REDS
peechless, she handed back Matt’s cell. Peter’s ex was writing a revenge blog. She searched for the right words to express the feeling, reading about his death. His murder. She felt
. . . happy? She wanted to laugh, to cry out, yes! “Wow.”
“Fantastic, right?” Matt said, taking a big sip of his Bloody Mary. “So f*****g on point. And so fun it should be a TV show or something.”
“I knew you of all people could find Danielle.”
“Tread lightly.” Matt slid over a piece of paper with a scrawled phone number. He looked back down at his phone, scrolling photos of men, probably Carlos.
Red grabbed the paper—818, the San Fernando Valley area code—then tucked it safely into her front pocket.
From her trauma work, she knew that abused women frequently fantasized about killing the perpetrator
