Текст книги "Daring Dylan "

After a night of getting freaking lucky with an insatiable Stanford cheerleader in a five-star Los Angeles hotel, Dylan Bradford crawled out of bed only minutes before his scheduled pick up. With no time to waste, he threw on some clothes, tossed his stuff in his bag, and made his way to the lobby and the car. As the moved into traffic, the limo driver mournfully relayed the news most the rest of the world had already witnessed.

New York City was under attack.

Much of the city had been wiped out. DC, too. The information they got from the car radio was jumbled and piecemeal. Dylan couldn’t tell fact from rumor, but this was a hell of a bad time to be two-thousand miles away from home.

His head reeled with the each update. His mother and sister were in the city. He didn’t know for sure where the rest of his extended family was at the moment. His uncle was likely in Washington, DC, and his grandfather had probably gone to his Twin Towers office, which was now nothing but dust. If the radio could be believed.

And maybe it couldn’t.

The Bradfords had been involved in enough news stories in the past for Dylan to know how often the media got the facts completely wrong. But it worried him that he couldn’t get through to any of his family by cell phone. All the satellite signals were probably jammed from overuse

When he got out of the car at LAX’s charter hangers, the horrific news of the day gripped the place like a death sentence. People moved in an eerie slow-motion dance to a soundless undercurrent of fear. They wanted to do something. Go somewhere. But there was nothing to do and nowhere to go. No planes to board. All flights had been grounded.

Would-be travelers gathered transfixed by the television screens that revealed awful, unbelievable scenes from two of the world’s most invincible cities. Like everyone else, Dylan watched the news unfold as he clutched his phone, desperately trying to reach home.

“Hey, Bradford!” Dylan turned to find Ryan Eastham jogging toward him, duffle bag thrown over his shoulder. “There you are, dude.”

Dylan shook his head at the appearance of his school friend. “Yeah, but why are you here? How’d the practice go?”

“It was fine, you know. But I’d seen all I needed to see. When I heard about the Twin Towers, I figured you’d be headed home. I need to get back to school for this weekend’s game, and I want to go to St. Louis first. Have you talked to your family?”

“Can’t get through. All the lines to New York are shut down while it’s in chaos.”

“When’s your flight?”

“God knows. Nothing’s flying. Every non-essential plane has been grounded until further notice.”

“That’s bad.”

Dylan watched a pretty girl with a killer rack at a check-in podium turning all-comers away with a sympathetic smile and shake of her head. But he usually had good luck with pretty girls. They didn’t turn him down very often. “Maybe I can talk my way onto something.”

This pretty girl’s nametag indicated she was Alyssa, but she was no pushover. Any other day, she might have been interested in smooth-talker rich-kid Dylan Bradford. But just-rolled-out of-bed, desperate-to-get-home Dylan Bradford had a sad story to tell just like everyone else at the airport that day.

“But my uncle’s a senator,” he said, pulling out all the stops to impress her.

“How nice for him.” A movie star would probably have impressed her more than a politician, even though the politician happened to be the chairman of the Senate Armed Services committee. “Is he here with you in LA?”

“He’s in Washington. Or New York.” Dylan’s anxious smile felt forced. “I can’t get calls through to him, and I’m worried.”

“I heard that senators who were at the Capitol Building have been moved to a secure location.” Alyssa tossed her hair back and batted her eyelashes at him. Maybe he had grabbed her interest.

“My mother and sister are in New York. My Grandfather’s brokerage has offices on the upper levels of the Twin Towers. I know a lot of people who work there, and the building’s just collapsed into a pile of rubble. I really need to get back home.” He grimaced as he realized the nervous tremor in his voice was genuine.

Alyssa’s expression softened. “I sympathize with your situation, Mr. Bradford, but this airport is officially shut down. You can’t go to New York today. You can’t go to DC. You can’t go to Philadelphia, or Hartford either. You can’t go anywhere. Not by plane anyway.”

He shook his head at her sad lack of cooperation. “I’ll figure it out for myself. Thanks for your help.” Grabbing Ryan’s arm, Dylan pulled him away from the desk.

