Текст книги "Daring Dylan "
Автор книги: Jacie Floyd
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Текущая страница: 12 (всего у книги 20 страниц)
His interest in her was surely a short-lived phenomenon. A delayed reaction, a response to a rush of adrenaline. One of those embracing life after a death-defying experience, with a dash of that old opposites-attract concept thrown into the mix.
He probably looked on her as an aberration, too. She could imagine how different she was from the other women he knew. Once he went back to New York, he’d forget all about her and—Oh, damn! He was going back to New York tonight!
She might never have this opportunity again.
If she wanted to have him again, it would have to be now. Endorsing Dylan’s new rule of never putting off until tomorrow, she reached a hand out to touch him.
Good, he was hard already.
Chapter Twenty
The combination of doggie breath and wet tongue pulled Dylan from a sound sleep. Turning away from MacDuff’s enthusiastic greeting, he smiled at the sight of Gracie snuggled against his other side.
Dylan buried his head in the crook of her shoulder and breathed deeply of her tangy-sweet scent. As he moved to caress her silky smooth skin, he stilled, realizing he had violated his hard-and-fast rule about never spending the night in someone else’s bed.
Although he used the excuse that he didn’t want to risk having some paparazzi catch him with his pants down, the truth was he didn’t like raising false hopes about his intentions. And so far, the only intention he’d ever had was to move on with as much speed and with as little resentment from his partner, as possible.
So this was new, waking up in a bed not his own with a woman beside him. And not just a woman, but Gracie. And hadn’t she turned out to be more than he’d fantasized? So warm and real and exciting.
And her body! Soft, round, voluptuous. No sharp angles or bony limbs. Nothing artificially enhanced, tattooed, or pierced. Even the curls between her legs were an au naturale wonder in his world where all the women were waxed, shaved, or shaped.
Personal grooming aside, he loved the unbridled interest and energy she focused on everything from the simplest kiss to making love all night long. What she lacked in experience, she made up for in enthusiasm. And sweetness and ingenuity and curiosity.
What could be better than that?
What could be worse?
He couldn’t believe she had so made him lose his head that he’d forgotten to use protection. That had never happened to him before. Never.
Grandfather, Uncle Arthur, even his mother had preached the sermon about safe sex and unplanned children since he was old enough to know where babies came from. No matter how tempting or innovative the partner, he’d never gone diving without a wetsuit before. What was it about Gracie that made him recklessly discard responsibility?
The answer that sprang to mind made him squirm.
His breathing grew labored and the walls of the bedroom started closing in around him. He’d better get out of here and back over to the B&B before he forgot his lousy track record for making commitments.
As he slid his arm out from under her, she turned her head and smiled drowsily. He stopped to return her smile. A rosy blush bloomed on her cheeks, and he brushed a kiss across one and then the other. He nibbled his way to her mouth.
Damn, he had zero control where she was concerned.
Amid the rest of the apartment’s swirling colors, her bed linens were pure white. Gracie’s vivid coloring stood out in the unrelieved starkness like a painter’s palette next to a blank canvas. Pink cheeks, flashing brown eyes, creamy complexion. Copper highlights shot through dark tresses that spiraled wildly across her pristine pillow.
“Gracie.” Her virginal sheet dipped, and his gaze wandered to her breasts. He ordered his twitching cock to back off while he said his piece. The sooner he got this over with, the less she’d be hurt. “Babe, I’ve got to go.”
“I know.” Gracie nodded, bright-eyed and cheerful as ever. “You’ve got plenty to do today before you leave.”
“Right.” He studied her with a wary eye. “I’ll need to go by the cabin and speak to the fire marshal, call the insurance company, and let Uncle Arthur know what happened, too.” He checked the time while he recited his schedule. “The game starts at eight. If I want to be in New York in time to see Natalie and Josh, and then take care of a few things before the tip-off, I need to head out.”
“Sure,” she agreed as he swung his legs over the side of the bed.
Relief washed through him. She would be Gracie to the end, practical and well organized, with none of the clinging or scheming he’d experienced with other women. Why that thought didn’t make him ecstatic, he didn’t know.
