Daring Dylan (The Billionaire Brotherhood Book 2) (25 page)

“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.”

“You mentioned
hearing a boat engine, so I had my deputies run a check on boaters in the area.
Today, tourists are arriving by the boatload. But yesterday was pretty quiet.
Stewart called docks up and down the coast, when damned if he didn’t hear about
a kid who’d rented a skiff in Portsmouth yesterday. When the idiot brought it
back after dark with no lights on, he rammed the dock.”

“You’re
kidding.” Dylan bit back a smile.

“A deputy
ran a routine check on Lenny Carter, the name he’d used to rent the boat. The name
turned up zilch. He ran some prints, and wouldn’t you know? Turns out the kid
is Leonard Castellano, convicted arsonist.”

The name
didn’t ring any bells. “Where is he now?”

Fleming
heaved an exasperated sigh. “Don’t know. The marina in Portsmouth didn’t know
when the accident occurred that we’d have reason to look for him. He paid for
the damage with a wad of cash, and they let him go. There’s an APB on him, but
he hasn’t turned up yet.”

Dylan
scratched his head. “Somebody hired him to torch my place?”

“Probably.
Or maybe there’s some connection or history between the two of you. Does the
name Sal Eversol sound familiar?”

“Sure.” A
shiver of alarm ran down Dylan’s spine. “Anyone from Hartford would recognize
that one.”

“What do
you know about him?”

Anything
Dylan knew about Sal was speculation or general knowledge. He figured the
police chief had to know more about the crime boss than Dylan did. “He’s bad
business. A powerful, dangerous man. Nobody wants to cross him.”

Fleming’s
study of Dylan sharpened to intense scrutiny. “Did you ever cross him?”

“Not that I
know of.” Dylan’s grandfather might have gone toe-to-toe with Sal in the old
days. But Dylan had never been involved in any business that wasn’t strictly
legal, and Sal was barely involved in any that were.

Women? Nah.
Again, the old guy was from a different generation.

Money? He
didn’t think so. “Our areas of interest don’t overlap much.”

“Well, you
must have done something to cross him,” the police chief said. “Or you crossed
his nephew, Leonard Castellano, anyway.”

That’s when
Dylan began to sweat.

“A double
scoop of chocolate chip.”

“Coming
right up.” Gracie shoved the hair off her forehead with the back of her wrist and
turned to fill her umpteenth order of the night. She pushed the dish of ice
cream through the window. “That’ll be four dollars.”

“Thanks,
Gracie.”

“You’re
welcome—” She looked up to put a name with her gratitude. “Henry! Good to see
you!”

“Me?” The former
Old Maine security guard pointed an index finger toward a scrawny chest above a
potbelly. After her eager nod, his expression evolved into a leer. He let his
gaze rake over her. “I’m flattered.”

She held
onto her smile with an effort. “Are you going to be around a while? I’ll be
done here in about twenty minutes.”

“Sure, I’ll
be around. Where do you want to meet?”

Twenty
minutes later, Gracie hustled through the crowd to the gazebo in the town
square. As she wound her way down the street, she spotted Dylan coming toward
her with festival food in hand. Fitting right in, he smiled and greeted people
who called out to him as he passed.

“Did you
see whoever it was you wanted to catch up with earlier?” she asked as he fell
into step beside her and looped his arm around her shoulders.

“No.” He
offered her a bite of his crab cake. When she refused with a head shake, he
popped the remainder into his mouth and tossed the wrapper into a trash bin. “I
thought I spotted Karen Hammonds, my father’s old publicist, but I must have
been wrong. Whoever it was slipped away.” He stopped and scratched his chin.
“And it doesn’t make any sense for her to be here.”

“Well, I
managed to locate Henry Stillberg.” She couldn’t keep a touch of smugness out
of her voice. “I’m on my way to meet him now. Want to come?”

“Almost as
much as I want to kiss you, but I’m not risking that again with media stalkers
in town waiting to shoot us.” He stared at her mouth with such longing that
Gracie warmed, feeling as if she had been kissed.

“Later
then.” She brushed her fingers lightly across her lips and then his.

Tugging on
Dylan’s hand, she towed him toward the gazebo.

They’d
reached the barricade marking the end of the official festival grounds. Just a
half block past the blockaded area, the crowd and noise thinned and the
temperature dropped a few degrees. “How’d you run into Henry?” Dylan asked.

“He came to
the booth.”

“That
was lucky.” He pulled her closer. “What does he look like?”

“Like
someone who’s been living in Florida for the past twenty-five years.” She
wrinkled her nose. “His skin’s as tough as shoe leather, his thinning hair’s
brassy from the sun, and he’s dressed a little too tropical for East Langden.”
She suppressed a little shudder remembering Henry’s leer.

“Not a fan
of Aloha shirts?”

“It’s not
that.” She bit her lip and hesitated. “More the way he looked at me.”

“What way?”

“Like a
dirty old man.”

“Did he say
or do something? I’ll pound him into the ground if you’d like.” The look of
outrage and the clenched fist he theatrically punched into his other palm made
her laugh.

“Don’t
bother. I’m sure he’s harmless. When I asked to meet him here, he probably
thought I was coming on to him.”

“He should
be so lucky.”

She shushed
him as she spotted the old security guard waiting for her on a bench inside the
gazebo. “Let me do the talking.”

“Since when
do I have a choice?”

Henry stood
and jerked his chin at Dylan. “What’s
he
doing here?”

