Daring Dylan (The Billionaire Brotherhood Book 2) (17 page)

“Set up the
testing, and I’ll submit to it.” He just wished the agreement didn’t seem like
a betrayal of both his parents.

The breath
whooshed out of Gracie in a gasp of surprise. She looked at Dylan with dazed
admiration, like he’d single-handedly colonized the moon and patented
calorie-free chocolate all in the same day.

Clayton
looked more puzzled than elated. “What are you up to now?”

Now that
he’d gotten a taste for fighting, Dylan would have liked nothing better than to
blacken Clayton’s other eye, the ungrateful jerk.

“I spoke
with my sister this morning.” Dylan swallowed the fifty-pound boulder lodged in
his throat. “We agree that it’s the best way to settle the situation. One way
or another.”

“But you
still don’t believe you have a bastard half-brother, do you?” If a look could
be used as a steamroller, Clay was attempting to flatten Dylan with a glare.

“My
disbelief has more to do with my opinion of my father than of you.”

Clayton
seethed, probably preparing a verbal attack, if not a physical one, until
Gracie jumped in. “How long will it take DNA results to come back from the lab,
Clayton?”

He
shrugged. “A couple of days, depending on how busy the lab is.”

“Is there
any way to speed that up? We can keep searching for something definitive in the
meantime, Dylan.”

“We?”
Clayton’s eyes filled with hurt and anger. “All of a sudden you and Dylan are
‘we.’”

“In this
one instance only.”

“Gracie,
come on.” Her friend circled her wrist with his fingers. “You know you can’t
trust him. We’ve already talked about his reputation, but there’s more that you
should know.”

“If there’s
more to know about your mother and Dylan’s father, then you should tell us.”
She removed her arm from his grasp. “I’ll always value your opinion and take it
into consideration before I make up my own mind.”

Dylan
waited for Clayton to reveal any other secrets he harbored behind those steely
blue eyes.
Bradford blue, damn it
.

Clay opened
and closed his mouth like an asthmatic fish, but said nothing. Before Dylan
could decide what it would take to get him to spill whatever he knew, Tanya
sashayed up and made herself at home.

“Jeezo
Pete.” She set her tray down and gingerly poked the swelling around Clayton’s
eye then glanced at Dylan. “You two look like you were run over by the same
truck.”

“Or
motorcycle gang,” Dylan suggested.

“I know
Clay’s too stubborn to accept help, Gracie, but I thought Dylan would be smart
enough to let you take care of him.” Tanya dropped into the empty seat.

“I don’t
need anyone to take care of me,” Dylan objected. “I’m in perfect physical
condition.” He flexed his arm to show off muscles that bulged like a
bodybuilder’s.

Tanya
tested for firmness. “God, you’re right. It’s like concrete. You’re lucky to
still be walking, Clay.”

Clayton
relaxed his clenched fist with visible effort and pushed away from the table.
“Talk to you later, Gracie. I’ll check into requesting DNA tests when I go back
to the office.” He turned on his heel and stalked away, avoiding eye contact
with Tonya and Dylan before he left.

“Was it
something I said?” Tanya looked the picture of wide-eyed innocence.

“Isn’t it
always?”

“No, it
could’ve been something Dylan said. Besides, even though you were the only one
Clay actually spoke to, I had the impression you weren’t exactly on his good
side either.”

“Does he
have one?” Dylan asked.

“Oh, yes,”
the two women said in unison.

“Where does
he keep it?”

“Behind
that grumpy exterior,” Gracie said.

“And he
wears that lab coat like a magic cape to hide his vulnerabilities and fears,”
Tanya added. “He’s never had it easy, you know.”

Who has?
Most people would think Dylan had. Almost
everyone but Wyatt and Ryan thought so because no one bothered to look beneath
the surface. Of course, he never invited anyone to. And on the surface, he
looked like one lucky son of a bitch.

“He’s
really a good man at heart.” Gracie pressed her hand to Dylan’s arm.

He covered
her fingers with his. She looked down at their entwined hands for a moment
before peeking up at him with a look that went straight to his heart.