Wouldn’t she be even a little sorry to see him go?
With the term reverse psychology running through his head, the last thing he wanted to do was make his usual quick getaway.
“Gracie...” He looked around for his clothes.
“Yes?” She got up, and he admired the view while she pulled on some sweat pants and a T-shirt. Haloed in sunlight, she handed him his jeans.
He couldn’t leave like this, feeling as if things were unfinished between them. “Maybe we can go to dinner when I get back from New York.”
A challenging smile bounced his way before she answered. “Maybe we can.”
“You mentioned something about a former fiancé.” He’d given more than a few uneasy thoughts to the man she’d been engaged to. “Is the relationship over or just on hold?”
“Over.”
“Good. After last night, I mean...” The words dwindled away. He normally steered clear of married women, but he wasn’t the guardian of anyone’s morality. If someone committed to another relationship was willing to sleep with him, it was on her conscience, not his.
Why was he so pleased to confirm that Gracie’s conscience would be clear? He cleared his throat and wished he could clear his head as easily. “Good.”
Her fingers toyed with the heart-shaped charm nestling between her breasts. “What about you? Any entanglements or significant others waiting in New York?”
“Nothing serious.” The hazy image of Linc’s cousin waiting somewhere on his horizon vanished like the mist. He’d tell Natalie that the plan was a no-go. He took an unplanned step toward Gracie. Before he gathered her in his arms, a knock on the front door called her away.
“There’s an extra toothbrush on the sink,” she said over her shoulder as he headed for the bathroom.
“Police chief’s here.” She tapped on the door a few minutes later, her voice laced with concern. “He wants to see you.”
He rinsed toothpaste from his mouth. “Be right there.”
“I saw your car down at Turley’s,” Dylan overheard the sheriff saying after she’d returned to the other room. “He mentioned you’re looking for some reliable transportation.”
“You have something in mind?” Gracie rattled around in the kitchen, making coffee while they chatted.
“Did Nora tell you we’re selling the Blazer?”
“No. That’s just what I need, if the price is right. Tell Brenda I’ll stop by and take a look.”
Dylan stepped into the living room, almost stumbling over the large police chief’s feet. Ron Fleming crouched with his hat and a padded envelope in one hand, scratching MacDuff’s neck with the other. The dark uniform covering his enormous frame was rumpled, torn, and dirty from the long night’s work.
“’Morning.” Dylan offered the chief his hand.
“Sorry to intrude.” Pumping Dylan’s hand with a firm grip, Fleming cast the flicker of an apology in Gracie’s direction. She blushed on command. He had the weathered complexion and sharp-eyed look of a man who preferred sailing to deskwork. “Nora told me I might find you here.”
“Were you at the cabin all night?” Dylan asked.
“Yeah.” Rubbing a knuckle into a red-rimmed eye, the exhausted man stifled a yawn. “We ran into a couple surprises after you left.”
“Have a seat while I get the coffee,” Gracie said. “How do you take it?”
“The blacker the better.” He dropped into an overstuffed chair in the corner and dwarfed it with his super-size.
The aroma of fresh coffee filled the room as she poured out three mugs. Gracie handed one to Fleming, then sat the other two mugs on a trunk-turned-coffee table where the he had placed his hat and package. She dumped a mound of throw pillows off the couch before taking the spot beside Dylan. MacDuff wiggled into place between them.
Instead of turning to business, the sheriff stared at his coffee and swirled it around in the cup. Otherwise, he remained so still Dylan expected to hear him snore. If he had more questions about the fire, he’d better get to the point. Dylan stroked the dog’s ears and tapped an erratic beat against the brassbound trunk with his foot. “You said you needed to see me?”
Slowly, Fleming set the cup down and raised his eyes. “Until you showed up earlier this week, how long had it been since you were at the cabin?”
“Since before my father died… at least twenty-five years.”
“Who else from your family has been there during that time?”
“I don’t know.” Grandfather always said, “One thing that Bradfords learned early in life was how to predict bad news.” Right now, he could smell it in the air. He kept his expression blank, but MacDuff picked up on his internal tension. The animal transferred his chin from Gracie’s leg to Dylan’s. “Why?”
