Challenger: Paul Butler Thrillers, #3

By Daniel K. Munroe

Paul Butler is a widower, an ex-cop, and a self-confessed car nut. He's an ordinary guy with an out-of-the-ordinary job … he's chauffeur to multi-billionaire David Harrington.

 

When news of a death in the family belatedly reaches Harrington, he is somewhat surprised to find that his uncle, a man he barely knew, has mentioned him in the will.

 

Harrington invites Paul to accompany him on a road trip to attend the reading of the will. Paul meanwhile, wonders … what on Earth do you leave a billionaire when you pass away?

 

While visiting with his widowed aunt, Harrington mentions to Paul that he would like to drive past where his uncle used to work. However, after a friendly enough chat with the guy on duty at the factory security gate, it's only a short time later that they find themselves being warned off by one of the deputies from the local sheriff's office.

 

The weird lack of activity at the factory, plus a story about what might be hidden underground in the area, as well as the local deputy apparently watching every step they take, soon combine to arouse Harrington's curiosity. Even reluctant Paul has to admit to wanting to know more once they begin to plumb the depths of the area surrounding the aptly named Secret Town.

 

When they realize what they've uncovered, claiming Harrington's inheritance becomes the least of their problems.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Daniel K. Munroe
• Release date: Aug 12, 2022
• ISBN: 9798201136475

Book preview

Challenger

By Daniel K. Munroe

Challenger

By Daniel K. Munroe

Copyright 2020 Daniel K. Munroe

All rights reserved.

This book is copyright. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form without permission in writing from the author.

This novel is a work of fiction. Places, names, events, organizations, and characters are entirely the product of the author’s over-active imagination or are used completely fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual places, organizations, entities, events, or persons living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

License Notes

This eBook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This eBook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this eBook with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this eBook and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please purchase your own very inexpensive copy.

Thank you for respecting the long hours and hard work of this author.

Dedications

To Jane, for her constant encouragement ... and for putting up with me spending my spare time in front of the laptop. Writing can be very anti-social ... or so it seems ...

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Also to our children ... Jemma, Kelly, Tim, Jasmine, and Tamara.

Dedications

Acknowledgements

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Epilogue

End

Acknowledgements

Thank you, Nick and George. A chat with you two inspired me to stop procrastinating and to actually finish the first draft.

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Thank you, Klaus Buetow, for checking in on progress, and for reading the finished product in a single day! We writers need more fans like you!

Cover:

Man Holding Gun – Photo Credit:

© PantherMedia Stock Agency  / Mariusz Blach

Los Angeles Skyline – Image Credit:

rwdd_studios on Freepik

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Preface

Paul Butler is a widower, an ex-cop, and a self-confessed car nut. He’s an ordinary guy with an out-of-the-ordinary job ... he’s chauffeur to multi-billionaire David Harrington.

When news of a death in the family belatedly reaches Harrington, he is somewhat surprised to find that his uncle, a man he barely knew, has mentioned him in the will.

Harrington invites Paul to accompany him on a road trip to attend the reading of the will. Paul meanwhile, wonders ... what on Earth do you leave a billionaire when you pass away?

While visiting with his widowed aunt, Harrington mentions to Paul that he would like to drive past where his uncle used to work. However, after a friendly enough chat with the guy on duty at the factory security gate, it’s only a short time later that they find themselves being warned off by one of the deputies from the local sheriff’s office.

The weird lack of activity at the factory, plus a story about what might be hidden underground in the area, as well as the local deputy apparently watching every step they take, soon combine to arouse Harrington’s curiosity. Even reluctant Paul has to admit to wanting to know more once they begin to plumb the depths of the area surrounding the aptly named Secret Town.

When they realize what they’ve uncovered, claiming Harrington’s inheritance becomes the least of their problems.

Chapter One

Paul Butler pulled the gleaming, gunmetal grey Lexus LS430 sedan to a halt at the curb, just as the automatic glass doors of the adjacent tower block parted.

David Harrington walked out into the lunchtime sunshine of downtown Los Angeles. He was carrying a lightweight plastic tube in one hand. It was grey, about a yard long, and had screw-on ends. He crossed the pavement and quickly opened the passenger door before Paul had time to even think about exiting the car to open it for him.

