Page 132 of Reveal

“See? They were right. You do have a brilliant mind. That Uncle James is a smart one.” I squat down so I’m at his eye level. “Here’s what I want. I want you to drop any and all charges against Samantha and Vaughn Sanders.”

“I can’t—”

“Oh, but you can. I’m a lawyer. I know how these things work.” I lift my eyebrows. “So here’s what you’re going to do. You’re going to call the prosecuting attorney who got the warrant issued way back when and tell him you want a motion brought before the issuing judge to get it dropped.”

“That’s not how it works.”

My laugh holds everything but humor as it ricochets off the walls. “I’m more than aware how the process works, but there’s no way in hell I’m making Samantha or Vaughn surrender themselves to the court to ask the judge to release the warrant.” I rise to my feet and cross my arms over my chest, my physical threat undeniable. “So figure it out. It seems you’ve paid off enough people in Greenwich that greasing a few more palms won’t turn heads.”

“Just like that?” he asks. “You think they’re not going to question why?”

“Obviously you’re skilled at telling lies and keeping up false pretenses, so I’m sure you can think of something to explain why you’ve had a change of heart. Why you previously thought it was your nieces who assaulted you but now know differently. You were shot in the spine, so how could you have seen who the assailant was?” I wink. “See, this is where your lies catch up with you and make it easier for me.”

“They’ll see through that.” His voice is a rasped wheeze at this point.

“Like I said, you’ve paid them enough to keep quiet so far, so I’m sure shelling out some more cash really won’t be that taxing for you.”

“What’s this to you?” he asks.

I take a moment, draw in a deep breath, and nod. “Because you’ve hurt Sam and Vaughn enough for a lifetime. You’ve scarred them so deeply that no matter how many calluses have grown over the scars, they still turn to blisters with the simplest mention of your name. I’m sure it gives you great pleasure—that hearing you’ve fucked them up for life gets you off—but I’m here to put an end to it. Right here. Right now.”

“Leave it to Sam to find a vigilante to protect her,” he sneers, and I don’t correct him.

“What’s it to you?” I shout, and I’m in his face in a split second. I’m more than aware of how helpless he feels right now. Me, big and strong and threatening—and him, paralyzed, weak, and defenseless. “You wouldn’t want them now. They’re too old, right? It’s only the underage ones who can get you hard.” I keep my face within inches of his and just stare. “You disgust me.”

“Fuck you.” It’s the first sign of a temper, and I welcome the resistance.

“You gonna give me a fight, Dillinger? Huh? You going to come out swinging so I have no choice but to turn all this evidence over to, say, the New York Times? What’s the saying? No press is bad press? Or even better, did you ever take them into New York? Please tell me yes, and then I can turn you over to the FBI for crossing state lines. I’d love to see you try to bribe a federal agent.”

“You’re crazy if you—”

“What’s it going to be, James? Are you going to do what the fuck I asked? Get the charges dropped. Admit to me that you’re a sick fuck who abused Samantha. And never—ever—speak of them again. Not to newspapers or police or so much as your own goddamn conscience. But then again, we both know you don’t have one.”

“Who the fuck do you think you are? I don’t take orders from anyone, let alone—”

“Tick. Tock.” I hold the necklace up, the key swinging, and take measured steps toward the telephone on the desk.

“Jesus Christ.”

“Not even he can save you,” I grit out, looking at this pussy of a man unwilling to fess up to his sins. “Make the call.”

It takes ten minutes for James to get the prosecuting attorney on the line, explain that after all this time he thinks he may have been wrong in pointing the finger at his nieces, and that he needs to know how to go about getting the warrants withdrawn.

“I don’t understand, Mr. Dillinger,” the prosecutor says through the phone’s speaker. “This has been one of those cases that has haunted Greenwich forever. Why do you suddenly think differently? Are you under duress? Is someone forcing you to—”

“No. No duress,” he stutters as he glares at me. “Just getting older and want to clean my conscience. I’d hate for them to be arrested someday should they come back home when they never committed the crime in the first place.”

The prosecutor emits a loud sigh. “The warrants for theft still hold, though, right?”

I shake my head.

“No. No charges.”

“You sure? Ten thousand dollars’ worth of jewelry and cash is an awful lot.”

“It is, and if we ever find the person who broke into the house and shot me, I won’t hesitate to go after them to the full extent of the law.”

The lies roll off his tongue, and I just shake my head in disgust. Is this what Vaughn thought Carter Preston was referring to when he brought up James Dillinger? That she’d be arrested for theft?