Daring Dylan (The Billionaire Brotherhood Book 2) (23 page)

Not even to
go to the NBA finals. Not even to see his best friends. Or his sister. Or his
former girlfriend. He especially didn’t want to see Maya Griffin again.

With his
next phone call, he’d told Gilmore to take the tickets and enjoy himself. The
Brotherhood told him to enjoy himself, even though they gave him a predictably
hard time about ditching them. And then he’d called Maya to cancel their plans.
To say the drama queen had thrown a fit was an understatement, but then, it
wasn’t his goal in life to fulfill her expectations. Basically, he’d hung up on
her while she was still screaming in his ear.

The
conversation with his sister still weighed on him. Natalie sounded wistful,
fretful, and emotional. He blamed her mood on their mother’s death and her
rampant pregnancy hormones.

MacDuff
scratched the other side of the door, whining to be let out. Dylan obliged,
grabbed the dog’s leash, and led him into the garden. They returned upstairs,
and Dylan settled into place again. The dog rested his chin on Dylan’s thigh.

After
running in circles all day, he was happy to land at his starting point. Almost
like being back home.

The news
from the police chief and fire investigators had been worse than expected. They
now assumed Dylan had been the target. More in the way of a warning than a
murder attempt, since Dylan had been present and no personal attack had been
made.

Even so, it
had been too close for comfort, and there was no justification for involving
Gracie. Except that he couldn’t blame anyone but himself for including her in
the first place. Like he could have kept her from getting involved if he’d
wanted to. But he hadn’t wanted to exclude her. And here he was about to drag
her further into the mess.

He
shouldn’t be camped on her doorstep now that reporters had descended on the
area. A news chopper had been sighted, swooping over the charred cabin. Several
tabloid bloodsuckers had been snooping around, too. Fleming had forced them
away from the fire scene. None of the officials had issued more than a cursory
statement, but Dylan knew the media would keep at until they tracked him down.
He could handle the attention, but he wouldn’t make it easy for them. And he
didn’t want them bothering Gracie.

His heart
kicked up a beat as he spotted her, striding across the lawn from the B&B
with her singular combination of unconscious elegance and purpose. Would she be
glad to see him? Would he be able to tell if she were?

“You’re
still here.” She climbed the stairs, her smile both welcoming but wary.

MacDuff
jumped up and wagged his stubby tail to welcome her home. Dylan would have
wagged his if he had one.

He stood
and opened the door for her. “By the time I got finished with the
investigators, it was too late to get to the game.”

Fluttering
her lashes, she hid whatever expression they might contain. “So you’re staying
the night?”

“If you
don’t mind.” He’d appreciate a sign of some sort.

“I guess
it’s fine.”

Gracie
headed toward the bedroom, but Dylan spun her around and into his arms. To hell
with waiting for a sign. “Are you sure you don’t mind?”

“I don’t
mind.” She ducked her head.

“Let me
see.” He leaned forward for a welcome-home kiss that could become a habit. Her
warm response laid his worry to rest, and he sighed with relief. “I guess you
really don’t.”

“Told you.”

He clasped
his hands behind her back, holding her hips against his. “Where’ve you been?
Did your grandfather come home? Did you see Clay?”

“Lots of
places, yes and yes.” She pulled away from him. “In fact, I was there when
Fleming asked Granddad about the chisel. Remember when he told us yesterday
about going to the factory to get some tools the night Lana disappeared?”

“Sure.”
Dylan followed Gracie into the kitchen where she grabbed two bottles of water
out of the refrigerator. He liked her warm and eager smile as she took a seat
at the table, practically glowing in a little patch of sunlight beaming through
the window.

“That
chisel was one of the tools he went to get that night, and it was missing from
his workbench.”

“Is he sure
he didn’t lose it before that?” MacDuff trotted over and dropped a ball by
Dylan’s feet. He tossed it across the room. “I mean, with all due respect, how
does he remember one specific tool after all this time?”

“Most
carpenters are obsessive about their equipment. Granddad can tell you how,
when, and where he acquired every tool in his workshop. The chisel had belonged
to his father and grandfather before him, so he’s not likely to be mistaken
about it.” The Scottie brought the ball to her, and she rolled it into the
other room. “Did you find out anything about the cuff link?”

He wished
she hadn’t asked about that. “I didn’t try.”

“Too busy?”

