My Daughter Called From A Police Station At 3:17 A.M.—And The Officer Went Pale When I Arrived

Across the room stood Richard Lang. Six-foot-two, broad-shouldered, expensive haircut, looking just victimized enough—like he’d rehearsed it in a mirror.

His lower lip was split, a thin line of blood dried at the corner, and a shallow scratch ran along his jaw.

He leaned against the counter, arms folded, wearing the same half-smirk he’d flashed at our continue reading …