Twisted Innocence (Moonlighters Series Book 3) by Terri Blackstock Page A
Authors: Terri Blackstock
Tags: Ebook
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a while, half-following the hilarity of the game—kids chasing butterflies in the outfield, hitting the ball and running to third base instead of first, parents cheering madly even when their kids didn’t hit the ball. She couldn’t wait until Lily could play. She watched from behind her sunglasses as the Kershaws cheered for their grandchild, even though she knew their hearts were breaking over their son’s plight. Did they fear he was dead? Did they assume he was hiding? Was this just one more thing in a long history of catastrophes he’d brought on their family?
She could see how focused they were on their grandchild. And they were Lily’s grandparents too. Watching them made her more determined than ever to keep them from claiming Lily. This couple would never simply walk away from a grandchild.
When the game was over, she drove back to the restaurant. From the cab in the parking lot, she used their Wi-Fi signal to find out what she could about Creed’s parents and sister. FrankKershaw was a building contractor, and Sandra, his mother, was a third-grade teacher. They had no arrests—not even any traffic violations. Neither did his sister, Kelsey.
Creed must be a huge disappointment to them.
As darkness fell, she watched the door for the employees to leave. At nine o’clock, Brittany came out, got into her car, and sat there a moment. Holly wrote down her tag number to look up later. When Brittany pulled away, Holly followed.
“Take me to Creed, girl,” Holly muttered as she drove.
But Brittany didn’t take her to Creed. She only went to another bar. Holly went in a few minutes behind her and stopped in the front area behind a plant, looking around the dark room.
There she was, joining a table of women, each of whom hugged her when she arrived, as if consoling her for some loss. They were there to commiserate with her. It was unlikely Creed would be here.
Disappointed, Holly headed back home. Tonight was a dead end, but she wouldn’t give up. She would try again tomorrow.
CHAPTER 13
T he last thing Cathy wanted tonight was to dress up in formal wear and schmooze at the governor’s dinner, but it had to be done. She looked in her rearview mirror at the earrings she wore, hanging to her jawline and catching the light. She wore a necklace that looked expensive, although she’d bought it secondhand in a thrift shop. She drove through the gates of the mansion and up the circular drive. When she stopped, a valet came to her door. She grabbed her clutch bag and slipped out, trying not to wobble on her heels. Why had she worn these anyway? They were too high and she hadn’t worn them in months, but she stretched herself to her full height and tried to walk like a runway model up the steps and into the white mansion. Men in tuxedos stood at the door, checking invitations. She pulled her press pass out of her bag and showed it to one of them.
“Yes, Ms. Cramer. Take the doors to the right and you’ll see your table.”
“Thank you.” She walked into the foyer crowded with people waiting to enter the ballroom. Most of the guests looked as though they’d had red-carpet consultants. Cathy had worn her go-to black formal and hoped she looked as though she’d tried.
The mansion was warm. She would have thought they would adjust the thermostat with so many people crowded in, but Florida heat was difficult to battle. She fanned herself with her credentials as she waited to make her way to the door. As she did, she scanned faces. If she could just get an introduction to the governor . . . if she could just speak to him for two minutes . . . Then she could leave and she wouldn’t have to suffer through the whole program.
Once past the bottleneck at the door, she scouted out her table and found her name card. She’d been seated between two other press members—one of the anchors from the local NBC affiliate, and a newspaper editor. Disappointed, she checked the name cards around the rest of the table. The
She could see how focused they were on their grandchild. And they were Lily’s grandparents too. Watching them made her more determined than ever to keep them from claiming Lily. This couple would never simply walk away from a grandchild.
When the game was over, she drove back to the restaurant. From the cab in the parking lot, she used their Wi-Fi signal to find out what she could about Creed’s parents and sister. FrankKershaw was a building contractor, and Sandra, his mother, was a third-grade teacher. They had no arrests—not even any traffic violations. Neither did his sister, Kelsey.
Creed must be a huge disappointment to them.
As darkness fell, she watched the door for the employees to leave. At nine o’clock, Brittany came out, got into her car, and sat there a moment. Holly wrote down her tag number to look up later. When Brittany pulled away, Holly followed.
“Take me to Creed, girl,” Holly muttered as she drove.
But Brittany didn’t take her to Creed. She only went to another bar. Holly went in a few minutes behind her and stopped in the front area behind a plant, looking around the dark room.
There she was, joining a table of women, each of whom hugged her when she arrived, as if consoling her for some loss. They were there to commiserate with her. It was unlikely Creed would be here.
Disappointed, Holly headed back home. Tonight was a dead end, but she wouldn’t give up. She would try again tomorrow.
CHAPTER 13
T he last thing Cathy wanted tonight was to dress up in formal wear and schmooze at the governor’s dinner, but it had to be done. She looked in her rearview mirror at the earrings she wore, hanging to her jawline and catching the light. She wore a necklace that looked expensive, although she’d bought it secondhand in a thrift shop. She drove through the gates of the mansion and up the circular drive. When she stopped, a valet came to her door. She grabbed her clutch bag and slipped out, trying not to wobble on her heels. Why had she worn these anyway? They were too high and she hadn’t worn them in months, but she stretched herself to her full height and tried to walk like a runway model up the steps and into the white mansion. Men in tuxedos stood at the door, checking invitations. She pulled her press pass out of her bag and showed it to one of them.
“Yes, Ms. Cramer. Take the doors to the right and you’ll see your table.”
“Thank you.” She walked into the foyer crowded with people waiting to enter the ballroom. Most of the guests looked as though they’d had red-carpet consultants. Cathy had worn her go-to black formal and hoped she looked as though she’d tried.
The mansion was warm. She would have thought they would adjust the thermostat with so many people crowded in, but Florida heat was difficult to battle. She fanned herself with her credentials as she waited to make her way to the door. As she did, she scanned faces. If she could just get an introduction to the governor . . . if she could just speak to him for two minutes . . . Then she could leave and she wouldn’t have to suffer through the whole program.
Once past the bottleneck at the door, she scouted out her table and found her name card. She’d been seated between two other press members—one of the anchors from the local NBC affiliate, and a newspaper editor. Disappointed, she checked the name cards around the rest of the table. The
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