“Gracie...”
He scratched MacDuff’s belly, putting his thoughts in order before answering.
“I’m pretty sure it belonged to my dad, but I don’t want to jump to any
conclusions.” His mother had given him his father’s jewelry case about a month
before her death. He’d noticed then that one of his father’s cuff links was
missing. He picked up the ball and tossed it away again while he waited for
Gracie’s reaction.

She rotated
her bottle on the table, leaving interlocking rings of condensation. “Did your
father wear them very often?”

He
shrugged. “I don’t really remember. He had them on in a lot of pictures I’ve
seen.”

“That’s
just what I was thinking about. Pictures.” Gracie hopped up and retrieved the
purse she’d hung on a peg inside the door. “Gran and I printed this for you
earlier.” She opened an envelope and pulled out the contents. “It’s the photo
of your dad with me and Cuddles. Are these the same cuff links?”

Dylan took
the photo from her. “Yes!” Relief surged through him. “If this was taken the
day he died—”

“It was the
week after Lana disappeared,” Gracie finished for him, her face alight with
pleasure. “So the cuff link from the cellar can’t be his!”

His relief
died quickly as reality nudged it aside. There were still too many ties between
his dad and Lana to dismiss them all. “Right, but this doesn’t exonerate him,
either. I mean, if he had these on the day he died, why was there only one in
his jewelry case?”

“It’s been
twenty-five years. The missing one could have been lost in any number of ways.
Are you sure it hasn’t slipped under the lining of the case or something? Or
maybe someone else took it out, or it got misplaced.”

“I don’t
know.” Running his hand through his hair, he tried to think clearly and fit
some of the other pieces of the puzzle into place. If the cuff link didn’t
belong to his dad, which family member did it belong to?

“Why didn’t
you tell Chief Fleming about the missing link?”

“It’s hard
enough trying to imagine that Dad fathered an illegitimate child. I could never
believe he murdered anyone, and I refuse to let anyone else consider it
either.”

Gracie
opened her mouth, stopped, and left him waiting on an awkward pause while she
chewed on her bottom lip. “David thinks your father was responsible for Lana’s
disappearance.”

His back
teeth nearly cracked as he gritted them together. “Why does he think that?”

“Hmm,
well...” She stalled again. “I didn’t know this until today, and I don’t think
Clay knows either, but David let it slip that... That Lana was pregnant at the
time of her death.”

“Are you
serious?” He whooped with delight as he jumped up, lifted Gracie from her
chair, and swung her in a circle “Pregnant! That’s great.”

“Great? Why
is it great?” she asked when he lowered her to the floor. “I thought you’d be
upset.”

He hugged
her tightly. “I still don’t know who Clayton’s father was, but Lana definitely
wasn’t pregnant with my father’s baby when she died.”

He smiled
and resumed his seat, pulling Gracie into his lap. “My mother had a miscarriage
a couple of years after I was born. Her doctor said she shouldn’t have any more
children. Dad had a vasectomy before she even came home from the hospital while
she was still agreeable to the idea.”

Gracie
absorbed this information with a nod and a question. “How do you know this?
Weren’t you just a toddler when she had the miscarriage?”

“Yes, but
Mother told me and Natalie about it after Josh was born. Mother was crazy about
kids, and we asked her why she and Dad didn’t have more children.”

“So if the
father of Lana’s unborn child killed her,” Gracie mused, “it couldn’t have been
your father.”

“Right.” He
smiled and kissed her.

His cabin
had burned down. His dad wasn’t off the paternity hook for Clayton yet.
Reporters could show up to badger Gracie at any minute. And someone might be
trying to kill him. But here in Gracie’s apartment, none of that seemed as
hopeless as it should. Dylan had found his happy place. Holding her in his arms,
he felt confident they’d discover answers to all their questions before too
much longer.

“We’ve
gotten off track again,” she said. “We’re trying to discover if he’s Clay’s
father, not whether he killed Lana.”

“Sometimes
more immediate goals rear their ugly heads. Thank God, we can lay this one to
rest.” He stretched his feet out in front of him, cuddled Gracie closer, and
contemplated the best news he’d had all day.

Before he
got too comfortable, she pulled away. “What’re you going to do now? I’m due at the
Festival at six, but Gran and Granddad will be home if you want to stay over
there.”

“I’ll go
with you.” He checked the time. “Is there anything else we need to talk about
now or can I jump in the shower?”

She tapped
a finger against her chin, her eyes twinkling. “I wouldn’t recommend
jumping
in the shower. That can be
dangerous.”

