Cache a Predator
by, M. Weidenbenner
Officer Brett Reed will do anything to gain custody of his five-year-old daughter, Quinn. But when the man-hating judge grants Brett’s drug-addicted ex-wife custody and slaps him with a protective order for losing his temper, he fears for Quinn’s safety. Who will protect her now?
When Quinn is found abandoned on the streets, Brett’s worse nightmares turn toward a dark path. His daughter is placed in a temporary foster home until Child Protective Services can complete an assessment. It should only take a few days.
But a lot can happen in a few days.
Especially when there’s a deranged psychopath on the loose, someone who’s attacking pedophiles, someone who wants to protect children like Quinn, and someone who’s planting body parts in geocaching sites.
Cache a Predator is a novel about a father’s love, justice, and the unhinged game of hide-the-cache.
EXCERPT:
All he had left was a stub.
I giggled and held the flesh up for the tombstone people to see. “Look!”
Smiling, I placed it in the bag and pinched my fingers along the top, sealing it shut.
After retracting the blade, I set it on the towel, opened the backpack and placed the supplies inside. I returned to the body, pulled up his pants, buttoned the top, and fastened his belt.
A laugh started low in my belly. It rose into a wail as memories came flooding back. Him touching me. Damaging me. He’d dragged me out of the toolshed that day and into the house. I’d kicked and curled into a ball, but still he came at me.
Now, grunting, I balled my hands into fists and beat his chest.
Thud.
Again.
Thud.
Again and again until my fists burned.
I inhaled and exhaled deeply, then released the hinges of the casket and dropped each lid with a bang.
Who’s the big man now?
After locking the coffin, I rolled it back into place, slid the granite face across the floor and lifted it to the opening. The anger gave me strength.
The casket clanked and clattered back into place. I scooped the rosette key from the towel and refastened the hardware. An opera sang in my head, the singers’ voices getting louder and louder, keeping rhythm with my heartbeat.
After gathering my supplies, I wheeled the lift back into the closet, took out the antibacterial wipes in my bag and wiped down the floor. I flung the pack over my shoulder and onto my back, then glanced around the room. No mess.
Once outside, I shone the flashlight on the lock and left it the same way I found it.
When that was complete, I flipped my flashlight off and began my trek to the cache site, counting the rows and stones. The drums of the concert played their final beats, and my mind went quiet. I glanced at my watch. I was on time.
There was much to do. I needed to keep to my schedule. I shuffled out of the cemetery, mumbling in rhythm. Find. The. Cache. Box. Bury. The. Stub. Find the cache box. Bury the stub. Find the cache box. Bury the stub.
About the Author
Michelle is a fulltime employee of God’s kingdom, writing and encouraging writers every day. She’s often a sucker for emotional stories, her sensitive side fueling the passion for her character’s plights, often giving her the ability to show readers the “other” side of the story.
She grew up in the burbs of Detroit with five brothers. No sisters. Each time her mom brought the boy bundle home from the hospital Michelle cried, certain her mom liked boys better than girls. But when her brothers pitched in with the cooking, cleaning, and babysitting—without drama, Michelle discovered having brothers wasn’t so bad. They even taught her how to take direct criticism without flinching, which might come in handy with book reviews.
Michelle is living her dream—writing every day and thanking God for the stories He puts in her path. When Michelle isn’t writing she’s winning ugly on the tennis court. She’s known as “Queen of the Rim Shots.” No joke. It’s ugly.
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