Page 12 of Fighting His Fate
“Oh no? Are you going to show me how to do it through the wall? Because I don’t think that will work very well.”
The hospital social worker walked out of the lounge. “Mr. Champion, you’re free to go. I'll see to it that the children find an emergency placement as soon as possible.”
Emergency placement.
Grace turned beseeching eyes to Brett. She heard the desperation in her voice as she begged, “Please.”
Brett looked from the social worker to her and back. He was wavering, she could see it, and she pushed harder. “I’ll help you,” she repeated. “I’ll stay the night in your apartment and help you take care of them. I can do that.” John wouldn’t like it, she knew he wouldn’t, but these children needed her help.
And how will that look to the congregation?
Panic was rising like floodwaters.
“It may take days to find Grandma. What if it’s more than one night?”
An image of John’s disapproving stare appeared in her mind, but she pushed it away.
In for a penny, in for a pound.
“Fine. Whatever it takes.”
“You’ll stay with me for as long as I need?”
“Yes.”
“And you won’t give me any grief when I find a better guardian for these kids and give them away?”
She shook her head quickly. “Absolutely not.”
“All right then. Looks like we’re roommates until we find the twins’ grandmother.” He held out his hand.
She placed hers inside it, awareness seeping into her pores as his fingers wrapped around hers. She pulled her hand away.
What have I done?
A police officer jogged toward them from down the hall. “We’ve found a white passenger van in the hospital parking lot with damage to the front grill consistent with our hit-and-run vehicle. Some trace evidence, looks like hair and blood.”
“Jesus Christ,” Champion whispered.
Grace looked from one man to the other, the pieces refusing to click into place. “What? What does that mean?”
Champion’s eyes were dark, cavernous spaces, and for a moment she swore she could see a labyrinth of passageways snaking in their depths. “Trace evidence will have to confirm it,” he said. “But it looks like the creep who attacked you in the lounge is the same person who killed Joni and Luke.”
8
Come on,Moto. Pick up the goddamn phone.
Brett and the boys were alone in his truck. He kept a burner phone in his glove box for emergencies. He pulled it out and dialed Moto from HERO Force.
A baby let out a piercing cry. Brett’s hangover had long ago settled behind his forehead, the clawing pain reminding him of his own unsuitability as the guardian of absolutely anyone. “The military could use you as a weapon.” The crying intensified.
Fucking Moto. Answer the damn phone.
He drove through the empty early-morning streets, the pavement wet though the downpour had finally stopped. He felt physically ill, a knot having formed in his abdomen the moment he strapped the car seat bases tightly onto the bench seat of his truck.
There shouldn't be children in his vehicle. He was a man who liked to be alone. He didn’t want them here. Not for a night, not for an afternoon, and he damn sure didn’t want their car seats strapped tightly into anything that belonged to him.
Grace’s headlights shone in his rearview mirror. She was responsible for this, bending his arm backwards as if the fate of these children hinged solely on him.