“Oh, ho!”
Tanya’s attention bounced between them like a ping-pong ball. “It’s like that,
is it?”

“Like
what?” Gracie should never try to play poker. Bluffing was obviously not her
strong suit.

“You know.”
Tanya’s voice held a world of implication. “No wonder Clay was upset.” Then her
face fell. “Poor Clay.”

Dylan had
heard enough about ‘poor Clay.’

Dylan
looked at his watch and spared Gracie from making a response. “Do you think
your grandfather’s ready for company? I have an appointment at three.”

“Something
you need my help with?” Gracie perked up.

He’d like
to have her assistance if that meant spending the afternoon blocking out
everything else, but he refrained from suggesting it. She had plenty of things
to do besides keep him company.

“Nothing
interesting.” He pushed his chair back and stood. “I’m meeting a plumber and an
electrician at the cabin.”

Gracie jumped
to her feet. “I thought you couldn’t get anyone lined up until next week.”

“Mayor
Thompson put me in touch with some guys this morning. I started cleaning the
place yesterday. Once the plumbing and electricity are working, I can make more
headway.”

“That’s
great,” she said, already on the move. “See ya later, Tanya.”

When they
reached her grandfather’s room, Gracie checked her step in the doorway, forcing
Dylan to stop behind her.

Amid a
jungle of potted greenery and bouquets of flowers, with the sun shining
brightly on her silvery hair, Mrs. Lattimer read aloud from
The Old Man and the Sea
. Her husband had
his head tilted toward her, but his gaze focused on the block of wood and knife
in his hands. A newspaper with the wood shavings curled over its surface
covered his lap.

Dylan
waited behind Gracie for the weathered face to look up. Deep brown, intelligent
eyes, just like Gracie’s, crinkled with pleasure.

“Come on in
if you’re comin’.” He waved them into the room. “If I’m gonna be stuck here
another day, I might as well have company.”

“And not
just me, Granddad.” Gracie crossed the room to kiss the top of his bald head.
“I’ve brought Dylan Bradford to meet you.”

“Excellent
idea, Gracie.” Mrs. Lattimer laid her book aside. “Hello, Dylan.”

“Hello,
Mrs. Lattimer. How do you do, sir?” With his hand out, Dylan advanced through
some steely scrutiny.

Luckily for
Dylan, the old man put down the knife before clasping hands. “Clay says I could
be better, but I won’t be until I’m home.”

“I
understand your eagerness to get back to Liberty House,” Dylan said.

Gracie’s
grandfather ran practiced fingers over the sailboat he’d carved. Even while
studying Dylan, he managed to scrape the sharp-edged blade along the miniature
hull with flawless expertise. “Bradford, huh? You’ve got the look about you,
all right.”

Out of the
corner of his eye, Dylan noticed Gracie sneaking a peek at the medical chart on
the door.

He moved
forward to stand at the foot of the old man’s bed. “I understand you know some
of my family, sir.”

“Ay-uh.”
Mr. Lattimer used the down-eastern affirmative. “Worked at Old Maine for your
grandfather, your father, and your uncles. Fine men.”

“Thank you,
sir. They thought a lot of the people of East Langden, too.”

Mr.
Lattimer shook his head while pushing the knife’s edge along the sail.
“Carpentry was more than work to me, but the factory was just a business to
them. Leastways, they closed it when it suited them and never looked back.”

“I always
believed your father would have acted differently if he had lived.” Mrs.
Lattimer settled her glasses more firmly on her nose. “But Arthur lost heart
for furniture-making after Matthew died.”

“He told me
the factory was losing money and closing it down was merely a business
decision.” Dylan watched their reaction to his uncle’s version of the story.

The couple
exchanged skeptical glances, and the old man scowled. “Did he now?”

“Do you
know differently?” Dylan asked. “How much did you know about the financial end
of the business?”

“Not much,
but I know we were turning a profit up until the day they closed the doors on
us, leaving a lot of good people out in the cold.”

“Fact or
speculation?”

The knife
blade passed slowly along the slope of the wood several times before Mr.
Lattimer answered. “Nora’s cousin, Edwin Moss, was the plant manager.”

