Detective Danny Cavanaugh 01 - The Brink

started walking toward the waiting area.
    “Sergeant.” Danny turned back to see a business card in Devon’s outstretched hand. He walked back and took it. “I’m sorry about your friend Carver. If you need anything, ever, you’ve got another friend in D.C. to call on.”

Chapter 117
    Danny found his cabin and locked the door behind him. He moved the pillow on the seat next to the large picture window and sat down. He plopped the envelope that contained his new life into the seat next to him. After passing through the noisy coach and business-class seat sections, he relished the quiet of his own room with its own private bathroom.
    The train signaled it was about to leave the station by blowing its horn. Danny could finally rest easy for the time being. He didn’t need to think about assassins chasing him or manipulative presidents or Bilderbergers or international financial schemes any longer. He didn’t think about killing himself anymore. If nothing else, this case made him realize that there was too much to live for, too many people that he could help. It was his calling. The mess at the border with Crayton Ripley may have made him forget about that for a while, but Sydney Dumas had helped him remember.
    The one thing he couldn’t shake however was questioning his own actions at the State of the Union. What if he had just let the bombs detonate? What if he had allowed Jack Butcher to carry out his mission? Would that have put America back on the right track? Would the death of roughly a thousand Washington insiders have helped the destiny of three hundred million Americans? Danny knew he wouldn’t be able to shake those doubts any time soon. They would only fade over time.
    He looked down at the envelope resting next to him. He wasn’t going to become this Jeremy Calhoun. He also knew that while Fielding may not want to blame him for any part of Butcher’s assassination, Danny was the perfect scapegoat. Again. Whatever Howard Fielding and the rest of the United States government would accuse him of doing or being, it didn’t matter. He was going to clear his own name, once and for all. He was going to stay Danny Cavanaugh. In order to do that, he would need to go back down to the border. He would need to investigate Rafael Espinoza’s entire operation, nail his American connections, and blow the whole fucking thing wide open.
    But more than anything else, Danny was going to find out what really happened to his dad. This case had made new questions surface, new possibilities open up. He had never truly bought the suicide story. Something had made Danny not follow through with blowing his own brains out. The apple couldn’t have fallen that far from the tree.
    First things were first, however. Danny scrunched the pillow into the corner between his seat and the window, rested his head against it, and closed his eyes. The train didn’t even get up a full head of steam before Danny was asleep and dreaming about his next encounter with the lovely and talented Sydney Dumas, who was dressed, of course, only in her underwear.

Epilogue
    Three Months Later
    Sydney Dumas took a moment to find her bearings before leaving the water. After winding through a hundred laps without a break, she still felt like she was moving. While she wasn’t a guest of the Fairmont Monte Carlo Hotel, the manager was an old friend. He had allowed Sydney carte blanche access to its stunning rooftop pool for years. Sydney walked over to one of the teak lounge chairs that lined its perimeter, feeling the rising sun on her skin. She took in the breathtaking view of the Mediterranean Sea as it was waking up for the day. She closed her eyes and yearned for the same power Danny Cavanaugh had to burn that image into her brain forever.
    But neither the lengthy swim nor the spectacular view made a difference. She still felt miserable.
    Since resigning her post as an ICJ judge, Sydney had nothing but time on her hands until the fall semester started at the University of Monaco. When she wasn’t swimming, she spent most of her time glued to the TV in her apartment watching for any news coming from America. Authorities had found the man responsible for President Butcher’s death. He had been killed in a firefight with authorities in an abandoned house on the outskirts of Las Vegas. He had used that private location to set up a computer workstation that remotely controlled the sniper rifle found in the vehicle parked near the White