Knives and forks clanging together mixed with idle conversation echoed through the dining room and grated on eight-year-old Samantha Vargas’s last nerve. Peering out into the hallway, she eyed the golden hands of the antique grandfather clock for the millionth time. It was almost seven, and her father was now thirty minutes late. While her mother and siblings seemed unaffected by his tardiness, she was on pins and needles awaiting his presence in the house.

“Ignoring your food isn’t going to make Daddy get home any sooner,” her mother chided, motioning her fork at Sam’s untouched plate. “Eat up.”

With a sigh of frustration, Sam picked up her fork and started poking at the food that was usually her favorite but tonight held no appeal at all. She brought some of the arroz con pollo to her lips. Just as she was about to take a bite, her ears perked up at the hum of a car’s motor. When a door slammed outside, Sam jerked her head up. “He’s here!” she cried, flinging herself out of her chair.

As her black Converse tennis shoes beat a hot path out of the dining room, her mother called, “Samantha Eliana Vargas, get back here and finish your dinner!”

Ignoring her mother’s command, she sprinted down the hallway and threw open the front door. She barreled forward off the porch and onto the path, where she jumped into her father’s arms.

He dropped his briefcase onto the concrete, unable to juggle them both. He then chuckled at her enthusiasm. “I guess this means you’re glad to see me, huh?”

“You’ve been gone almost a week,” she protested as she tightened her arms around her father’s neck. When she pressed herself flush against him, she could feel the gun holster through his suit, along with the steel of his gun. It might have freaked out most kids, but to her, it was comforting. It was how she identified her father. Like on television and in the movies, he was one of the good guys fighting against all the bad ones committing crimes.

“This case took a little longer than I thought, mija. But rest assured that after tomorrow, I’ll be home now for a while.”

“I’m so glad.” She pulled back to stare into his dark brown eyes—the same ones she had inherited from him. Of course, she had inherited so much more from him than just his eye color. Unlike her older brother and sister, who favored their mother, she was her father’s Mini-Me. She wanted to be just like him when she grew up. Law enforcement was in her blood. Her grandfather had been a detective with the Miami police, and then her father had become a DEA agent. She had a strong desire to beat the bad guys, just as they did. While other girls her age were playing with Barbies and other dolls, she was learning from her father’s stories how to dismantle weapons and read body language.

“Come on. Let’s go inside. Your mama promised to cook my favorite dinner tonight, and I’m starving.”

Sam grinned. “She did.”

“And that’s why I love her so much. She might be a good Irish girl, but she tries her hardest to make her Cuban husband his favorite foods.”

As they climbed the porch stairs, her mother and siblings were waiting in the doorway. Her father eased Sam down onto her feet so that he could give her fifteen-year-old brother, Steven, and thirteen-year-old sister, Sophie, each a hug. Being teenagers, Steven and Sophie didn’t think it was cool to show the same kind of excitement for their father’s return as she had done.

Drawing her mother into his arms, her father gave her a lingering kiss. “Mmm, I’ve missed you, Jenny.”

Her mother smiled at her father. “I’ve missed you, too. Do we have you all to ourselves for a while?”

“I have one last thing to wrap up tonight around nine, but after that, I’ll be chained to my desk for the next few weeks.”

A relieved sigh escaped her mother’s lips. “Since that’s the safest place you could be, I’m glad to hear it.”

After bestowing another kiss on her mother’s lips, her father added, “You worry too much.”

“Daddy, can I go with you tonight?” Sam asked. When he shook his head, she argued, “But it’s Friday night. I don’t have school tomorrow.”

“There’s a little too much heat on this one for you to come along.” As disappointment clouded her face, he reached over to tweak her nose. “Next time, mija.”

From her father’s no-nonsense tone, Sam knew not to press the issue any further. Once he took his seat at the head of the table, she reluctantly sat down in her chair. Her dinner held a little more interest than it had before her father got home, and she managed to clean her plate because she knew it would please him.

It was during those last few bites that a brilliant idea formed in her head. She would prove to her father she wasn’t too young to see a case with heat. If she was going to be an agent like him one day, she had to start somewhere. Just as with her siblings, he had started her off young by teaching her how to shoot a gun down at the range as well as demonstrating several self-defense moves.

Of course, if she was to succeed, she would have to be a little sneaky. That was where the idea came in.

“What’s the grin for?” her father asked, bringing her out of her thoughts.

“Nothing,” she murmured.

After the dinner dishes were washed and her siblings scattered off to their own Friday-night social events, Sam pretended to be interested by what was on television. When the clock ticked closer and closer to nine, she faked a few yawns and then claimed she was tired and turning in early. She held back a smile as she kissed her parents good night.

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.

Her father was dead.