Maya’s fingers scraped against the cold, rough edge of the roof. The black book—their only proof Julian was a good man—started sliding away. It hit a patch of ice and teetered, right at the edge of a five-story drop. One more slip, and the wind would tear those pages apart. All their hope, scattered.
“No!” Maya gasped.
She lunged. Her ankle screamed in pain, but she didn’t care. She smacked her hand down on the leather cover just as it started to tip. She yanked it to her chest, heart hammering like it wanted out. Down in the alley, chaos. Julian swung his heavy hockey bag, trying to hold off three men in black. But he was just one guy, and they were pros.
Suddenly, the dark van’s door slid open with a loud shish.
A man stepped out. No mask. Old leather jacket, jeans. He looked older—g
