Текст книги "Daring Dylan "

Автор книги: Jacie Floyd

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Текущая страница: 13 (всего у книги 20 страниц)

“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.”

Chapter Twenty-two

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.”

Nothing serious? Who did he think he was kidding? Apparently, like Baxter, Dylan didn’t let the technicality of having a fiancée hamper his style.

Was she one of the “details” which kept him tied here for the weekend? Probably not. Since he was going to be around anyway and she made it so easy for him, he wouldn’t see any reason not to continue screwing her.

She felt like such a fool.

No matter how much her experience with Baxter had taught her about bastards like Dylan, here she was, right back in the same situation. Only this time, she was the other woman instead of the gullible fiancée.

His footsteps sounded in the hall. She composed herself before he stuck his big fat, deceitful face inside the room.

Stepping in, he greeted her grandfather first. “Looks like you’re feeling better, sir.” Turning to Gracie, he flashed her a possessive smile, one loaded with male satisfaction and desire as well as promises of secret pleasures remembered and those yet to come. “Gracie, you ready to go?”

“Sure.” Using all her willpower, she resisted the urge to rip his smug eyes out, then and there.

Chapter Twenty-three

Gracie dropped a kiss on her grandfather’s forehead. “You behave now.”

She brushed past Dylan and bolted down the hall. Outside, she headed for the B&B truck while he veered toward his. He detoured and caught her in the middle of the drive.

“Hey, what’s the rush?” He curled a hand around her neck to bring her mouth toward his. “I missed you.”

Ducking away from the kiss, she withdrew from the playful, affectionate gesture that came so naturally to him, but meant so little.

“I thought we were riding together.” His mouth pulled down in a puzzled frown.

“Change of plans.” She dug in her purse for her keys.

“Why?”

Should she play the role of injured party? No, she didn’t play roles well. Her chin jerked up. “There was a report on the network news about the fire at the cabin.”

“Sorry, I should have warned you about that.” He grimaced and reached out to pull her into his arms. Gracie stiffened and sidestepped him. “Are you worried about running into reporters? Because if you are—”

“That’s not it.”

“Then what?”

Now that the moment of truth had arrived, she found it harder to accuse him of cheating than she’d expected. Harder than it had been to confront Baxter. Still, she rose to the challenge. “There was also an interview with your fiancée.”

“Fiancée?” His deep voice climbed up a notch. His shock appeared genuine, she’d give him points for that. But then, how many times had Baxter looked her straight in the eye and told her he’d been working when he’d really been working his way through the newest crop of medical residents? “What in the hell are you talking about?”

Cheating was bad enough, but lying made it worse. Throat constriction almost prevented her from speaking. “Think hard.” She pushed past him, moving toward the Liberty House truck. “I’m sure the name will come to you.”

He stood in the middle of the drive with his hands spread wide. “I don’t have a clue.”

“Gorgeous blond… angelic features… neck like a damn swan. Does that narrow it down for you?”

“Maya Griffin?” He followed close behind her.

“Bingo. You got it in one.” She climbed into the truck, eager to put a physical barrier between them. He reached out a hand to stop her, and she felt a moment of bloodthirsty anticipation, picturing his fingers smashed in the doorframe. Fortunately, he managed to pull them away before she slammed the door.

Not that I wanted to hurt him. She pressed the lock. Not really. Or she wouldn’t want to as soon as this first wave of humiliation, betrayal, and heart-wrenching pain passed. And that should be any minute. Hopefully before the appeal of running him down in the driveway transformed from a fleeting fantasy into reality.

He tapped on the window then cupped his hands around his mouth like a megaphone. “She’s not my fiancée.”

Gracie shot him a scathing look of disbelief and revved the engine.

“Roll down the window. Let me explain.”

Damn him, no. It wasn’t going to be that easy. “Later. I have to go to the festival now.”

With shaky hands, she threw the truck into gear. Dylan jumped off the running board and ran to the Navigator. As she turned toward town, he turned right behind her.

She put her mind on focusing and reviewing the list of chores she had to attend to before manning the ice cream booth, but her gaze kept drifting to her rearview mirror. Gracie pulled into the church parking lot, and Dylan pulled into the spot opposite her. Ignoring him, she darted inside to check on half a dozen last minute details, hoping he’d give up and leave her alone.

When she had done everything but wash the windows and scrub the floors, she couldn’t delay any longer. She returned outside to discover Dylan talking to Jake Armstrong at the bottom of the steps. Or rather, Dylan listening to Jake talk.

“Saw it on TV,” Jake boomed. “Haven’t had time to run out there, myself, but your camp looks like a dead loss.”

Dylan trained his gaze on Gracie.

“And poor Lana Harris,” Jake continued. “I guess there wasn’t much left of her either.”

Dylan hooked Gracie’s elbow as she edged around them, impervious to the scathing look she shot at him.

