I was still reeling.
Framed for murder.
Those words kept bouncing around in my head like they were trying to carve themselves into my skull. It didn’t make sense. My father had his secrets—plenty of them—but a murder? That was something else entirely.
I leaned in closer to Spike, my voice sharp and cutting through the thick air between us.
“What was the victim’s name?”
For once, he didn’t smirk. Didn’t joke. Didn’t even try to name his price right away. A flicker of something that looked like real concern crossed his face.
“That’s gonna cost extra,” he said, tapping his fingers against the table. “And not just because I’m greedy. Digging that deep? That puts me in the crosshairs.”
I didn’t blink. “I don’t care about the cost. Tell me.”
Spike studied me like he was weighing whether
