Chapter 1 - That Food Is Not for You
“Keep your dirty hands off that cake.”
The little girl froze.
Three hundred people had paid to help hungry children.
Now one stood in front of them, barefoot and shaking, and nobody offered her a bite.
Elisa Rochefort stepped closer, red satin brushing the grass.
“Where is security?”
The child pulled her hand against her chest.
“I just wanted a piece.”
“That food is not for you.”
Across the garden, Damon Cross set down his champagne.
He was thirty-two, worth more money than he liked discussing, and suddenly ashamed of every dollar represented beneath those golden lanterns.
He crossed the lawn.
The child stiffened when she saw him.
Damon slowed.
He took a plate, cut a slice from the five-tier cake, and added a strawberry.
Then he knelt in the wet grass.
“What’s your name?”
Her eyes moved from his face to the cake.
“Nora.”
“Hi, Nora.
I’m Damon.”
Elisa made a tight, impatient sound.
“Damon, please.
We have procedures.”
He kept looking at the child.
“Would you like this?”
Nora nodded but didn’t reach for it.
“Do I have to pay?”
“No.”
“Can I save some?”
“Of course.”
“For my mom.”
Something in his chest tightened.
“Is she here?”
Nora pointed toward the service entrance behind the mansion.
“She said wait by the blue door.”
“How long ago?”
“The sky was still light.”
Damon glanced at his watch.
It was almost ten.
Elisa stepped between him and the service wing.
“Her mother is probably one of the temporary workers.
I’ll have someone handle it.”
Nora grabbed the plate with both hands.
“She didn’t come back.”
The child’s voice was barely there.
Damon heard it anyway.
“What’s your mom’s name?”
“Mara Bell.”
Elisa’s expression changed.
Only for a second.
But Damon had spent years negotiating with people who hid bad news behind expensive smiles.
He recognized the pause.
He stood slowly.
“Find Mara Bell,” he told the nearest event coordinator.
Elisa touched his sleeve.
“Can we discuss this privately?”
Before he could answer, Nora tugged at his jacket.
From her pocket, she pulled a folded yellow slip, softened by sweat.
“Mom said if somebody made her go away, I should find the man on the sign.”
Damon looked toward the entrance.
His face smiled down from the sponsor board.
He unfolded the paper.
A handwritten message filled the bottom margin.
May you like
MY NAME IS MARA BELL.
IF I’M NOT BACK, PLEASE DON’T LET ELISA TAKE MY DAUGHTER.