Paul reached across and took the tube from Harrington, then placed it behind the passenger seat so that it lay on the floor in the rear of the car. As soon as Harrington was in his seat and reaching for his safety belt, Paul eased the car back out into the traffic.

‘Where to next?’ he asked.

‘How about joining me for lunch?’

‘Well, yeah, that’d be great ... but since when do you invite me to have lunch with you? Not that I’m complaining, mind.’

‘Since now. You’ve got to eat. I’ve got to eat. And besides, we’ve been through a lot these last few weeks, so I figure it’s about time our working relationship morphed a little. You’re more than just hired help as you so often call yourself. And with Claire gone ... well, to be honest, I could do with the company.’

‘In that case, invitation accepted.’

Paul was aware of how much Harrington was hurting over the death of his wife, so he knew there was nothing more that needed to be said.

‘Let’s head over to Venice. There’s a café there I like. It’s right on the boardwalk. Some sea air and sunshine will be good for us while we relax over a meal. We can probably park on Paloma or somewhere around there. It won’t kill us if we have to walk a ways from wherever we end up parking.’

‘Sounds great.Sunshine, surf, relaxing, and you know how much I like relaxing.’

‘I do indeed. Recently I seem to have been paying you rather well for a lot of the relaxing you’ve been doing.’

‘True. But the last of the cars will be repaired soon, and once you’re living somewhere other than that temporary apartment, and we can access the cars easily, I’ll be busy again. I’m looking forward to it.’

‘Me too.’

‘What? You’re looking forward to me being busy again?’

‘No. Well, that too, but I meant having the cars on hand again. They’ll be a good distraction for me.’

‘I know what you mean,’ said Paul.

As he drove, the silence inside the already eerily quiet Lexus seemed to somehow deepen, but there was no need to fill the void with pointless conversation. Instead, he began to reflect on recent events, particularly recalling how Special Agent Struthers had looked up at him as he climbed the stairs to board the private jet at Las Cruces airport.

She had looked stunning, even with the harsh orange glare flashing across her striking features and blonde hair. The roof lights of the security vehicles had been a garish warning to anyone within sight of the crime scene. It had felt surreal to Paul to be climbing the airplane’s steps and wondering how Joss Struthers may or may not have felt about him on a personal level, rather than him worrying about the fact that it was he who had shot and killed the Special Agent in Charge of the local FBI field office.

Had it been fondness in Struthers’ eyes when she had looked up at him, or was he seeing something that wasn’t there? He had held off trying to ring her during the forty-eight hours since arriving back in Los Angeles. He knew how busy she must be, with a massive investigation on her hands at multiple crime scenes, as well as with the ongoing management once she could leave things in trusted local hands and get back to her Los Angeles base.

Paul had no idea how Struthers intended to sift through the personnel at the Las Cruces field office to ensure that the deceased and corrupt Special Agent in Charge Yates hadn’t contaminated any of his troops. But he guessed Struthers, in her role as Acting Special Agent in Charge of both Las Cruces and Los Angeles, would have a plan. Paul knew it was a real feather in her cap that her superiors thought Struthers was up to the task, but he also knew it was going to be a huge challenge.

The shooting had been clear-cut self defense, and therefore a righteous shoot in FBI parlance, but still a nagging doubt remained in the back of Paul’s mind. It had therefore felt like a long flight home, and knowing the cargo section of the plane was missing both the cars they had taken with them to Las Cruces had only served to add to the sense of emptiness he had felt.

Dark memories began to crowd Paul’s mind, and he was relieved when Harrington broke the silence in the Lexus.

‘Do you think I’m doing the right thing?’

‘Before I answer,’ said Paul, ‘what made you change your mind?’

‘Change my mind about rebuilding my house, rather than running away and buying elsewhere?’

‘Yeah that, but the fact you called it running away just now kinda answers the question for me.’

They were on Paloma Avenue and getting close to the ocean. Harrington was silent as they crossed Speedway and Paul began looking for a parking place.

‘Anywhere around here will be fine,’ said Harrington. ‘I’ll tell you why I changed my mind once we’re out of the car.’

Nice stall tactic thought Paul, as he slowed the Lexus and then pulled into an empty parking place at the curb.

