She read the sentence again.
Child molester. She has s*x with little kids.
She slammed the paper onto the kitchen counter. The scumbag had stuck the vilest possible label on her. Fuming, she started a pot of coffee.
Yesterday, when Marianne Freemantle savaged her, she’d been unable to fight back. But nothing was stopping her today. She’d make Junior eat his words.
She swallowed coffee, took a hurried shower, and threw on a pair of jeans and a Kelly-green hoodie. Forty-five minutes after collecting her newspaper, she was at the Center.
Quinn was waiting for her. He wore his no-court-day uniform of dark, long-sleeved T-shirt, jeans, and sneakers. The tip of his hair curled, as though he’d come straight from the shower.
She guessed he’d raced here to intercept her.
Holding up a copy of
