Read Online Cache a Predator by Michelle Weidenbenner - Free Book Online Page B

at the grocery store. Of course I didn’t believe it, but I thought you should know what they’re saying. I figured they was lies, Mr. Reed. It didn’t make sense. I know you l-l-love Quinn. I-I-I told them that.”
    Brett lowered his voice. “Thanks for telling me.” He squeezed Mr. Ray’s shoulder. “I appreciate that you stood up for me too.” Blast Ali for spreading lies about me.
    “I’m sorry to b-b-bother you, Mr. Reed. Tell Quinn I said hello.” He nodded and scurried away like the bucked-toothed squirrel he looked like.
    Brett took a deep breath and walked back into the house, then slammed the door. He hurried into the living room to open the drapes, but stopped short. Ali was sitting on the sofa—her hair brushed, with makeup and clothes on. “You telling lies about me now too?”
    “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” She reached into her purse for a medicine bottle, opened the lid, and took out a pill. She then threw it in her mouth and chased it with a swig of bottled water.
    “What did you just take?” He yanked the drapes open.
    She ignored him and reached into her purse for her car keys.
    “Where are you going?”
    “I don’t have to tell you.” She stood to go.
    He lunged for the keys, struggling to take them, but she closed her fist and scratched his arm with her other hand, drawing blood. Then she darted across the room, toward the kitchen.
    He chased her, took hold of her arm, and spun her around. “You can’t leave.”
    She jerked her arm out of his clasp. “Watch me.”
    “Don’t you want to get Quinn back? A caseworker from CPS is on her way. She needs to meet you.”
    Ali paused and her eyes widened, seemingly panicked. Tears spilled down her cheeks again. “Look, I don’t remember anything, okay?”
    “How can you not remember? Were you that messed up?” He shook his head. “You’re disgusting, and you still reek like booze. You aren’t in any condition to go anywhere.”
    Her cell phone vibrated on the coffee table. Brett took a few steps back toward the sofa and looked at the screen. “Your boss is calling.”
    She paused, crossed in front of him, and snatched her phone. Then she turned, shoving the phone in her purse.
    He heard a car in front of the house and glanced out front to see if Peggy had arrived yet. Ali ran toward the back door through the kitchen, her heels clicking on the tile. The door slammed before he could stop her. What kind of mother wouldn’t stay to fight to get her daughter back? He knew the answer: a mother who didn’t want CPS to see her in the condition she was in.
    The fact that she left wouldn’t help CPS assess her, but it might help his case. He let her go. It’s not like he could stop her.
    Her little red Focus, with its dings and large dents—evidence of a reckless woman—squealed out into the street the way a criminal would flee the scene of a crime.
    Why wouldn’t she talk to him? What was she hiding?
    He sauntered across the room toward the front door and stopped when he saw the blanket on the floor—the one he’d wrapped around Quinn. Had it been just this morning that she had told him she loved him? How could anyone believe he’d ever hurt her? He reached for the blanket and found Lambie, the stuffed animal Quinn always carried with her so she could rub its ear while she sucked her thumb. He pressed it into his face, smelling Quinn’s sweet smell.
    Tears threatened to spill. He swallowed the lump in his throat, folded the blanket, and set it on the sofa, tucking the lamb under his arm. The doorbell rang.
    He crossed to the door and opened it. Two women stood in front of him. One was probably in her mid-forties. She had dark hair pulled back and peered over the top of black-rimmed glasses.
    The other lady reminded him of Carrie Underwood, his favorite female vocalist, garbed in stylish western wear—boots, jeans, and a ruffled blouse with a country-looking vest. Her large leather briefcase resembled a horse’s