Twisted Innocence (Moonlighters Series Book 3) (23 page)
His eyes met hers again, soft, serious, his laughter fading to a gentle smile. “The girl of my dreams.”
She matched that smile. “You should dream bigger.”
“It’s not the tattoo,” he said. “It’s the confusion. The mistakes.”
“The failures?”
“Not that you did them, but that you see backward so clearly. Like me.”
“Yeah, I do a lot of things backward.”
He laughed. “Well, you’re doing better now. You own a house, right? You support yourself?”
“Yeah, driving a taxi.”
“And working as a private eye. Don’t sell yourself short. That’s pretty impressive.”
She thought about that for a moment. “I guess I’m just not that into impressing anybody anymore. I never thought I’d be able to do something I like so much and get paid for it. Private investigating work seems like something I do just for fun, you know? Maybe soon I can quit driving the cab and live off the PI work, especially now that Michael’s out.”
“And you’re a great mom. A really, really great mom.”
Her smile faded and she felt a knot in her throat, tears gathering in her eyes.
He took her hand, looked down at it. “I want to do better,” he said. “I really do want to start over.”
“It’s not too late,” she whispered.
“I don’t know, Holly. I’ve done some bad things.”
“So have I.”
“Michael told me I could redeem myself. I’m going to try.”
“Are you sure he said you could redeem
yourself
? Because I’m not sure you can do it yourself,” Holly said. “Michael would tell you that it has nothing to do with you. That redemption comes from what Christ did on the cross. Taking our punishment for all the messes we’ve made. That the blood he shed for us was enough to wash us clean.”
He narrowed his gaze. “Blood washing us clean. Interesting concept.”
“Yeah, but I believe it.” She stopped and thought about how to say it. “It’s like . . . once I trusted that Jesus’ death for me was enough . . . well, then I stopped hating myself and wallowing in guilt, and I started over, like someone who was fresh and clean. Someone who had a shot at life. And God . . . he’s sent me a trail of bread crumbs to guide me, you know? And trust me, I needed a
lot
of crumbs. I still feel insecure and inferior sometimes, and that guilt pops back up, reminding me what I was.”
Lily started to stir and whimpered a little. Creed handed her to Holly, and she settled back down.
“You think he’d send me some crumbs?” he whispered.
Holly stroked Lily’s back. “I know he would.”
“Do you think God has given up on me?”
She had asked that same question so many times. The familiarity of it filled her eyes with tears. “No, Creed. I used to think he was disgusted with me too, but sometimes he gives things back that we lost. He restores things. And I don’t know . . . I just get the feeling that he’s not mad at me. He
wants better for me, and for you. He wants us to know peace. I bet he has big plans for you. He sure does for me.”
“Wow. Big plans. That’s something to get my head around. Sometimes it just feels like the end of the road. Like I’ve used up all those big plans.”
“You haven’t.”
Creed wiped the tears from her cheek with his thumb. “You’re a better person than I am.”
She shook her head. “No, I’m not.”
Another tear fell, and his own eyes misted. “Holly, I’m sorry for treating you . . . the way I did last year. You’re a really cool person, and I missed out.”
“I even had pink hair and everything.”
More laughter.
Holly shrugged. “I treated
myself
with disrespect. You were just following my lead.”
He slid off the stool and stroked Lily’s hair. “I don’t want to miss out anymore,” he said. “I know things are complicated . . . with you and Lily . . . my part in her life . . . my legal mess. But I really want to get to know you better.”
Their eyes locked for a long moment, then finally he leaned in and kissed her. Holly closed her eyes, melted at his touch, amazed that it felt so natural, so right . . .
What would her sisters say? Was she being stupid again, or was this a sweet provision that God was granting her? A way to give her daughter the father she hadn’t expected? A way to fill in the blanks of her own broken life?
Was she following more bread crumbs, or straying off the path?
Holly wasn’t sure, but she didn’t pull away.
And when it was time to leave with Cathy, Holly kept it to herself. The kiss left her confused and strangely happy.
H
e’s going to put a target on your back, you know,” Cathy said as Michael drove to the police department. “I’m just feeling a little nervous.”
“Then we need to catch him, get all this behind us. We’ll get Holly and Juliet and my dad at the office today after we leave the department, and strategize our next moves.”
Cathy couldn’t help the anxiety coursing through her. She had even worried about Michael driving his own car, but he’d been aching to get back behind the wheel. He’d insisted on driving himself, picking up Cathy on the way in. At least he was armed. Early that morning, Max had gone by the safe house to return the rest of Michael’s weapons to him. Now he wore his belt holster and a shin holster, prepared for any encounter with Miller now that the man knew Michael was out. Cathy rejoiced that he’d been reinstated as a functioning, even necessary member of society, but the other part of
her—the part who loved him and was weary from this long fight with Miller—dreaded the dangerous confrontations that would make weapons necessary.
“Are you sure Creed will be okay? I don’t like having his escorts know where the house is.”
“I know those two guys, and Max is close to them. We both trust them. Max wouldn’t have sent anyone to escort Creed in who might give away our location. He doesn’t want to lose another brother.”
Cathy hoped he was right. Creed had a few more hours of questioning this morning, and Miller and his men would probably stop at nothing to shut him up.
She saw the police department coming up on their left, but Michael wasn’t slowing. “You missed the turn.”
“Nope,” he said. “I’m not going there yet.”
“Where are we going?”
He grinned. “I was thinking we could apply for our marriage license, since we have a little time before Creed gets here. It’s just a block down the street. We’re practically there already. Later today, we can go shop for that ring.”
Her heaviness lifted, and she smiled. “Yes, let’s get our license. But not the ring. We don’t have time for that. Not today.”