As they walked away from the car, he glanced at Harrington, who was dressed in chinos and a golf shirt. Paul suddenly felt a little over-dressed. A charcoal-colored suit, white shirt, and dark red tie, wasn’t exactly lunch-in-the-sun attire.

‘You’re fine like that,’ said Harrington, as though reading his mind. ‘There’ll be all sorts at the café. You’ll fit right in with the lunchtime crowd.’

Paul wasn’t convinced but he didn’t say anything as they reached the boardwalk, turned right, and Harrington pointed just ahead.

Half-listening to Harrington as he began to describe the culinary delights that awaited them inside Figtree’s Café, Paul barely registered the café itself. Instead he was focused on two things he saw ahead of him. Something didn’t feel right.

A small group of women were leaving the café. They were all attractive, probably aged in their late twenties, and they looked to be expensively dressed. They were laughing amongst themselves and seemed happily oblivious to the rest of the world.

Nearby, was a young guy standing at the edge of the boardwalk. He was dressed in well-worn jeans and a grey hoodie ... with the hood up ... in warm sunshine. He was keeping his head down, as though examining his shoes. However, Paul could see that he was actually watching the women intently.

Paul figured it wasn’t unusual for a guy to be watching a group of good looking women, but it was the way he was watching them that had set off Paul’s radar.

The women turned away from the direction Harrington and Paul were approaching from. And they turned their backs to the guy in the hoodie. One of the women began searching in her handbag for something, and at that moment the guy in the hoodie launched himself into a sprint.

Guys in hoodies generally don’t suddenly decide to run places thought Paul.

The guy was rapidly closing on the women from behind, and even as he did, Paul took off after him.

Paul wasn’t the least bit surprised when the guy snatched the handbag from unsuspecting hands. The thief was gone before the woman could even look up. All she would have seen was the departing thief’s jeans and hoodie, with not even his hair color to offer the police by way of description when she reported the crime.

The woman was only just beginning to yell after the guy when Paul raced past her. His arms and legs were pumping, and his suit jacket flapped behind him as he reached full sprinting speed. He watched the guy ahead weaving between people on the boardwalk. Many of them seemed shocked by the speed at which the guy was brushing past them. And they were doubly shocked when Paul raced through most of the same gaps, hard on the heels of the thief.

Paul had no idea if Harrington was also following, or if he had instead stopped to assist the women. He didn’t dare turn to look because he was too busy negotiating the throngs of people on the boardwalk, many of whom were already displaced by the running thief’s shoves and shoulder barges.

He could feel his lungs beginning to protest at the pace, and he was glad of the short walk from the car. It had been enough of a distance that his muscles were at least slightly limbered up. Even so, running at this pace, especially in dress shoes meant that tomorrow he was going to be sore, quite apart from what might happen if he actually caught the scumbag he was chasing.

As Paul veered to his left to pass a small knot of people, a baby buggy pushed by a young mother suddenly appeared from behind an elderly couple. The buggy completely blocked Paul’s path. With only a fraction of a second to react, and no time to stop, he did the only thing he could. He jumped.

He cleared the buggy by mere inches and landed heavily on the other side, staggering and barely keeping his feet as he fought to regain the pace he had momentarily lost. He hated to think what must have gone through the young mother’s mind as a madman in a business suit jumped over her offspring.

For the moment, Paul couldn’t see Hoodie, but he could still see the disturbance he was causing, not very far ahead, as he sprinted and zig-zagged between the people on the boardwalk. Ignoring his tortured lungs, Paul dug deeper and pushed on. He could see he was closing the gap again, and a break in the crowds suddenly revealed his quarry ahead.

A short distance beyond the sprinting thief stood a tall young man with sun-bleached blonde hair. He seemed to be intently watching the rapid approach of either Hoodie, or Paul, or both. He was shirtless and wearing surf shorts, and he must have realized that a guy running with a handbag clutched in one hand wasn’t a good thing. As Hoodie was about to pass by, the blonde surfer shot out a hand and clamped onto Hoodie’s sleeve, pulling him off line but then losing his grip because of the running thief’s speed.

Despite his feet being bare, the surfer began to sprint after Hoodie at the same moment Paul overtook him. The thief glanced back over his shoulder and saw that his pursuit team had doubled in size. He veered off the boardwalk, cutting between two buildings and out onto the pavement beyond. He turned to follow the street for only a few seconds and then recklessly dashed out into the traffic.