“Hello, Gracie,” Jake acknowledged. “Great weather for the festival, isn’t it? Lulu’s heating up the first kettle of chowder for our booth now. You two should stop by for some. On the house.”

“Thanks, Jake. I’m sure Dylan would love to, but I’ll be busy at the ice-cream booth.” Intending to put distance between herself and the two men, she started moving. “Excuse me, please. I need to get over there.”

Dylan’s grip on her arm tightened as she tried to jerk away from him. “See you later,” he said to Jake.

“I’ll go with you.” He lumbered along beside them. “Did you see the piece about the fire on TV, Gracie? I was telling Dylan that’s the first time East Langden’s made the national news since his father died.”

“I saw it.”

“Did you see his fiancée on Secret Edition? She’s a real looker. Who’d have thought it, eh? Not that he’d have a looker for a girlfriend, but that he was engaged.” He poked Dylan in the side. “Awful closed-mouthed about that news, eh?”

“We’re not engaged.” Dylan continued to hang onto Gracie despite her efforts to escape.

She didn’t want him touching her. Not now, not ever again.

“A dazzling girl,” Jake went on. “Blond, beautiful, a bit bony for my taste, but that’s the way those models are, I guess. She’d be a tasty treat for any man, am I right?”

“She is a bit bony,” Dylan agreed.

Gracie took pains not to peruse her own body, which would look positively round next to the slender, elegant lines of the fashion model. She wasn’t in competition with anyone. Jealousy wasn’t making her so furious. It was Dylan’s deceit that made her want to scratch his eyes out.

She may have to put up with the men’s company, but she didn’t have to talk or listen to them. Humming a happy tune, she acted as if she didn’t have a care in the world and their conversation interested her not in the least. Which it didn’t.

She took a deep breath as they neared the streets blocked off for the festival. Nothing else smelled as good as the Spring Blossom Festival.

Flowers bloomed everywhere, their scent heavy in the air. Salty ocean spray added a tang to the mix of food booths that offered everything from Lulu’s lobster chowder to common street fare like corn dogs and cotton candy. Gracie associated the unique combination of aromas with East Langden and home. Unfortunately, the man attached to her like a barnacle threatened to ruin the moment. She hummed louder and increased her speed, enough to leave Jake gasping at the pace. Which rendered him blessedly silent.

“Where’s your booth?” Dylan asked Gracie as they neared the waterfront.

“Just here,” Jake answered, pointing to Lulu’s spot across the street. He lumbered off in that direction. “Don’t forget to drop by later.”

The church’s booth stood farther down the block. As much as Jake’s steady chatter had grated on her nerves, Gracie liked Dylan’s sole company even less. She pressed onward with the determination of MacDuff after a woodchuck.

He pulled her to a stop beside a picnic table. “Hang on a second,” he commanded. “We’re going to talk about this.”

The booths around the docks buzzed with volunteers preparing for the expected crush. Not too many festivalgoers thronged the area yet, but enough of Gracie’s friends and neighbors were within sight to make her hesitant about creating a scene.

“Okay, talk.” She looked at her watch. He took a seat on the middle of the plank bench, and Gracie perched at the far end. “You have five minutes.”

“She’s not my fiancée.”

She wondered if he was always that tenacious or just that practiced of a liar. “Do you have any kind of relationship with her?”

“We went out a few times,” he admitted. “It was mutually beneficial, but never serious, never exclusive.”

“Why do people think otherwise?”

“We went to a movie premier together, a couple of charity events, things like that. Places where there were photographers. They liked the pairing of Dylan and the Diva, I guess. Maya liked the publicity.” With each sentence, he inched along the bench toward her. “I’d just as soon the media not discuss the details of my private life. But they’re going to anyway, and my mother always advised ignoring it. Trying to set them straight usually makes it worse.”

Damn. She wished she didn’t believe him. “There’s no engagement, no understanding between the two of you?” She wanted to leave no room for further misunderstandings.

“None. Did Maya say we were engaged?”

She took a moment to think back to the model’s exact comments. Directly beside her now, he settled an arm around her shoulders. His closeness fogged her thoughts. “No.”

“Believe me, if we were engaged, Maya would announce it with fanfare.”

“She wants to be married, but you don’t?” Not completely reassured, she allowed him to keep his arm around her.

“She wants my money and my fame. And I might want to be married, but not to Maya.” He touched a finger to her chin. “Maybe someday, to—” He tipped her chin upward, his mouth hovering above hers. “Someone else.” He finished the thought with a kiss.

“To someone like Maya?” Gracie asked against his mouth.

“Nothing like her.”

She believed him and let him kiss her the way he seemed to want to, the way she wanted. And she didn’t remain aloof. She couldn’t. His kiss gave too much for that, demanded too much from her. She kissed him and kissed him until she could no longer breathe.

