Outside Cabinda.
In a private suite, Abbot leaned back and lit a cigar. One of his men came in. “Abbot, he’s here.”
The door creaked open. Abbot narrowed his eyes and smiled at the man who walked in. “Getting you to agree to a meeting isn’t easy, Owen.”
Owen stepped out of the shadows, letting a half-smile play at the corner of his mouth. “If Abbot himself invites me, how could I possibly say no?”
Abbot clapped his hands. “Bring out the good stuff for Owen.”
Soon, a subordinate arrived, holding a tray with two small packets on it.
Owen glanced at them, his gaze cool.
Abbot knew he never touched things like this. Offering a taste was just his way of reminding Owen they were on the same side now.
Owen pushed the tray away. “If you need something, just ask. Don’t waste the expensive stuff on me.”
Abbot chuckled. “Come on, Owen. You’re the heir to Cabinda’s most powerful family. I’m just some rough guy from the border. How could I dare order you around? There’s just one thing I need your help with.”
He slid a photograph across the table.
The woman in the picture had a smile Owen knew too well. There was a small, faint mole on her nose. He remembered teasing her about it when they were teenagers, telling her a bee must’ve pooped on her while she slept in the garden.
A beam of light from outside glinted through the glass, catching Owen’s hand where it hung at his side, his fist clenched tight, knuckles white.
“What’s this supposed to mean, Abbot?” Owen asked as he sat down, his expression unreadable but his lips twitching with a strange smile.
Abbot answered lightly. “My people can’t easily get into Cabinda, and I have to head back to the border right away. I need you to do me a favor, Owen. Kill this reporter for me.”
…
At the shooting range, the sound of gunfire echoed around them.
Petty gripped her gun, concentrating hard. When she finally squeezed off a shot, the bang was loud and sharp, and for the first time, she hit the target.

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