Page 20 of Force At Third

“From the sound of your voice, I won’t ask if you’ve talked to Marks.”

“I have,” he states.

Danny is not a man of few words; he’s the opposite—he never shuts up—so when he says nothing more, I know he’s struggling.

I dig deep to say something that will inspire him to … talk. “Danny, I?—”

“Chloe doesn’t want me in jail, but I lay in bed night after fucking night, damn close to praying for the opportunity to kill that sick son of a bitch with my fucking bare hands, York.”

You and me both, I think, but that’s not how this has to be handled. We all need each other in a weird but fantastic way.

“That’s too easy an out for him. When we get him, we ensure he goes to jail where his connections have no pull.”

“So she, CeCe, whoever the hell baby doll is, and Aggie have to look over their shoulders when he gets out again?”

“He won’t get out again. And if by some tiny chance he does, we revisit killing him with bare hands.”

He huffs, “I’m not fucking around right now.”

“Neither am I.” And then I chuckle. “I am wondering if we could get him charged in Texas and ask Pastor B to get a prayer group together to better the chances of him being put in the same prison as Spud, then leak it to him that William tried to go after Chloe.”

On the screen, I watch him mouth, “What the fuck?” and realize that this is the one time humor is not the road to take with him right now.

“I get that Spud is a piece of shit. He hurt her and tried to kill you. He should have gotten the chair. But I can’t help but feel a man like William deserves worse.”

“They both need to die,” he sneers.

“Agree. But the law doesn’t allow that.”

Which is wrong on so many levels!

Spud tried to kill Danny and shot him, and when Chloe tried to help him, he beat her with obvious intent to kill. The fact he was stopped doesn’t make him any better than someone who finished the job they started. In fact, they should put those types in a chair and flip the switch twice just because they’re fucking stupid.

Rapists and sex offenders are all violent criminals, with a forty percent recidivism rate. Their victims have had a part of them massacred, their innocence lost, and their trust in others always questioned, if not completely gone. A victim’s fear is now ever-present, their self-worth shattered, and unless you’ve been a victim or have had someone you love victimized, you don’t understand that, even if you think you do. To me, that makes them just as bad, if not worse, than a serial killer.

One day, I’ll tell Danny all of that. One day, we’ll fight that fight together. But, right now, he’s spiraling, and I’m just hanging on, so I have to find a way to help slow the spin.

“Which is why the two of you left the force,” he reminds me.

“This is you and me right here and right now. I promise he will be dealt with by whatever force necessary and brought to justice. But Danny, you can’t say that to Marks. Promise me?—”

“I’m not asking you or him to step any further outside the law than you would for anyone else. But I need a promise from you, York.”

I say nothing, letting him continue.

“Promise me that you’ll always be there for her and Aggie if I can’t be.”

“We’re going to get him, Danny. I promise.”

* * *

I spent the afternoon on my iPad, reviewing known associates and private flights leaving any airfield in California after two a.m. Pacific time.

Three of Center’s known associates and former clients stood out. Studio mogul Maxwell Cromwell was arrested for embezzlement, siphoning millions of dollars from the studio’s funds into his personal accounts, but Center represented him, and he was found not guilty. Dexter Woodson, film distributor, several DUIs and an SA charge, all charges dealt with by Center. And Reginald Smythe, entertainment producer, with countless charges from drugs, underage girls, and even an attempted murder charge, all of which were pleaded down. All three men still hold their power and positions and own private jets; all three left California between those hours; and all three had landed at their destination—Vegas. Only one of the Hollywood scums, Dexter Woodsmen’s jet, then left Vegas and landed twenty minutes ago at Farmingdale Airfield, making it highly possible that he could be here, in Trenton, in an hour and thirty minutes.

I sent the information to the moms and to Marks. Both replied, telling me to take a nap.

After letting Danny know what I’d found out, it was decided that Danny, Chloe, and Aggie would leave tomorrow. It is most likely that he’ll go after Chloe or the adoptive family of her little girl since they played the most critical roles in him being behind bars. Two of us, two of them, and Danny can take Aggie and Chloe to the lake and hunker down with his hunting buddies, most ex-military.

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