The few cars driving past at that moment braked or swerved to avoid him. The air was filled with the sounds of screeching tires and honking horns as Paul and the surfer veered around the cars, taking separate routes between the vehicles as they continued their sprint after the thief. Paul didn’t envy the surfer running in bare feet on the hot pavement, but he had to give the young guy full credit for joining in. Most people wouldn’t have wanted to get involved.

Ahead, he could see that Hoodie was beginning to tire. The problem was that Paul was also slowing down. His lungs were screaming for him to stop, and he was beginning to overheat in the now-claustrophobic business suit. He simply could not run as fast as he had been. He wasn’t losing ground but he wasn’t gaining any either.

The surfer was beginning to lag behind as well when Paul saw Hoodie veer left and disappear inside the entrance to an alleyway. Paul raced around the corner after him but immediately skidded to a halt. A short distance ahead, the alley was a dead-end. Hoodie had stopped, panting for breath, with his back to a tall wooden fence blocking his exit. But he didn’t look perturbed.

Standing beside him were two other young men. They were dressed in similar looking clothes to Hoodie, and the three of them certainly appeared to know each other.

The surfer rounded the corner into the alley and almost crashed into Paul as he tried to stop.

Without taking his eyes off the trio at the end of the alley, Paul put out an arm to make sure the surfer didn’t try to get any closer to the trio.

‘You guys had better get the fuck out of here,’ said one of the two men who had apparently been waiting in the alley for their bag-snatching friend. To emphasize his words, he slowly withdrew his hand from a pocket of his jeans. A flick of his wrist and the four-inch blade of his knife began backing up his suggestion.

‘You’d best leave, said Paul, speaking quietly to the surfer, who was now standing beside him. Paul kept his eyes on the three men as he spoke. ‘Go call the cops, but go right now, while you still can.’

‘I can’t leave you on your own with these guys. We should both leave, Dude. It’s not worth it. It’s not worth getting stabbed for whatever’s in that bag.’

‘You should listen to him, Dude,’ said the man with the knife.

‘I’m staying,’ said the surfer. ‘Three against two ain’t bad odds’. As he spoke he reached out and picked up the metal lid off the top of a nearby dustbin. ‘And I’d like to see your pissy little knife stab through this.’

In the periphery of his vision, Paul saw him hold up the dustbin lid with his hand gripping the metal handle that was welded to the center of the circular lid. Held that way, it looked very much like a knight’s shield ... and it was probably going to be almost as effective, especially against a mere knife. Paul decided to follow his lead and grabbed a similar lid from a dustbin next to him.

The three youths exchanged glances amongst themselves. Even the one with the big mouth and the small knife looked to be reconsidering his options. Paul figured these guys weren’t used to people making a stand against them. They were merely thieves and bullies.

As if by a mentally shared signal, the three youths began to make a run for it, but not towards Paul and the surfer. One of them turned and leapt up on to the lid of a dustbin and then jumped up to clamber over the tall wooden fence that formed the end of the alley behind where they had been standing. The second youth quickly pocketed his knife as he apparently decided he was going to be next. He practically shoulder-barged Hoodie out of the way as he climbed up onto the dustbin and reached for the top of the fence. Right behind him, Hoodie slipped the shoulder strap of the stolen handbag over his head and then clambered onto the bin the moment his accomplice’s feet were clear, waiting his turn to clamber up and over the fence.

Amazed that the youths actually thought he would simply let them go, Paul chose that moment to act.

He ran the few paces towards the end of the alley and as he neared the fence he switched to holding the dustbin lid by its edge and then swung his arm back. Then he swung his arm forward again and flung the lid upwards past Hoodie, aiming at Knife-man as he began clambering over the fence. The huge steel Frisbee flew upwards and struck Knife-man just below the bottom of the rib cage where there is very little protection for the kidneys. The severe and unexpected blow caused him to arch backward and pause momentarily, perched precariously atop the fence. Paul reached up, grabbed his ankle, and then heaved backwards and downwards. He dragged Knife-man off the fence and callously held the youth’s ankle up high to ensure a hard landing at the base of the fence.

