over at her father’s lifeless body, she pinched her eyes shut. “My father has been shot.”

“Jesus Christ!” came the reply. There was a flurry of activity on the other end. She dropped the radio, ignoring anything further that the dispatch might have to say. Taking her father’s blood-slick hand, she cradled it in her own. She was still staring down at it when the police and paramedics arrived in a flood of flashing lights and wailing sirens.

Someone jerked open the passenger-side door. “Holy fucking shit,” a voice muttered.

When a pair of arms reached out for her, Sam didn’t fight them. Instead, she dropped a kiss onto her father’s hand and then let herself be pulled into the person’s arms. A kind female voice began talking soothingly to her. She didn’t bother making out the words. After all, there was nothing anyone could say that would make her feel better.