“I wonder if Amtrak is running,” the football player ventured.

“Man, that would take forever.”

“Yeah, my mom took the train from St. Louis to Kansas City once, and it sucked. I guess it would be even worse during a national emergency.”

Dylan pushed his hair off his forehead, trying to think of faster alternatives. “Let’s rent a car.”

Ryan shook his head. “I heard all the rentals are already gone. Besides, we’re too young.”

Dylan paced. “Where’s your driver from this morning?”

“A campus van dropped me off and left. I can call the school and have them send someone for us, but they probably won’t drive us all the way to St. Louis and New York.”

Ryan was a good kid, but sometimes the Mid-western jock was too naïve for his own good. “They would if we offered them enough money.”

The football player’s eyes lit up. “Hey, why don’t we buy a car? Something really cool like a Porsche or a Ferrari or a Maserati.”

Perfect. They could split the driving and get home in no time. “Why didn’t I think of that? Maybe by the time we get to St. Louis, planes will be flying again. Let’s take a taxi to the nearest dealership and see what the Black Card will get us.”

They headed toward the exit when another kid stepped in front of them, blocking their way. “You guys are going to drive east? How long will that take?”

Dylan narrowed his eyes, evaluating this intruder. How long had he been listening in on their conversation? What kind of a freak show was he? “What do you care?”

“I want to go too,” the kid said with a southern drawl.

Three drivers might be better than two. But in a world gone mad, Dylan didn’t want to travel cross-country with just anyone. “Where you going?”

“Atlanta.”

Ryan shook his head. “That’s not on our way.”

“Just take me as far as you can, and I’ll handle it from there. I kinda need to get home.”

“Join the club, dude.” Dylan shoved his way past Southern Boy. “That’s what everyone here wants. Why should we take you with us?”

“Three drivers are better than two. And I’ll pay for a third of the car. Or all of it. Otherwise, I’ll just go with you to the dealership and head out on my own.”

Determined bastard. “Who are you?”

“Wyatt Maitland.”

That figured. Dylan had heard of him. He’d met Wyatt’s cousin Chase last year when the southerner had dated Dylan’s sister. Good family. Wyatt was probably okay. With Ryan in the car for muscle, they could overpower and shove him out on the side of the road if he caused any trouble.

“Like the Wyatt’s Department Stores?” Ryan asked.

“Yep. And National Package Delivery.”

“Cool,” Ryan said. “You got any ID?”

“You’ll see it when I buy the car.”

“I guess we will. Come on then.” Dylan continued toward the exit.

Ryan rubbed his hands together like they were starting an adventure. “Let’s go get a fast car with a screaming sound system.”

Maitland shook his head. “Not a Porsche, Ferrari, or a Maserati.”

“Why not?”

“Too small,” Dylan said, explaining the obvious. “We’ve got a long way to go, and we’re all at least six-feet tall.”

“Especially the walking logo,” Maitland said as they queued up at the taxi stand. “What are you anyway? A bodybuilder?”

“Football player,” Ryan answered. “Stanford wants to recruit me, and I came to LA to practice with the team.” He stuck out his hand for Wyatt to shake. “Ryan Eastham.”

“Then all that Eastham gear you’re wearing isn’t just a coincidence? You’re damn near a human calling card.”

Dylan would have slugged Southern Boy for that comment. But Ryan shrugged it off. “My dad likes for me to wear his company’s stuff. He’s proud of it and of me.”

“I’ll bet he is.”

And he had good reason to be. Over the next two days, Dylan was thankful to Ryan any number of times. No matter what happened or whose temper flared, the football player smoothed things over and calmed all of them down.

As they traveled cross-country in the newly-purchased Lincoln Navigator, they split travel expenses three ways. Tense and nervous the first few hours, the three of them spent more time trying to use their cellphones than they did observing their surroundings and each other.