They pulled apart to discover a group of Gracie’s friends and neighbors gathered around watching. Cheering, actually. A couple of them had cell phones in hand, recording the moment. And unfortunately, a stranger with a professional camera took aim just a few feet away.

“Damn.” Dylan turned her away from the spectators, hiding her face in his shoulder. “Welcome to my world.”

Jumping up, he pulled her along with him. She had no idea where they were headed, only that they were headed there fast. The townspeople dispersed, going about their business. The photographer tried to follow, but Dylan zigged and zagged an erratic path through the booths. A little way along the block, he looked over his shoulder before ducking into McStone’s.

“We don’t have time for a beer,” she objected.

“Diversionary tactic.” Standing in the shadows, he watched out the window until the photographer passed by. Dylan turned toward the bar and Guidry. “Is your waitress here?”

Guidry shook his head. “Nell has the night off.” He crossed his anvil-sized arms and eyed Dylan suspiciously. “Why?”

“Gracie needs a change of clothes.” The two men studied her as if she were an alien species. “You sell T-shirts or anything?”

“We’re selling festival sweatshirts, like everybody else in town.” Guidry reached under the bar and pulled out a purple one.

“Great.” Dylan took the garment and slipped it on over her tangerine-colored T-shirt. “What do you have that will hide her hair?”

“How about a cloth napkin?” Gracie suggested.

Guidry unrolled some silverware from a black square and tossed it to Dylan.

Standing in front of her, he tried to hold her hair back while tying the cloth. When tendrils of hair escaped down one side, he scooped them up and tried again, only to repeat the exercise on the other side. With her chest pressed against his, she smiled as his frustration grew.

Finally, he thrust the napkin into her hands and turned her away from him. “You tie. I’ll gather.”

With a hand behind each of her ears, he stroked his fingers through her hair much more sensually than doing the job required. She focused on his face in the mirror above the bar as he concentrated on pulling her hair back. When she lifted her arms to tie the napkin like a kerchief, she was very aware of his heat surrounding her, his breath fanning her neck. And of Guidry watching them.

“Chances are that bottom-feeder doesn’t know what you look like,” Dylan said. “He only caught a glimpse of you. If you go out there on your own, maybe he won’t recognize you.”

“On my own?”

“We should separate for the time being. Maybe he’ll shove off now that he has a picture.” His gaze shifted toward the window again. “Hmmm.”

“What?”

“I thought I saw someone I recognized.” He craned his neck to see down the block. “I’m going to check it out.” He dropped a kiss on her lips. “How long will you be working at the church booth?”

“A couple of hours.”

“I’ll catch up with you later,” he said, closing the door behind him.

Dylan trailed the flashy blonde down the street, trying to keep her in sight without being obvious. He hadn’t seen his father’s press secretary in about ten years, but having Karen Hammonds show up in East Langden like this was too weird. What the hell could she want in this sleepy little town, so far away from the notoriety she craved?

She turned the corner and threw him an inviting look over her shoulder. Like she intended for him to see and follow her. More and more weird since there was no love lost between Karen and the remaining Bradfords.

From all reports, his father had been amply satisfied with her professional efforts on his behalf. But for years after his death, other trusted staff members had pointed the finger at Karen as the instigator of some shady campaign tactics. His mother characteristically kept mum on the subject.

In the past few years, Karen had drifted from one campaign to another. Just recently, she’d made news by writing a tell-all about life in the political world. Hints leaked out regularly about the “inside” information she planned to reveal. But Dylan hoped she had fresher material to write about than his father.

He stopped at the corner when he realized he’d lost her. He studied both sides of the street without spotting the vibrant yellow dress she’d been wearing. Maybe the whole incident had been his imagination. He didn’t think so and set off to look more closely.

“Dylan!” Chief Fleming called his name. “Hold up there.”

Reluctantly, he turned. “What’s up, Chief?”

“Want to step inside headquarters for a minute?”

Dylan scanned the street and crowds again. Still no sign of Karen. “Sure.” He followed the man up the steps and into the historic red brick building.

Inside a cluttered and shabby office with a stuffed moose head on the wall, the police chief propped his feet on his desk. Dylan took the visitor’s seat across from him.

“Just wanted you to know,” Fleming began, “we may have an identity on the arsonist.”

“That fast? How’d that happen?”

The police chief frowned. “We have studied modern investigative techniques, you know. We rely heavily on smoke signals and secret decoder rings. But sometimes, we get lucky.”

“No offense. You’re doing a great job under trying circumstances. But frankly, I thought locating the arsonist would take a backseat to catching Lana Harris’s murderer.”

“We’ll do what we can for Clayton’s sake, but with a murder that old...” The chief shrugged. “There isn’t much of a trail.”

“Is the firebug from around here? How’d you catch him?”

A grin split the weary face. “It was mostly just dumb luck.”