Even as Knife-man was crashing to the ground, Paul lifted one foot and slammed the heel of his shoe into the dustbin that Hoodie was about to jump off in his attempt to scale the fence. The bin toppled and as Hoodie fell, Paul dragged hard on Knife-man’s ankle to make sure Hoodie fell clumsily on top of his accomplice. Before Hoodie could untangle himself, Paul stepped in and used the heel of his hand to deliver a stunning blow across the point of the thief’s jaw.

‘Drag him off and then hold him face down,’ he ordered the surfer, who was trying to find room to get in and help.

‘With pleasure,’ muttered the surfer, as he yanked Hoodie into position and then planted a knee in the center of the young man’s back.

Paul stamped down a foot to pin Knife-man’s right hand to the pavement, and then he deftly slipped his own hand into the big front pocket of the man’s hoodie to withdraw the knife. Once the blade was clear, he dropped knees-first, using his full weight to land both knees on the man’s back, flattening him to the pavement.

‘If you move,’ Paul told the stunned young man, ‘I’ll use your own knife on you.’

Paul glanced upwards. The first accomplice to have escaped had returned, and was looking over the top of the fence, staring down at him. Paul figured he was trying to figure out what to do to help his friends. From the wide-eyed look on his face, Paul figured he wasn’t going to be much trouble.

‘You’ve got two choices,’ said Paul, in a low, even voice as he stared upwards. ‘Run away or come over here and help your pals. But if you come over here, I’m going to put you in the hospital.’

A quick glance showed Paul that the surfer still had Hoodie pinned down at Paul’s side. For the first time, Paul realized just how tall the surfer was. He must have been scraping six foot four. He had a strong, muscular frame, and the broad shoulders common to swimmers and surfers. Shirtless, he was an imposing sight.

The accomplice at the top of the fence obviously thought so too, because without a word he dropped out of sight on the far side and Paul could hear his footfalls as he ran away down the alley.

Paul was just thinking that he should call Harrington when his cell phone began to ring. With his free hand, he withdrew it from a pocket and saw Harrington’s name on the screen. While he answered, he held the tip of the knife to the back of the knife-man’s neck as a reminder to behave.

‘Where are you?’ Harrington’s voice sounded anxious. ‘The police are with me and they also have a patrol car out cruising around looking for you and the thief.’

‘Stand by,’ said Paul into the phone. ‘Where are we?’ he asked the surfer. Then he changed his mind and spoke into the phone again. ‘I’m going to hand the phone to the young man who stepped in to help me. He’ll be able to tell you where we are. But also, please make sure you tell the police that the tall young guy in surf shorts and not wearing a shirt is one of the good guys. And describe me too. I don’t want them getting trigger happy when they arrive here. They’ll see we’ve got two guys pinned to the ground at the end of an alley, and I don’t want some rookie over-reacting.’

Without another word, he handed the phone to the surfer.

Paul only listened with one ear as the surfer described to Harrington where the alley was. He could picture Harrington relaying the information to a cop standing beside him, who in turn would be speaking into his radio. Moments later, Paul heard a siren begin to wail a block or two away. Within half a minute, a police cruiser skidded to a halt at the end of the alley.

A male and a female police officer exited the vehicle and began to cautiously approach. Both officers had their gun hand on the grip of their holstered sidearm but neither drew their weapon.

‘Which one of you is Paul?’

‘I am,’ said Paul, as he slowly raised his free hand. ‘I’m an ex-cop. My surfer friend here is kneeling on the handbag thief, and I’m kneeling on his knife-wielding accomplice. The third one got away over the fence here. Same sort of age and height as these two. Male cauc, blonde hair, black hoodie, scruffy blue jeans. Maybe tell your other patrols to watch out for him. I’m going to toss this guy’s knife back behind me so that it’s out of the way while you cuff these two.’

‘Okay. Good work. We’ll cuff the alleged thief first,’ said the female officer, while her partner used his radio to provide a description of the escaped accomplice to the dispatcher.

Within a couple of minutes the officers had cuffed and searched the two suspects, and had also read them their rights. The suspects were wisely keeping their mouths shut. Paul doubted it was their first scrape with the law.