“The arson team uncovered human remains in the cabin’s cellar.”
Dylan’s stomach lurched.
Gracie let out a gasp. “Remains? How could anyone else have died? We were the only ones there.” Her hand crept forward and closed around Dylan’s, a comforting gesture that surprised him almost as much as the chief’s announcement.
“We won’t have a positive ID until we check dental records.” Fleming cleared his throat. “There isn’t much to work with.”
“Charred?” Gracie asked in a thin voice.
The chief shook his head grimly. “Bones.” His tired but perceptive blue eyes focused on Dylan. “Been there awhile.”
“Wouldn’t they have reduced to ash in the fire?” Dylan asked.
“It takes intense, concentrated heat to incinerate a skeleton,” Gracie told him.
“Yeah, and this one was shielded in an air pocket and protected behind some vent work. Not much down there, but the cellar was destroyed by water and smoke, not flame.”
“Was there anything left to speed identification?”
“A bit.”
Damned closed-mouth Down Easterners. “Anything you can tell us about?”
“I can show you.” He opened the lumpy envelope he’d carried in and emptied three clear plastic evidence bags onto the trunk.
One contained a tarnished silver charm bracelet. Another contained a gold cuff link. The remaining one held some kind of carpentry tool. The hair on the back of Dylan’s neck stood up as his gaze flicked over all three items before returning to the sickeningly familiar cuff link.
“The bracelet would have belonged to a woman,” Gracie mused. “I guess the cuff link could have, too, but a chisel?” Lifting the bag containing the bracelet, she fingered the charms through the plastic. Her face drained white before voicing the name Dylan dreaded hearing. She reached for his hand, and her grip cut off the circulation in his fingers. “This is Lana Harris’s bracelet, isn’t it?”
“It’s shaping up that way.”
“Oh, my God.” She pressed a hand to her heart. “Has anyone told Clay?”
“The M.E. will as soon as the remains are removed from the scene.”
“I’ve got to go to him.” She jumped up as if ready to leave at that very moment. “He’ll be devastated.”
Relieved to have her attention focused elsewhere, Dylan tore his gaze away from the evidence and forced himself to look at Gracie. He didn’t want to upset her with his problems until he was sure what they were. For all he knew, his suspicions were way off base. “You’re right. You should find Clayton.”
Fleming held up a hand up. “Not so fast. Is there anything else either one of you recognizes here?”
Dylan moved his gaze across the bags again, but Gracie reseated herself and leaned forward.
“The cuff link is engraved with the letter B,” Fleming pointed out.
Dylan’s heart contracted in his chest. “Is it?”
“Does it belong to someone in your family? Would you know if your dad or uncle had a set like this?”
“My dad, my uncles, my cousin. We all do. My grandmother gave them to all the Bradford males—hell, maybe to everyone she knew—when they graduated from prep school.”
“Does everyone in your family have both of theirs?”
“How would I know?” Dylan asked more belligerently than he meant to.
He took the police chief’s gruff “See if you can find out,” as an order rather than a suggestion.
Gracie picked up the bag with the rusty chisel. Initials were carved into the handle.
“CRL.” Through the plastic, she traced the letters with a little choking sound. Indignantly she sat up straighter and glared at the chief. “Is this Granddad’s?”
“I haven’t confirmed that.” Fleming scratched his ear as if the items before them presented nothing more than an intricate riddle rather than clues from a probable murder scene. Dylan couldn’t imagine that a similar crime had ever happened in East Langden before. “Nora said Chester gets out of the hospital today. I’ll stop by and ask him about it.”
Gracie bristled. “You know he doesn’t know anything about Lana’s disappearance.”
“I don’t know who knows what right now.” With short quick motions, he gathered the bags and returned them to the envelope. “But it should be interesting to find out.”
Not to me. Dylan watched Gracie escort Fleming to the door. He already knew a damn sight more about the cuff link than he wanted to.
As the patrol car disappeared down the drive, Gracie raced to the bedroom to throw on some clothes. “I’m sorry to leave, but I have to go find Clay.”
“I understand.”