Dylan’s
gaze searched out Gracie. She tucked the chart under her arm and drew near the
bed.

“Where is
Edwin Moss now?” he asked. “Would he be willing to see us?”

“He took a
job down in Portland after the factory closed. When he retired, he moved back
here. I doubt he’d be much use to you.”

“He’s been
in Rosewood Nursing Home with Alzheimer’s for the last few years,” Mrs.
Lattimer explained. “We go to visit him once a month, but he seldom recognizes
us.”

“Who was
the local bookkeeper or accountant?” Gracie asked.

“Shannon
Morrisey.” Mr. Lattimer looked to his wife. “She was a friend of Marlene’s who
went to work for Old Maine right out of business school. Only worked there for
a few years before they closed. Do you know what became of her, Nora?”

“Oh my,
Shannon Morrisey. I’d forgotten about her.” Mrs. Lattimer worried her bottom
lip before continuing. “I believe she married an insurance salesman and moved
out west. Denver, maybe. Is it important?”

“Probably
not.” No point letting them see his disappointment over yet another dead end.
“I guess it doesn’t matter so much
why
Old Maine closed.” Unless his uncle had lied or misled him about it for some
reason. But Dylan wasn’t sure how that information fit in with all the rest.
“But closing the plant seems to have worked out well for you.”

“Ay-uh, it
did. I was master carpenter there, but I prefer being my own boss.”

“Lots of
people do.” Gracie moved to take her grandfather’s pulse.

The old man
pulled his wrist out of her grasp and took her hand in his. “Let me be, missy,”
he grumbled. “Clay’s my doctor, not you.”

“Master
carpenter,” Dylan repeated. “Sounds important. Did you know my father well?”

“Well
enough.”

“How often
did he come here?”

“About once
a month. Sometimes more. Less after his election to the Senate, of course.”

“Who came
in his place after that?” Gracie pushed her grandfather’s shoulder forward to
fluff his pillow.

He frowned
at her continued fussing and settled back, but Dylan caught the look of
fondness the old man cast toward her. “One of his brothers, usually. Tommy or
Arthur.”

“How often
did any of them come here unrelated to work?”

“They came
down to sail or fish some. But if they didn’t stop in at the factory, I usually
didn’t see ‘em.”

“They often
stopped at the bakery,” Mrs. Lattimer offered. “Tommy especially had a fondness
for my snickerdoodles.”

“Snickerdoodles,
huh?” He flicked a hot glance toward Gracie and smiled. “I’d like to try
those.”

“Did you
ever see any of them around at a time or place you wouldn’t have expected to?”
Gracie asked her grandparents, but her cheeks colored at the look from Dylan.

Mrs.
Lattimer frowned. “Are you asking about their relationship to Lana?”

“Or
anything unusual you might remember.”

The old
couple sealed their lips in exact replicas of one another.

“We’re not
asking you to gossip, Gran. We’re asking you to help Clay.”

Mrs.
Lattimer features relaxed slightly. “I really don’t recall anything useful. Do
you, Chester?”

“No.”

Just
Dylan’s luck. Two of the few lucid people still living with a good opportunity
to have witnessed his family’s activities would have to be as closed-mouthed as
clams. “I saw the picture Mrs. Lattimer took of Gracie with my father the day
he died. Is that the last time either one of you saw him?”

“Chester
wasn’t there that day, were you, dear? If he had been, he would have gotten
Cuddles out of the tree for Gracie.”

“The last
time I saw him was the Saturday before that,” Mr. Lattimer said. “I always
regretted not getting a chance to talk to him.”

“Why didn’t
you, Granddad?”

“I went to
the factory that night to get a tool I needed. I was making a cradle for Tricia
Schultz. Remember that, Nora?” He waited for his wife’s head nod. “Tricia saw a
picture of a fancy British nursery in a magazine and nothing would do for her
but that I duplicate the cradle. She’s one of our godchildren, so I told her
I’d try even though she hadn’t left me much time. The baby was due within a
couple of weeks.”

