Brett sat back in the darkened apartment with a glass of his favorite cooking sherry. Usually he was not inclined to spend his evenings alone in the dark, but tonight he wanted the solitude.
There was so much to think about lately.
He was still reeling from being chosen by Judge Fulton to be one-third of his elite crime-fighting team.
Why him? Why would Fulton choose a British lord who had no experience with such things?
He somewhat hated to say it, but Daniel Wilde, who grew up in the wilds of the Bronx and had to fight for everything he had,
made more sense as a choice than someone who had never seen real danger and who had always had everything handed to him on a silver platter.
The further irony was, Daniel really didn't want to be mixed up in the judge's plans. Deep down he knew it was right, but he still balked.
Perhaps he had already seen too much danger and fighting in his life and now he just wanted to settle down and be done with it.
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