As horrific as September eleventh turned out to be, by the time they reached Nevada, Dylan had talked to his mom, uncle, and grandfather. His uncle had lost friends at the Pentagon. His grandfather hadn’t been in the Twin Towers, but his brokerage had been wiped out, along with about half of his employees. Dylan took personal comfort in knowing his family members were safe, but he still wanted to get there and see them for himself. And do what he could to help and support one of his home cities, no matter how little help he could provide.

By the time they reached Albuquerque, Ryan admitted he wasn’t just anxious to get back to his team for the upcoming football game. His parents had separated over the weekend, and it looked like they were headed for a divorce. Despite his concern, his usual sunny nature reasserted itself. He predicted that his family would take the hit, but in the end, they would bounce back and be just fine. Just like the country would rebound.

And by the time they reached Winslow, Arizona, even Wyatt loosened up enough to reveal that his father had suffered a massive heart attack and was being kept on life support until all the family had a chance to gather. Turning tragedy into scandal, the heart attack had occurred while the revered judge was handcuffed to his mistress’s bed.

With the worst behind them, the trio talked non-stop of other things. Joking, teasing, bragging, and sharing their opinions on the benefits and drawbacks of being over-privileged sons from renowned families. About how that honor came with expectations and responsibilities most other teenagers could never imagine.

They reached St. Louis to discover that Dylan’s uncle had arranged for his nephew to travel on a military flight to New Jersey. That was close enough for him to get a ride into New York City.

Despite his close relationship with his mother, Ryan moved in with his father, knowing even then that his dad would need his son the most. And the football player kept the car.

Wyatt’s mother had sent her housekeeper’s husband, Jonah, to drive Wyatt to Atlanta. They made it back in time for him to say his final good-bye to his father.

Three boys, each with differing temperaments and backgrounds, but each destined to be a billionaire in a few short years, had formed a friendship. An unbreakable bond.

A brotherhood.

Chapter One

New York City, Present Day

With his head down and mouth clamped shut, Dylan Bradford plunged through the crowd of paparazzi snapping his picture and pelting questions at him outside his apartment building.

“Dylan, where’s Maya?”

“Are you getting married?”

“How do you feel about your mother’s death?”

How did the vultures think he felt? Like planting a right hook in a reporter’s face. Instead, he plunged into the back of the limo as one of them asked, “What are you going to do now?” The chauffeur blocked out the paparazzi’s buzz with a slam of the door.

“What do they expect me to say?” he asked his sister and brother-in-law. “That I’m going to Disney World?” He kissed Natalie’s cheek and reached across her to bump fists with Linc as the car eased into Manhattan’s gridlock traffic.

The asinine questions probably grated on him worse than usual because he didn’t know the answers to some of them. If he wanted his personal life to headline the next edition of supermarket tabloids, he could have announced that his relationship with Maya—if it ever could have been called that—was toast.

But what the hell was he going to do now? More of the same, damn it, when what he needed was a diversion or a challenge... Maybe even a crusade. Some deserving or demanding or hair-raising outlet to channel all this bottled up energy.

“There wasn’t a media circus outside our apartment.” Linc stretched his long legs out in front of him.

Natalie rubbed the baby bump that harbored her second child and made a theatrical grimace. “We just have to face it, honey. We aren’t blessed with my brother’s style, looks, or charisma.”

A stab of sorrow ambushed Dylan as their mother’s sense of mischief haunted him from his younger sister’s blue eyes.

Slouching down in the seat, he pushed the emotion away. God knew the day ahead would be long and difficult enough without breaking out the tissues just yet. “Some blessings carry a curse, you know.”

“It’s being named one of People Magazine’s ten most eligible bachelors that draws all the attention.” Her smile revealed her dimples. “If you really want the press to lose interest, you could marry Maya.”

“Don’t you start on me, too. It’s bad enough when they do it.” Dylan jerked a thumb toward the photographers keeping pace alongside the car.

He loved Natalie and Linc, but he was in no mood to be teased about his pseudo-celebrity status. Especially not by them.

Not their fault they have everything I want. He was happy for them, really, with their successful careers, loving marriage, two-year-old son, and baby girl on the way.