“So, you
went to the factory on a Saturday night?” Dylan asked. “And my father was
there?”

“When I
pulled into the parking lot, I saw him closing his car trunk. I thought he’d
see me driving up and wait. But by the time I parked the truck, his taillights
were disappearing down the road.”

“If you
only saw him at a distance, late at night,” Gracie said, “how do you know it
was Dylan’s father?”

Mr.
Lattimer harrumphed. “I guess I’d recognize that cream-colored Mercedes of his,
shinin’ like a pearl in the moonlight.”

Dylan
remembered that land yacht. A beauty and hard to mistake. His mother had kept
it at the Connecticut house, even after they moved to New York. “Are you sure
it was the week before he died?”

Mr.
Lattimer looked to his wife for confirmation.

“That fits
with Gretchen’s Halloween birthday,” Mrs. Lattimer said.

Dylan’s
glance sought Gracie’s across the room. She seemed to be trying to fit the
pieces together, too. “The same weekend Lana disappeared.”

“Ay-uh, it
was.” The old man’s head bobbed up and down like a buoy at sea. “The next day
David came by with young Clay in tow. He left the boy with us while he filed
the missing person report on Lana. You and Clay helped me plane the cradle
rockers, remember that?”

Dylan’s
stomach lurched over the coincidence that placed his father in the vicinity on
the night of Lana Harris’s disappearance. His throat constricted, cutting off
any comment he might have made.

“Of
course.” Gracie chose to steer the conversation down a more innocuous road. “I
always loved helping you in the workshop. After you come home, you’ll have to
show it to Dylan. I’ll bet he’s never seen anything like it.”

“It’s not
much compared to the setup we had at Old Maine.” Mr. Lattimer shrugged. “But it
suits my needs.”

“I peeked
inside the other day.” Dylan understood from Gracie’s veiled look that she
wanted him to give the questions a rest. “But I didn’t know what half the stuff
was. And I could sure use some carpentry advice before I tackle my cabin.”

“Have you
been down to the dock? The last time I was out that way it looked in need of
repair. Getting the cabin in livable condition must be your top priority, but
the dock could be dangerous if someone tried to put a boat in down there.”

“I’ll check
it out this afternoon. I have a lot of good memories of sailing and boating with
my dad.”

Gracie
scanned the medical chart again, then checked her watch and pushed a button.

A nurse
Gracie knew from high school entered and took the chart from Gracie. “Gracie,
I’m glad you’re here,” she said. “Did you know Mindy’s back in the hospital?”
The woman picked up Chester’s arm and wrapped it in a blood pressure cuff. “I
was hoping you can stop by and see her. You know, not as a
doctor
, since you’re not licensed in this state, just as a friend.”

“Is it her
asthma again, Gina?”

“Yep. Every
time we think she’s doing fine, it flares up again, and she doesn’t bounce back
as quick as she should.”

“I haven’t
seen her in ages. Does she still have that American Girl collection? I’ll stop
in later with something new for her.”

“Thanks,
Gracie. You’re so easy to talk to, she always relaxes around you.” Gina rolled
her eyes and checked Chester’s temperature. “Not like some of the other doctors
that scare her.”

“You take
good care of Granddad and I’ll look in on Mindy.”

“Sure
thing,” Gina agreed. “He and I get along great, don’t we, Chester?”

Dylan and
Gracie made their goodbyes and left Gina with her patient. They boarded the
elevator and stood across from one another. Dylan was content to watch her.
Gracie fidgeted beneath his regard.

“Are you
going to check on Clay’s trust?” She tripped out of the elevator and into the
lobby. He steadied her with a hand on her elbow.

“I’ll do
what I can by phone.” They turned in opposite directions at the hospital
entrance. “Will I see you later?”

“Sure, I’ll
be around.” She backed a couple of steps away, hesitated, then returned. “Why’d
you decide to have the DNA testing?”

Now it was
his turn to fidget. “I still don’t believe Clayton’s my brother. But if he is,
he deserves better treatment than he’s gotten from us.” He shrugged at her
raised eyebrows. “Grandfather always said ‘Bradfords take care of their own.’”