She ignored
the question. “Did you hear that Lana Harris’ body was found at the Bradford
cabin this morning?”

“Not so
much a body, was it? More like a bag of bones, I heard.”

“I’ve been
wondering about other events that occurred about the same time as Lana’s
disappearance. Granddad mentioned something interesting the other day.”

“Chester’s still
alive? I figured that old fart had kicked the bucket by now.” Henry took a step
closer, into the circle of light.

“He
recently broke his hip, but he’ll be fine,” she said, determined not to let him
sidetrack her. “Did you know Lana very well, Henry?”

“Some.”

“Do you
remember the night she disappeared?”

His eyes
shifted from side to side as if considering the question from various angles.
“I might.”

“Granddad
said he went to the factory that night and saw Dylan’s father driving away. You
were on duty, weren’t you?”

A flash of
interest sharpened his ratty features. “Are you thinking the senator was
involved in her disappearance?”

“No.” She
shot Dylan a cautionary look as he stiffened beside her.

The old man
chuckled, a hard rasping sound, and smoothed his greasy hair off his forehead.
A diamond pinky ring winked under the glow of a street lamp. “What if I saw him
and Lana together that night? What if I remember several other interesting,
maybe even incriminating, facts? What would that be worth to you?”

“Not a damn
thing.” Dylan’s jaw clenched and unclenched. “Did you see my father that night
or not?”

“Well, now,
I’ll have to think about that one.” Henry rubbed his liver-spotted hand back
and forth across his chin until something across the way distracted him. His
weaselly eyes narrowed and he slunk into the shadows. “I’ll get back to you.
Maybe tomorrow. You think about how bad you want to know whatever I
remember." He disappeared down the steps and around the corner.

"For
an old man, he sure moves fast," Gracie said. "Do you want to follow
him?"

"No."
Dylan took a seat on the bench and pulled her down beside him, draping an arm
around her shoulder. "I’m not sure I believe it’s important anymore if Dad
was there or not the night Lana disappeared. We know he didn't kill her."

“Coincidences
like that hardly ever happen.”

“No, but as
Grandfather used to say, ‘You can’t make a chicken lay an egg before she’s
ready.”’

Gracie
laughed and leaned away. “What does that mean?”

“It means
we’ve done all we can for tonight and might as well have some fun.” He drew her
close, nuzzling the side of her neck.

“Your
grandfather had a handy expression for a lot of things. What else did he say?”

“Winning
isn’t everything, it’s the only thing.”

“Wasn’t it
Bear Bryant who used to say that?”

“What
people don’t know is that Bear was quoting Grandfather.” Dylan nibbled on her
earlobe. “What do you want to do now?”

“Did you
get enough to eat?”

“I got
enough of standing in food lines.” His breath wafted warm and enticing against
her neck.

“I can get
you some ice cream via the back door.”

“I’ll take
it.” He inched aside the edge of her sweatshirt with a finger and dropped a
kiss on her exposed collarbone. She eased closer to him. “But after that,” he
said, “we’re going home to bed.”

“Home?
Bed?” Just hearing the two words uttered in one sentence sent spirals of
pleasure down her spine. “Already?”

“We didn’t
get much sleep last night.” He stretched with an exaggerated yawn. “I’m tired.”

“By all means,
let’s go home so you can rest.” She jumped to her feet. “But I want to check on
David first. I also want to see about Clay. I’m afraid he stayed at home
moping.”

Returning
to the festival, Dylan’s urgency to get home lessened. He stopped at every other
booth to look at or buy something. Gracie decided to relax and enjoy his
company. They had the whole night ahead of them.

Jostled by
a juggling street performer, Dylan bumped into a couple kissing on a street
corner.

“Hey!” Clay
objected, separating from Tanya.

“He’s not
moping,” Dylan stage whispered, and Gracie nudged him in the ribs.

Tanya
laughed and looped her arm around Clay’s waist. “Hi, you two. Rumors are
spreading like wildfire about your behavior here tonight.”

Thrilled,
but stunned to find her two best friends lip-locked in public, Gracie’s
attention bounced back and forth between them. “
Ours
? What are you—I mean, are you two—?” She laughed at her
confusion. “You know what I mean. Explain.”

“Tanya came
by to talk to me about Mom, and we finally worked things out between us.”
Clay’s chin jutted out in true Bradford fashion. “We’re here together.” He eyed
Gracie warily. “I’m sorry I acted like a blind fool these last few years. Are
you okay with this?” He waggled his hand between him and Tanya.

“Okay? I
think it’s great!” Gracie hugged them both. “And it’s about time.”

“I think
so, too,” Tanya chimed in.

“I want to
hear all about it,” Gracie said.

“But not
tonight.” Tanya’s smile rivaled the bright festival lights. “This is our first
date. I plan to make the most of it.”

“Go for
it,” Gracie agreed. “Be sure and call me tomorrow. Let’s get together for
lunch.” Her head practically whirled like a carnival ride from all the events
of the past twenty-four hours. Remembering one of them, she sobered and asked
Clay, “How’s David?”

“He was
tired and unsteady when I was home a couple of hours ago. Ethel came back to
stay with him for a while, but we’re on our way to check on him now.”

“I’ll check
on him, Clay. You and Tanya have a good time. You deserve it.”

It took
some coaxing by both women, but Clay finally agreed. After he and Tanya moved
on, Gracie told Dylan, “If you want to stay here, I can meet you in the parking
lot later.”