"Tell him I'm not my father. My father gathered evidence. I gather graves."
"Victor Roque." The name landed like a stone in still water. Skyla's breath caught. Roque was the ghost she'd been chasing for three years—the man who'd ordered the hit on her father, a journalist who got too close to a money-laundering ring. The USB in her pocket wasn't just evidence. It was a key. A key to Roque's empire. skyla novea abella danger
She didn't move. "I don't know that name." "Tell him I'm not my father
Skyla smiled. It was a cold, sharp thing. "You think I need backup?" Skyla's breath caught
"Skyla Novea Abella," he said, not a question. "You're harder to find than my ex-wife's good intentions."
"I expect you to run." He tilted his head. "But running got you this far, and look where you are. Alley. Night. Rain. No backup."