Dylan must be as unsettled as she was by the morning’s news. How he could stand in the doorway and look so nonchalant, she didn’t know.
And then, instead of letting her say good-bye at the door and being done with it, he followed her to her grandfather’s truck.
He hooked his arm around her shoulders. “If you aren’t back by the time I leave, I’ll see you Sunday.”
“Okay.” She cautioned herself to keep it light. Keep it simple. Keep it quick.
He opened and closed the door for her, waiting while she lowered the window and adjusted the mirror, seat, and steering wheel. She turned to give him a fluttery wave, but he put his hand under her chin and kissed her, drawing his fingers over her cheek in a brief caress. “You have my number. Call or text if you learn anything about the fire or Clayton’s mother while I’m gone.” He paused and cleared his throat. “Call me if you need me.”
The suggestion that she might need him for any reason, and even more amazing, that he would respond if she did, stunned her into speechlessness. She gaped at him and groped blindly for the gearshift, refraining from comment.
He stuffed his hands in his pockets and studied the ground. “Shit.” He shook his head. “Maybe I shouldn’t leave.”
“You should.” For her own self-esteem, Gracie could never let him know how much she wanted him to stay. “There’s nothing pressing to do here, and if anything urgent comes up, I’ll let you know.”
“I could talk to the security guard from Old Maine.”
“He might not even be in town. I’ll keep on the lookout for him at the festival and talk to him if I get a chance.”
“I don’t know.” He scratched his chin, adorably reluctant. When he looked at her, really looked, his eyes held a heady combination of affection and concern. “I’ve got a bad feeling about this. Maybe you should leave it alone while I’m gone.”
“Okay,” she agreed readily enough.
He scowled. “You won’t. You’ll go off on your own and get into trouble. That’s why I should stay.”
“You may not believe this, but I take care of myself all the time. People come to me for help. I’m a doctor. And everyone here likes me. No one will hurt me.” She leaned out and kissed him to end the discussion—and because she wanted to. He tasted like morning and coffee and toothpaste and like someone all set to argue with her. She put the truck into gear without giving him a chance. Her smile froze at the thought of him flying to New York. “Be careful.”
“You be careful,” he countered as she rolled down the drive.
Sweet though his concern may be, she doubted he’d give her another thought once he was in the air and back among his friends. But all the way to Clay’s house, she worried about Dylan piloting himself and hoped he would think of her from time to time.
Chapter Twenty-one
Gracie turned down Clay’s tree-lined street in time to see the M.E.’s Ford Explorer driving away from the unassuming white clapboard house. As a friend of David’s, he visited often. Unfortunately, this morning’s visit wouldn’t have been a social call. She parked in the drive and hurried inside.
“Clay?” she called from the entryway. “David?”
“We’re in here, Gracie.” Clay stuck his head out the door of David’s bedroom.
She dashed down the hall, searching his pale and tense face as she moved. A world of pain and bewilderment swam behind his eyes.
“I just heard about your mother.” She gripped his arms with her hands and pulled him into a hug. “How’re you doing?”
“Better than David.” He nodded into the room and shook his head. “I’m worried about him. Will you get him a glass of water? I don’t want to leave him alone.”
“Be right back.”
In the kitchen, an abandoned breakfast littered the table. Toast had grown cold, granola soaked up milk in a bowl, and coffee cups sat forgotten on the table. Gracie filled a glass and returned to the bedroom.
“Here, David.” She hid her concern behind a smile. Under an ashen complexion, he appeared to have aged ten years overnight. She lifted his head and held the glass to his lips.
“Give him this.” Clay handed her a small white tablet.
David accepted the drink and the pill but didn’t acknowledge Gracie’s presence. He tossed his head back and forth as if grappling with unseen forces. “She was at the cabin all this time. How could I not have known?”
“It’s not your fault,” Clay soothed. “No one knew.”
The old man grasped the younger one’s hand. “He knew. The killer knew.”
“Try to rest,” Clay said. “Let the police get to the bottom of it.”