His gaze
swept over her, and the heat that had been simmering all day bubbled to the
surface. “You can come along and hold my hand.”

“Hand,
hell,” she objected, undressing on the way. “That’s not what I’ll be holding.”

After a
steamy, stimulating, and vigorous shower, Gracie left Dylan in the living room
engrossed in his laptop. She crossed the yard, letting herself in the back door
of Liberty House.

Gran’s
voice could be heard from the formal living room, chatting with the first
weekend guests. Gracie slipped into her grandparents’ private den. Her
grandfather sat propped up on the sofa, whittling and watching the local news.

“What’s
up?” she asked, pleased to note that his color looked good. “Have you walked
and done your exercises?”

“Ay-uh.
Nora marched me around like a drill sergeant.”

“Good for
her. I wish I’d seen that.” Gracie crossed to the window and adjusted the
blinds to keep the late afternoon sun from glaring across the television. “Clay
only let you come home because you promised you’d stick to the rehabilitation
schedule.”

“I will,”
he grumbled. “Sit down and talk to me. I don’t need anybody else fussing.”

She dropped
into Gran’s rocker. “Anything on the news about the festival?”

“A nice
piece about the boat race, and they mentioned the ice cream booth and the
Political Softball game.”

“With all
the publicity and the nice weather, we probably have a success on our hands.”

His
eyebrows beetled together. “CNN had a story about the fire at the Bradford
place.”

“Shoot, I
wonder if Dylan knows reporters have been here.”

“They also
mentioned the discovery of Lana’s bod—skel—remains. Hell’s bells, there’s not a
good name for what they found, is there? It’s just a sorry waste, that’s what
it is. She was a woman with flaws, but she had a good heart.”

She shook
her head glumly. “Clay and David were both devastated, and there was nothing I
could do to help them.”

“You always
help, whether you know it or not, just by being there. You care a lot, and your
friends and family know it. Your patients, too, I imagine.”

His
compliment made her smile. “I try, but sometimes it doesn’t seem like enough.”

“I don’t
hear anyone complaining but you.”

She sighed.
“I came to check on you, not for a pep talk.”

“You don’t
have to check on me, girl, and I’m always here for you.”

“You’re the
best.” Just being around him cheered her up.

His hands
moved skillfully over the wood, and he resumed whittling. Gracie’s eyes turned
to the news credits scrolling across the television. She started to switch to
her grandfather’s favorite game show when a tabloid news show came on. The
screen filled with the image of Dylan’s burned out cabin, an image of Dylan
stamped in the corner, and her hand stilled.

A toothy
reporter described the “latest Bradford tragedy” in sensational tones before
the coverage returned to a shellac-haired anchorwoman. She relayed the tale of
arson and Lana’s remains in sketchy, but dramatic detail. Glued to the set with
the fascination a passerby has for a car wreck, Gracie watched with growing
dismay. Poor Clay.

Poor Dylan.

She didn’t
know how he put up with this kind of intrusion into his everyday life. No
wonder he found the hint of any kind of publicity unbearable. As she reached
for the remote again, another image filled the screen. A fashion model of
almost ethereal beauty paused outside a New York apartment building amid a sea
of microphones.

“Was Dylan
at the cabin at the time of the fire?”

“When did
you last talk to him?”

“Why aren’t
you there with him?”

A caption
identified the woman as Maya Griffin, Dylan Bradford’s fiancée. Gracie almost
howled in disbelief.

Tall,
willowy, and swan-necked, the supermodel raised her pampered hand for silence.

“I talked
to him this morning.” Her studied frown included equal touches of
possessiveness and concern. “He was in the cabin when the fire broke out, but
managed to escape unharmed, thank God.” She touched a pampered hand to her
heart, drawing attention to her chest. “After he clears up a few details, I’ll
be joining him.” Clearly anticipating the follow up question, she answered
before it was asked. “At an undisclosed location.”

She turned
away, about to move with sensual fluidity through the doors of the building.
The reporters clamored again, but one especially resonant question rose above
the others.

“When will
the two of you be getting married, Maya?”

She opened
her full, perfect model’s mouth as if the answer hovered there, ready to be
announced. But the beauty stopped before committing to any specific
confirmation, lips formed into a mysterious smile.

The talking
head reappeared and begin moving her mouth. But Gracie couldn’t hear the
commentator’s words above the buzzing in her ears. When she’d asked Dylan if he
had any special relationships going on in New York, he’d responded, “Nothing
serious.”