“But what kind of man doesn’t buy his fiancée an engagement ring?”
“One who cares more about the marriage than the diamond. One who’s just gotten out of jail and has a killer to hunt down.”
“All very good points,” he said. “But I’m still getting you a ring.”
“Fine. But later, when we don’t have a murder investigation hanging over our heads.”
He slowed and turned into the courthouse parking lot. “You realize getting the license starts the clock, don’t you? You’ll have to marry me within a certain time frame, whatever it is, or the license will expire.”
She leaned over and kissed him. “I’m ready to start the clock.”
They drove down four buildings and found a space in the parking lot across from Bay County Courthouse. Holding hands, they crossed the street and ran up the steps.
They took selfies as they hurried up the hall to the clerk of court’s office, laughed as they applied for their marriage license. The clerk didn’t seem to appreciate their good moods.
“So we could get married immediately now?” Michael asked as he signed the application.
“Not unless you’re from out of state.”
Cathy frowned, wondering if the clerk hadn’t noticed their local addresses. “We’re residents.”
“Then you have to wait three days after application before you can get married.”
“So residents are penalized?”
“Not a penalty,” the woman said. “Just a requirement. How do you plan to pay?”
Cathy glanced at Michael, amused. The woman’s hair was pulled back in a tight ponytail that narrowed her eyes, and she had shaved her eyebrows and drawn them back in in a perpetually startled expression. The stubble of her real eyebrows had begun to grow back in. Her face glistened with perspiration.
“Cash,” Michael said. “Will that be okay?”
“Yes,” the woman said, peering past them toward the door, as if they didn’t warrant a look in the eye.
Michael handed her the cash. “It’s hot in here. I don’t know
how you stand it, constantly on your feet when it’s eighty-something degrees in here.”
The woman’s hardness vanished. “The AC has been out all day. They’re trying to get it fixed, but it’s a hundred degrees outside. They should just close the offices if they can’t get it fixed.”
“Well, we appreciate your being open,” he said. “We’ll consider naming our first child after you.”
The woman managed a grin. “You don’t want to do that. My name is Matilda.”
“I like it,” Cathy teased.
Matilda seemed much more pleasant as she gave them a receipt, then printed out the license. As she shoved it into a white envelope, Cathy handed her her phone. “Would you mind taking a picture of us with the license, Matilda?”
“Sure,” she said with a long sigh. She handed them the license and took the camera. Cathy and Michael posed.
They thanked her, and as they turned to leave, she actually said, “Congratulations.”
“I think we won her over,” Cathy said as they stepped into the hallway. “You’re such a charmer.”
“Not an easy task. She made me sweat.”
“And here I thought you were getting cold feet.”
“Fat chance. With the AC out, no wonder she’s in a bad mood.”
“Yeah, glad we’re not getting married outside.”
They stepped out onto the steps of the building, muggy hot air enveloping them. He slowed and kissed her. “We’re one step closer to being Mr. and Mrs. Michael Hogan,” he said. “I like the sound of that. Mrs. Hogan. My wife.”
Cathy had liked the idea of being Mrs. Hogan back when she’d been engaged to Joe, but that seemed like so long
ago—decades rather than three years—and it felt as though Michael had always been the love of her life. From the foundation of the world, Juliet would have said in her Bible-quoting way. But it felt true.
He kissed her again, lifted her and spun her around. A week ago she had thought their marriage was months away. Now it could be just days. Gratitude brought tears to her eyes.
He took her hand and they crossed the street toward his car. “Why don’t you start the car remotely,” she asked. “Get that AC going.”
He pulled his key fob out of his pocket. “I will if this thing still works.” He held it up and clicked it to start the car. They heard a deafening
pop
, then a
whoosh
. Hot wind blasted them back, the smell of tarry smoke . . .
“Get down!” Michael threw her behind a concrete light pole, pulled her down. Flames and black smoke billowed up from the area where they were parked. “Is that
your
car?” she shouted.
“I don’t know.”
When the explosion was over, leaving only flames and black, billowing smoke, they got up. Michael took her hand and pulled her farther away, as if he feared another explosion. Heat and smoke hazed around them. They heard the sounds of sirens from the fire department two blocks down. They reached the edge of the parking lot and turned to watch.
“It
was
your car!” Cathy cried. “Michael, it was a bomb!”
Michael just stood there staring, keenly aware that he could’ve easily been behind the wheel cranking the engine on his own when the explosion went off. That was the intent. He and Cathy were meant to be dead. He looked down at the key fob, still in his hand. Starting the car remotely had saved their lives.
He put his hand on his belt holster and looked around. There didn’t seem to be anyone else in the parking lot. No one injured, and no suspects.
How would Miller and his people have known he’d be here? His mind raced. They didn’t know where the safe house was, or they would have struck last night while he was with Creed. No, they must have been watching Cathy’s house. They must have followed them from there, even though he thought he’d been watching for any sign of a tail.
If they had planted the bomb while he and Cathy were in the clerk of court’s office, there would be security camera footage. He located the cameras on electric poles around the lot, including one just above the column they’d hunkered behind.
Afraid for Cathy, he ran her across the street. “I want you to wait inside,” he said. “Don’t come out until I come back to get you.”
“What about you, Michael?” she said. “They want
you
dead, not me. You shouldn’t be out there either.”
“I’ll be with the police,” he said. “Just hold tight. I’ll be right back.”
A
t the same moment that Michael and Cathy were stepping into the courthouse to get their marriage license, Creed was across town leaving the safe house. He got into the black SUV driven by the cop Detective Hogan had sent, escorted by another one. Creed sat in the backseat, anonymous behind the SUV’s tinted glass windows. So far, so good.