Gracie pulled the blinds, plumped the pillows, and straightened the blankets on the bed. She had expected David to be comforting Clay, not the other way around. Of course, with his precarious health, any shock could be a hazard. After a few more fretful moments, he slipped into a fretful doze. Clay drew up a rocker beside the bed and slumped into it.
“That sedative will knock him out for a while,” he said.
Gracie rested her hip against the end of the bed. “I was worried about you. I didn’t think David would take the news this hard.”
“I guess hearing she’d been found brought it all back for him.” He leaned his head back and stared out the window.
“But how do you feel?”
“Numb, I guess. Dealing with David gave me a good excuse to delay facing the facts. How did you find out?”
“I was at the Bradford cabin last night when the fire broke out. This morning, Chief Fleming came by to notify Dylan about what they’d discovered.”
He plowed both hands through his hair making it stick up all over. “I keep picturing her in that old cellar, cold, alone.” He swallowed and shook his head. “Dead for so long. When David told me yesterday that he suspected Matthew Bradford of killing her, I didn’t believe it, but now...” He turned his head toward her. “Does Dylan still doubt that his father was involved with my mother?”
“I don’t know what he thinks.”
“Doc Harvey said there was evidence to identify her. Do you know what it is?”
“Her charm bracelet.” Gracie blinked to hold back her tears. “Remember? It had those little scissors on it from when she graduated from beauty school and that little bootie with your birth date. A lobster. And a Statue of Liberty. She always let me play with it when she cut my hair.”
“It had a four-leaf clover for good luck.” Clay slumped further down in the chair and covered his eyes with his hand. “I should have assumed she was dead, but I always believed she’d come home with some outlandish explanation about where she’d been.” He threaded his fingers together. “Yesterday... After I found out about the money... David believed Matthew had set it up, but I hoped my mother had been providing it somehow. Crazy, huh?”
“I know how you feel.” She reached out to pat his shoulder. “The Navy assured us that my father couldn’t possibly be alive, but I still watch television programs about POW’s and MIAs, hoping to spot him. No matter how old or smart or responsible we become, there’ll always be the abandoned child inside us praying for the parent to return.”
“Of course, you understand. You always do.”
“We’ve been through all of it together. That’s what friends do, you know.”
He stood and wrapped her in his arms, giving and taking comfort at what had to be some of the worst moments of his life.
After a moment, she stepped back and wiped her eyes. “I keep thinking there should be something I can do for you. Is there?”
A thousand emotions flickered across his face until it settled into one of resolve. “Would you stay with David for a while?”
Her eyes widened. “Well, sure, but where are you going?”
“It seems wrong to be sitting here, doing nothing, when I finally know where Mom is. I want to talk to Ron and find out what he knows. It may not help, but I can rattle some cages and try to wrap my mind around the situation before I explode.”
Familiar with his need for activity in moments of stress, she didn’t object. “I’m happy to help any way I can.”
“I know you are, sweetheart.” He cupped her chin in his hand and kissed her on the cheek. “Thanks for always being here for me.”
After Clay left, David slept fitfully.
Gracie watched over him with the patience she’d learned while her mother lay dying in this very room. David’s restlessness, frailty, and uneven breathing brought back painful memories of anxiety and sadness. Eventually, the old wounds turned to the fire, the discovery of Lana’s body, and the hours she had spent with Dylan.
Dylan. Her face warmed just thinking his name, but she feared she’d made a terrible mistake. Not by sleeping with him, that was a pleasure she would never regret. How have I become so crazy about him in such a short time? Despite her actions of the night before, she never indulged in light affairs, and light, emotionless affairs were his calling card.
Maybe the best she could hope for was that he never learned how much the episode meant to her. Keeping things going forward on an easy and uncomplicated level had been her goal throughout the morning.
She wasn’t completely sure that she loved him. Only that she didn’t want to. No matter what, she couldn’t imagine anything permanent in their future. When he left for the last time, she’d smile him on his way or die trying. Even if her heart left with him.
Maybe this break would give her time to sort through her feelings and get her equilibrium back. But his departure left her more unsettled instead of less. If only he weren’t flying.
A breeze drifted through the screen and pulled her toward the window. She craned her neck in search of a plane, but nothing except fluffy white clouds filled the vivid blue sky.
