by Trace Conger
Brooke smacked him on the shoulder harder than she had me. “Did you have to bring her here?”
“I had no idea she’d be here. Besides, you’re the one who invited her to stay. Where’s Daryl anyway?”
“We’re on a break,” said Brooke. Her jack-o-lantern stare approached its flash point, so I turned away and scanned the crowd to find a distraction. The gymnasium was filling up quickly, and tip-off was only a few minutes away. Both basketball teams took practice shots on opposite sides of the court, and basketballs bounced off everything except the low backboards.
Becca stood next to seven other cheerleaders on the bright wooden floor. She said something to the cheerleader next to her and laughed. Her coach, a tall woman in tight black yoga pants and a school t-shirt, approached the girls and wrangled them into a small circle for final instructions.
I watched as the woman, who I assumed was Candy Cooper, backed away from the girls, tucked a clipboard under her arm, scanned the crowd, and then waved to someone a few rows away on my right. I followed her gaze and found Michael Cooper waving back. After he returned his hand to his lap, he turned and found me. I smiled and offered a short wave, but Cooper didn’t reciprocate. Instead, he turned away and struck up a conversation with the man next to him.
“I never saw my granddaughter as a cheerleader,” said Albert.
“Me neither,” I said. “It took some finagling to get her on the squad.”
“I’m sure she’ll be a natural.”
The referee approached center court with a basketball in his hand and blew a whistle. Both teams stopped their warm-up routines and returned to their sidelines, and then five boys from each team took the court.
Jennifer returned to the seat next to me. She squeezed my knee and then placed her hands behind her. Her hand slid down my back and I felt her thumb tuck into the top of my jeans. A moment later, she leaned forward and cupped both hands on my right knee, but I could still feel a thumb on my waist. I glanced over at Brooke. Her right arm wrapped around Albert and disappeared behind me. She winked as the referee blew his whistle again and tossed the ball into the air.
A NOTE FROM THE AUTHOR
Mr. Finn will return in:
The Prison Guard’s Son
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Trace Conger
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
THIS WORK WOULD NOT HAVE been possible without the generous support of several individuals. I’d like to personally thank the following people for their direct and indirect involvement in giving this project life:
Christine Grote, Scott High, and Denise Suttman for reading and providing feedback on early drafts; Ed Hackett for editing and making me look like a better writer; Doug Hunter for the PI perspective; Dr. Jonathan Bell and Jennifer Campbell for their medical expertise; Perry Gerome for fanning the flames; Micah Siegal for his legal and real estate knowledge; and Shannon Bibbee for the Army intel.
And a special thank you to Beth Conger for her continued love, support, and encouragement.
My sincere thanks to each of you.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
TRACE CONGER IS AN AWARD-WINNING author in the crime, thriller, and suspense genres. Prior to writing full time, he worked as a publicist, a copywriter, and a freelance writer. He lives in Cincinnati with his wonderfully supportive family.
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