The Lost Tycoon by Melody Anne

Author:Melody Anne [Anne, Melody]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Barnesnoble:
Publisher: Gossamer Publishing
Published: 2012-12-18T05:00:00+00:00

Chapter Twelve

He shouldn’t have done it. He shouldn’t have stolen a cup with Misty’s saliva on it and had it tested for DNA. One of Damien’s cousins had gotten a sample from Damien, and they both felt like spies in some cheap B movie, but they were trying not to get Damien’s hopes up only to have him find out once again that someone he’d pinned his hopes on wasn’t his sister.

His friend had gone through that four times already since the search had begun to find the baby his mother had willingly given up. Each time, Damien felt more and more sure that he would never meet his sister.

And, man, did Bryson feel guilty about Misty. Sure, he hadn’t wanted her to suffer the same sort of disappointment as Damien had if he and Camden were wrong, and he tried to tell himself that he’d done the right thing, but he knew damn well that he hadn’t. He should have spoken to her, treated her like an adult, not acted in such an underhand manner.

Yes, FBI agents lifted people’s DNA all the time, but he’d never done so on someone he actually cared about.

The result was positive. Misty Elton was Damien Whitfield’s missing sister.

So the news was good. But did the end justify the means? Bryson hoped she wouldn’t hate him for going behind her back to find out who her family was.

When she’d mentioned the note and the name Damien, Bryson had thought the odds were firmly against his friend being her brother, and yet he knew that Damien Whitfield was searching for a lost sister… It certainly wasn’t an impossible coincidence. That’s when he looked at her eyes again, and he remembered where he’d seen similar eyes — Damien. They were identical in color and shape.

Eyes can lie, of course. But DNA is another matter. There was no doubt now that Damien and Misty were brother and sister. So he was holding a phone tightly against his ear, waiting. The ringing seemed to go on for hours, and his rug was surely going to get ruts in it because he couldn’t stop pacing.

“This is Joseph!”

Bryson couldn’t help but smile as the man’s voice boomed through the telephone. No one would ever accuse the head of the Anderson family of being a quiet man. It didn’t matter how much he aged — he would always be larger than life. And he’d most likely never die, either.

“Hello, Joseph, this is Bryson Winchester,” he began, then wondered whether he’d be able to get another word in edgewise during their “conversation.”

“Bryson, my boy! How are you? I figured you forgot how to use a phone, it’s been so long since you’ve rung me,” Joseph scolded him.

“I’m sorry, sir.” Bryson always felt like a disobedient child when Joseph spoke to him. Because he was friends with Joseph’s sons, he’d been to the man’s place a few times, and Joseph was certainly loud and a bit overbearing in his manner. But the man was also always very welcoming.

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