After checking on David again, she made a low-voiced call. At the other end of the line, Gran fretted over the fire at the cabin and expressed concern for David and Clay. Gracie asked if she could get along without her for a while.
“Of course, dear. David and Clay need you more than I do today.”
“What about Granddad? Since I took the truck this morning and left your car at the cabin last night, you don’t even have a ride to the hospital.”
“Dylan volunteered to take me to the car when he goes to meet the insurance investigator.”
“He’s still there?” Maybe he wasn’t going to leave after all. Stop that, she ordered her racing heart. Of course, he was leaving.
“He brought his bags down earlier, but hasn’t left yet. He said he had to make some phone calls first.”
She tried to swallow her disappointment, but it stuck in her throat like a fish bone.
“I’ll stall your grandfather as long as I can, but if you aren’t at the hospital by noon, I’ll send for the ambulance.”
“He won’t like that,” Gracie warned.
“No, but he’ll be so glad to leave the hospital that he’d let me roll him home like a bowling ball if I need to.”
Gracie smiled, imagining the sight as she replaced the receiver, but her smile disappeared as David’s agitation returned. She checked the time. Too soon to re-administer the sedative.
When he spoke, he slurred his words. “Is it true? Did they find Lana this morning?” Reaching for Gracie, his fingers gripped her wrist.
“Yes,” she said in a calm voice.
With each labored breath, he shrank a little more. “Where’s Clay?”
“He’ll be back soon.” She leaned closer to him. “Is there something you want? Anything I can do?”
“No, no.” Distress marched across his features. “I wanted to tell him... I should have done something.”
She made shushing sounds. “It wasn’t your fault. There wasn’t anything you could have done to prevent it.”
“I should have told someone.” His head thrashed from side to side. “She made me promise not to tell, but I should have anyway.”
“David, please.” Taking his wrist, she checked his pulse. “You know Lana wouldn’t have wanted you to break a confidence. You couldn’t do that, as a doctor or a friend.”
“But if I told the police chief about the baby…” His breathing labored again. “He’d have questioned Matthew. When he died the next week… It was already too late.”
Baby? Lana was pregnant when she died? With her heart pounding, she froze, hoping he’d reveal more. Hoping he wouldn’t. Resuming the soothing noises that comforted him, Gracie straightened his covers and smoothed his limp silver hair from his forehead. But her brain had stalled at the startling announcement.
Dylan didn’t want to believe his father had indulged in a fling with Clayton’s mother. He’d be devastated to discover the affair had lasted for years. Her heart hurt for him just thinking about it.
David continued to mutter and argue with himself until he drifted into another fitful sleep. Gracie considered telling Clay when he came back. Surely it was David’s place to tell him, not hers. If the old man seemed stronger, less distressed later, maybe they could tell Clay together. But that seemed unlikely.
The decision was taken out of her hands by the arrival of Ethel Brady. “Clay sent me to sit with the doctor. He said you’d be reluctant to leave, but he told me where to find David’s heart medication and the sedative, so you can leave him in my hands.”
Gracie remained planted. “He’s been rambling. Talking out of his head.”
The nurse moved around the room with the precision of a drill sergeant. “I’ve sat by bedsides plenty of times. I know when to listen to a patient and when to ignore one. And I also know your grandmother could use some help today. Did you know Chester’s been released from the hospital?” Ethel took Gracie’s arm and escorted her to the door. “You run along now.”
Only in East Langden did anyone still treat Gracie like a ten-year-old. She found herself on the porch outside without having a chance to argue the point further.
Dylan propped his back against Gracie’s door, stretched his legs out in front of him, and waited for her to return. The door was unlocked and he could go inside, but it was a gorgeous day. He had plenty to think about, and after talking to the authorities at the cabin all afternoon, he smelled about as bad as he had after the fire. Better to wait on the landing than invade her apartment without invitation.
He should be long gone. But during a phone conversation where he brought Uncle Arthur up to speed on the details about the cabin, insurance claims, the recovered bones, and local speculation about Lana, he’d realized he didn’t want to leave Gracie or East Langden at all.
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?
