Destiny Calls by Samantha Wayland (100 best novels of all time TXT) 📗

behind him. He turned to his supervisor who shook his head and pointed at her. Brandon looked at her, brows raised.

She put a soothing hand on Brandon"s arm. “Can I go in?” she asked.

“No!” The immediate response came from at least four people.

But not Brandon. His expression was simply curious. His trust absolute. It fueled her confidence.

She turned to Captain Sullivan, about to launch into her arguments for being alone with Bobby, when the only other woman in the room spoke up. “What do you have in mind?”

Dr. Ellen Spencer was the department psychologist and apparently Destiny"s best shot at an ally.

“I think I can get him to tell me where Patrick is, if he knows,” she explained. “I think I can make him trust me.”

The shrink began to nod slowly but at least two other heads started to shake.

Destiny pressed her advantage.

“Can I borrow your blazer?” she asked the other woman.

When the doctor immediately shrugged out of her dark blue coat, Destiny knew they understood each other. She buttoned up her blouse as high as it would go, yanking her skirt lower on her hips so the hem brushed her knee. As she slipped into the coat, she felt a hand on her arm.

“Here, see if these fit,” Ellen offered, stepping out of her conservative blue flats.

Destiny kicked off her high heels and jammed her feet in the other woman"s shoes.

They were at least a size and a half too small, but she could walk the ten feet it would take to get her to Bobby. She"d walk through hell barefoot for Patrick.

Taking deep breaths to still her rioting fear, she pulled her hair back and twisted it into a knot. She didn"t have anything to clip it and Ellen"s hair was about an inch long all over. She"d just have to hope the bun stayed in place.

A quiet cough from the back corner of the room brought her attention around. One of Brandon"s coworkers pulled the elastic from his ponytail and passed it to her.

It was clear from the face of every man in the room that they had no idea what the hell she was doing, but Brandon"s quiet support and Ellen"s outright collusion had convinced them to let her try.

She faced Brandon. “I love you,” she said.

He pulled her into his arms and kissed her hard on the lips. “I love you too.” 182

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She held onto him for a moment and considered trying to make him understand how she meant it. How much she meant it. But now wasn"t the time.

Someday, she was going to give herself a world-class lecture on being thick-headed.

For now she just clung a little tighter before stepping back.

He nodded. “Okay, go get him.”

She had one hand on the doorknob when Captain Sullivan put an arm against the door to hold it closed.

“If I think you"re in any danger, I"m going to bang on that window and you will come right out. Do you understand me?”

The old-fashioned gentleman she admired looked down at her with hard eyes. She understood now how he"d gotten his job and it wasn"t by being chivalrous or fatherly.

Her regard for him went up another notch.

“Yes, sir.”

His gaze softened and she could see he was worried. For her. For Patrick.

She touched his cheek gently. When this was all over, she was inviting Captain Sullivan over to the house for supper. Maybe if she got him drunk enough, he would agree to adopt her.

The thought made her smile a little, she hoped reassuringly. Then she sucked in a deep breath and went through the door.

She jumped when it closed firmly behind her.

Bobby immediately looked at her with concern. Not “what are you doing in this room with me” concern, but “oh, the poor little lady is frightened” concern.

She felt a flash of hope, his reaction offering a small confirmation of what she believed to be true about Bobby Wilkinson. Her heart rate accelerated and she had to take a moment to rein in her racing thoughts, fighting to appear completely passive.

When she was settled, she smiled shyly, staring at his hands on the table instead of into his eyes. She hoped like hell she was being meek as she slowly made her way to the table, keeping her eyes cast down as she sat across from the man she had shot. She bit her lower lip, knowing she was at risk of pouring it on too thick but needing to test the waters.

“Hi,” she offered quietly, studying him through her bangs to gauge his response.

“Hi,” he replied automatically. She caught his gaze and his eyes immediately dropped to the table.

He was shy. She wondered how naïve he must have been to be fooled by the person who"d filled his heart with hatred.

She shifted in her seat, as if uncomfortable. It felt weird to fidget, she never did normally, but the way his eyes followed her movements told her it was the right thing to do.

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“I guess I should say… I mean, I want to start by saying that I"m sorry I shot you.” She didn"t choke on the lie.

Bobby, to his credit, looked disbelieving.

She dialed up the desperation. “I didn"t know. I mean, I know I had the gun and how to use it, I can"t lie about that. Well, about anything. But I didn"t understand. I"ve been haunted by it ever since. I thank God every day that you will recover. That you didn"t die. I couldn"t take that stain on my soul.” She watched his response to her careful choice of vocabulary. His eyes had returned to hers when she mentioned his supposed employer. His disbelief faded in the face of her fervor. Her concern for her soul.

She pressed her advantage, curling back in her chair and into herself. She started to cross her legs but stopped herself, clenching her knees together instead, her hands clasped on the table. “I just thought, you know, that in order to find forgiveness from Him, I