He’d set the same goals for himself once upon a time, but nepotism at its finest meant gaining a partnership in his maternal grandfather’s stock brokerage hadn’t taken much effort. His boredom with the dating scene had him doubting the right woman would ever come along. And that little detail left his hopes for marriage and fatherhood exactly nowhere.

“When Bradfords marry,” Grandfather Bradford used to say, “they marry for keeps.” Because there had never been a divorce in the long Bradford history, Dylan had been encouraged to sow his wild oats—like his father and grandfather had—before settling down.

But now, with his mother’s death weighing on him, Dylan felt trapped in a meaningless lifestyle and critical of the self-centered women he dated—like supermodel Maya Griffin. He wouldn’t mind the idea of settling down with someone cool, confident, and capable. Someone smart, stylish, and sophisticated. Like his mother and sister.

But women like them were few and far between on the party scene.

He stared out the window as they left Manhattan, concerned that the all-show, no-substance women he dated reflected the kind of man he’d become. His gray mood darkened even more, like the stormy sky overhead.

“My cousin from Houston will be here next month.” Linc broke the silence with studied casualness. “Remember meeting Victoria last Christmas?”

Oh, God, save him from matchmaking friends and relatives. “I think so. Tall? Blond? Interested in horses and...” He searched his memory. “Decorating?”

“Fashion design. That’s why she’s moving to New York.” Natalie exchanged a conspiratorial look with Linc. “And since we’ll have our hands full with a new baby, we’re hoping you might show her around.”

A knee-jerk refusal nearly exploded from his mouth, but he hauled it back in. Although Natalie had been trying to fix him up for years, it was unlike Linc to interfere. They must like this girl, and clearly, Dylan wasn’t having any luck finding the right woman on his own. He sighed and slouched lower. “Let me know when she gets here.”

His brother-in-law reached around Natalie to pound Dylan’s shoulder. “You won’t regret it.”

“If I do, I’ll make sure you do, too,” he warned. “Don’t prepare the pre-nup just yet. I’m only agreeing to meet her, that’s all.”

Following an elbow to the ribs and a speaking look from Natalie, Linc backed off with raised hands. “I understand.”

She snuggled closer to her husband and turned to Dylan. “Why do you think Lawrence wants to see us after the will’s read today?”

“Maybe he intends to advise us on investments or tax issues.”

“You’re the financial whiz kid. He’s more likely to ask for your advice.” She rested her crossed arms on her tummy and studied him. “You know more than you’re saying, don’t you? Tell me.”

“Go ahead,” Linc urged. “You know she won’t let up until you do.”

“Mother warned me that Karen Hammonds—”

“Dad’s publicist, before he died,” Natalie explained to Linc.

“—has penned an exposé of life on the campaign trail with Dad. You know how protective Mom was of his reputation.”

“That witch!” Natalie bit out. “Who cares what she has to say after all this time? Anything she knows about Dad is more than twenty years old and probably a lie.”

“If there was any dirty laundry lurking around out there, someone would have aired it a long time ago. So Lawrence’s request to meet with us may not have anything to do with Karen.” Noting the circles under his sister’s eyes, he wished he hadn’t speculated. “How are you holding up? If you want to skip out on this appointment today, just say so. I can handle it alone. Or Lawrence will wait, if we ask him to.”

She crossed her eyes at him. “Dylan, I’m pregnant, not incapacitated.”

Sympathy would fail beneath her hormonally rampant mood swings, but he gave it a shot. “Yesterday’s funeral has worn us all down, especially after the strain of Mother’s illness. Pregnancy must increase the pressure.”

Natalie pursed her lips. “Actually, the pregnancy soothes me, the way being with Josh does. It makes me feel a special bond with Mom and Dad. And kind of proud to know that I’m extending their legacy.” Tears welled. “Does that sound like the ultimate conceit?”

“Not at all, love.” Linc gave her his handkerchief along with a reassuring squeeze.  “It’s sweet.”

And just like that, Dylan felt that pang again. The one he’d felt a lot lately. The one that made him feel isolated and alone.