‘We’ll need you guys to come to the station and provide statements, said the female officer, as she pulled a small tablet out of a holder on her belt and stood poised to make notes. ‘For now all I need is a name and a phone number. Paul, you first. Your employer is still with the young woman whose bag was taken. We’ll need a statement from your employer. We’ll get another patrol over here to drive you guys back there. I’m sure she’ll want to thank you guys, plus we need her to ID the bag and check its contents. I’m guessing you have a car handy, to drive to the station afterwards?’

‘Yes, and happy to assist, but I want it known that it was this brave young man here who really tipped the scales,’ Paul said, as he reached out and shook the surfer’s hand. ‘Without his help, the thief would have got clean away.’

#

Five minutes later, the two suspects were on their way to the local police station while Paul and the surfer were driven a few blocks in a different patrol car. The two officers driving them both thought that running down the thief had been awesome, and the surfer, whose name turned out to be Brett, was beginning to look slightly embarrassed by all the praise ... especially with Paul continuing to insist that it was Brett who had made the difference.

Once the officer driving the patrol car had created a parking space by parking at the end of a dead-end street adjacent to the beachfront, the four of them walked a short distance along the boardwalk towards where a small crowd was standing outside the café.

Paul could see Harrington chatting with the woman whose bag had been taken. Harrington gestured when he noticed Paul and the others approaching.

‘Well, here they are now, as it happens,’ said Harrington.

‘Hi,’ said Paul, offering his hand and finding that the woman had a firm, assured handshake, despite the shock of her handbag being snatched. Paul turned slightly to indicate the surfer. ‘I’m Paul and this is Brett. He’s the one who saved the day.’

‘Really? But it was you who ... I mean, well, who am I to argue? Thank you both in that case.’

Paul smiled to himself when the woman, who was probably only a couple of years older than Brett, ran her eyes upwards across the bronzed surfer’s bare chest as she looked up to his face while she shook his hand. The handshake lasted at least twice as long as the one with Paul. It was only when one of the police officers stepped forward with the stolen handbag, that the woman finally released Brett’s hand. The woman’s friends all seemed keen to shake Brett’s hand, as well as offer their thanks and congratulations. In contrast, they completely ignored Paul.

While the officer stood beside the woman and asked her to check the contents of the handbag, Harrington sidled up to Paul and inclined his head away from the woman and her friends.

Paul was more than happy to take the opportunity to silently slip away from the distracted crowd and head back towards where the Lexus was parked.

‘It might be best if we grab lunch somewhere else?’ suggested Harrington in a quiet voice, as they slipped round a corner and disappeared between two buildings.

‘Agreed. Did you happen to give them your name?’ asked Paul as they walked, simultaneously casting a glance back over his shoulder in case either of the two cops had noticed their departure and followed them.

‘No. I made sure it didn’t come up, and I assured them that I hadn’t actually seen the guy grab the bag. Just him running away with it, and you in hot pursuit. Although I did explain that you work for me. But like you, I really don’t want any publicity. What about you? Did you have to give them your name?’

‘They said Brett and I would need to pop down to the station and make statements. They just wanted a name and a number in the interim. They knew my first name from you so I gave them a surname and a number. Admittedly not my surname and not my cell number, but they weren’t specific when they asked ... so neither was I when I answered.’

‘I figured you might do that, hence my suggestion we slip away and go eat somewhere else,’ said Harrington, as they reached the car.

‘Good idea. Somewhere that we’re not center stage. The last thing I need is the press turning up and putting me on the six o’clock news. That’d make Cheryl’s day, and her lawyer’s. A headline along the lines of CHAUFFEUR RISKS LIFE – SAVES HANDBAG would be just the ammo she needs in order to cinch taking custody of my daughters.’

Chapter Two

Paul drove, and Harrington rode up front with him as per his usual habit. They had enjoyed their eventual lunch and were heading back to the apartment that had been their temporary base since the fiery destruction of Harrington’s house.

‘I just remembered,’ said Harrington.

‘Remembered what?’ Paul had been driving on semi-autopilot while thinking about his mother-in-law, Cheryl, and her decision to keep Paul’s two young daughters in New Zealand and apply for legal custody.

After Paul’s wife died, and he eventually decided to accept Harrington’s offer of a job in Los Angeles, a subsequent robbery-with-violence attempt at Harrington’s house, as well as Paul and Harrington’s equally violent foiling of the plot, had put the children at risk. As it turned out, the children