Elegant as a maestro, Lawrence Sutton arranged himself behind the Louis XIV desk that now belonged to Natalie—along with the rest of Margaret Bradford’s New Haven estate. Natalie and Linc sat opposite the attorney in matching Chippendale chairs. Too tense to sit, Dylan hovered behind them.

All of the will’s bequeaths and legacies had been announced earlier. No big surprises, but now Dylan geared himself up for whatever bombshell Lawrence had saved just for them.

“I can’t tell you how sorry I am about your mother’s death.” He removed his reading glasses and pinched the bridge of his aristocratic nose. “I served her interests to the best of my abilities and pledge to do the same for both of you, as long as you require my services.”

“Thank you,” Natalie said. “Mother appreciated your loyalty, and so do we.”

The old man steepled his fingers together and drew a deep breath. “There are two final pieces of business your mother wanted me to share with you in private. One of them is regarding a holding she left for Dylan.”

“What else is there?” For tax purposes, she’d divvied up most of her personal property years ago. He and Natalie needed or wanted nothing else. And the Matthew Bradford Foundation was well-funded.

“The cabin in East Langden, Maine.” The attorney drew the words out with all due gravity. “Where your father died.”

Gripping Linc’s hand with white knuckles, Natalie gasped. “That can’t be right. The family camp there belonged to the Bradfords.”

“I guess it belonged to Dad, and she inherited it after he died.” Dylan’s thoughts raced full speed ahead, but only questions with no answers emerged. “Why didn’t she get rid of it? It seems like it would have been more appropriate for Grandfather or Uncle Arthur to have maintained it all this time.”

Natalie frowned. “And why not tell us about it?”

“As far as I know, she’d only been there a handful of times, and that was before Dad’s death.” Dylan rubbed his temple where pulsing tension had developed into a sharp staccato.

“Can’t you picture Mother dressed in Versace and cooking a gourmet meal in a kitchen that hadn’t been remodeled since the Truman administration?” His sister threw him a nostalgic grin.

Propping his shoulder against an eighteenth-century armoire, Dylan turned back to Lawrence. “What more do you know about this?”

“Not much, but I believe it ties in with this other business.” The lawyer squared his shoulders. “Last year, your mother received a letter of inquiry from a young man claiming to be your father’s son.”

“That’s impossible.” Dylan looked to his sister for agreement.

Natalie and Linc wore matching expressions of disbelief. Linc slipped his arm around her and pulled her against him.

She echoed Dylan’s opinion. “Impossible.”

He turned back to Lawrence. “What type of ‘inquiry’?”

“Yes, and by whom?” Linc asked.

“What does the claimant want?” Natalie finished. “Money?”

The old man opened a file on the desk. “His name is Clayton Harris. He said he’d simply like to have the matter of his paternity confirmed. Apparently he bears a marked similarity in appearance to the Bradford men. And it’s long been the rumor in the town where he was raised.”

“Rumor!” The word burst from Dylan’s mouth like a curse. “Why the hell would you allow Mother to be distressed during her last months over a bloody rumor?”

Lawrence stiffened at the criticism. “She corresponded with the young man without immediately taking me into her confidence.”

“She wouldn’t have done that,” Natalie insisted. “She always said that acknowledging rumors only gave them credence.”

“Apparently, the gist of her response was that there was no truth to the story and the young man should look elsewhere for his paternity.” The attorney’s lips thinned into a disapproving line. “He threatened to take your father’s estate to court if she didn’t take the allegation seriously.”

Another recent memory slipped through Dylan’s confusion and clicked into place. “That explains why Mother asked me to promise not to let anyone dishonor Dad’s name. I thought she was concerned about the Karen Hammonds tell-all.”

Natalie sniffed at the reference to their father’s flamboyant ex-press secretary.

“I guess it was this jerk she feared.” Just then another possibility reared its ugly head. “Wait a minute, who’s his mother?”

Lawrence flipped through the document. “The woman’s name was Lana Harris.”

“Never heard of her.” Dylan remained slouched against the armoire, only slightly relieved to hear that Karen Hammond wasn’t involved in the scam. Not at first glance, anyway.

“Does she claim she slept with Dad before or after he married Mother?” Natalie asked.

“After, of course.” Dylan didn’t hesitate to make the guess. “It wouldn’t be scandalous or noteworthy otherwise.”

“Actually, the woman hasn’t claimed anything,” the attorney said. “She lived in East Langden but disappeared exactly one week before your father’s death.”

“Curious timing,” Natalie murmured.

Hair stood up on the back of Dylan’s neck. Neither the family nor the authorities had ever been satisfied that all the facts had been uncovered regarding Matthew Bradford’s drowning twenty-five years earlier. Now, a new wrinkle added to the mysterious circumstances.

“What steps have you taken to discredit this lie?” Natalie asked.

“We hired a detective.” Lawrence dipped his chin and looked at the trio over his reading glasses. “The investigation has been inconclusive, I’m sorry to say.”

“Have you asked Uncle Arthur about it?” Their father’s younger brother would be the obvious source of information.

“Your mother wanted to hold off on that, but I’m afraid we can’t put it off much longer. The matter has suddenly become more urgent.”

“Why?”

“With her death, the young man is no longer prepared to wait. If there’s no word from the Bradford family before the foundation awards ceremony on July first, he says he’ll take his story to the press.”

“But that’s only five weeks away.” An uncharacteristic curse escaped his sister’s lips. “Normally, I’d say let the jerk do his worst. But I don’t want the awards diminished because of some disgruntled nutcase.”

The old man nodded. “The negative publicity would certainly tarnish the event’s image.”

“Has he requested DNA testing?” A slow anger at the bastard’s audacity scalded its way through Dylan’s stomach.

“Ultimately, I believe that’s what he’s after, but no papers have been filed.” Lawrence blinked. “If you wish to lay the matter to rest, the request could come from the Bradford family.”

“No.” Dylan rejected the idea with a slash of his hand.

“Why not?” Natalie asked. “That might be the quickest way to disprove the accusation.”

“That would imply we’re entertaining the possibility of a link between this man and our father. I think it’s too soon for that. Let’s make him produce something more substantial than a ‘rumor’ before we give him what he wants.”

“I agree,” Linc offered. “If you don’t insist on hard evidence, you’d be laying the groundwork for anyone out there with blue eyes and big feet to claim a relationship.”

A familiar expression of Bradford stubbornness stole across Natalie’s face. “What could be more decisive evidence than a DNA test?”

“Mother asked me to protect and honor our father’s good name. I didn’t know this threat existed, but she wouldn’t want me to allow the first schemer to come along to muddy Dad’s reputation within a week of her death.”

“You’re pretending to be reasonable, but you’re seething inside,” Natalie observed. “That’s never a good sign.”

Because she was right, Dylan ignored the comment. The discontent that had dogged him lately, combined with the sorrow and helplessness over his mother’s death, now coalesced into a plan. Propelled by his mother’s last request of him, along with his own desire to preserve his father’s reputation, adrenaline shot through him. He shook off the emotional and physical lethargy that lingered after the inactive weeks spent at his mother’s side.

“Let’s see the detective’s report.” He loosened his tie and reached for the folder.

Natalie studied him. “What are you cooking up?”

He understood her dread that his restlessness would lead him into trouble, but he also knew she’d chafe at being sidelined by her pregnancy. The two of them had raced neck-and-neck in their quest for adventure most of their lives. But now, her focus had narrowed to her own little family. Just as it should. Dylan would handle of the bigger picture. “Maybe I should take a look over my East Langden property.”

Her eyebrows flew up to her hairline. “When?”

“The sooner the better. Apparently, we don’t have much time.”

“Tell me what you’re planning,” she said, still skeptical.

I owe her the truth. They weren’t children anymore, and this wasn’t a prank. He told himself that this was something he had to do. For his parents and for himself. For Natalie and her children. “I’m going to do my damnedest to blow Clayton Harris’s claim sky high.”