Daring Dylan (The Billionaire Brotherhood Book 2) (26 page)

“Huh-unh,
I’m not letting go of you again.” His arm clamped around her shoulder. “This is
our first date, too, you know.”

“Is it?”
The first and only or the first of many?

As they
arrived at David’s street, an elegantly suited man with silver hair approached
them and hailed Dylan in a booming voice. They certainly hadn’t seen anyone
else at the festival in a suit and tie.

A startled
expression crossed Dylan’s face. “Uncle Arthur! What are you doing here?”

The
Bradford resemblance was striking, and the elder family member beamed at Dylan
like a proud papa. “I was worried about what was going on up here and wanted to
see if I could lend a hand. That’s quite a shiner you’ve got there. Remnants of
the fire?”

“No.” Dylan
grinned at Gracie. “I ran into a brick wall with a clenched fist.”

“I suppose
that’s another story I’ll need to hear about. Where are you headed?”

“Gracie’s
stepfather, David Collier, has been sick. We’re going to see how he’s doing,”
Dylan said, drawing her near. “But first, let me introduce you. Gracie
O’Donnell, this is my uncle, Arthur Bradford.”

“An honor
to meet you, Senator,” Gracie said while Dylan kept a possessive hand on her
elbow. She prided herself on not normally being star-struck. But faced with
such a distinguished and charismatic presence, she had to admit she groped for
something more to say.

“A pleasure
to meet you, young lady. Dylan said you were with him when the fire broke out
last night.”

On the
surface, the comment sounded perfectly sympathetic. But something about its
delivery implied a breach of conduct on Gracie’s part, as if being in the wrong
place at the wrong time placed her under suspicion. “That’s right.”

“I can’t
tell you how sorry I am that you had to go through such an ordeal on Bradford
property.” His voice deepened with sincerity, and Gracie chided herself for
pinning her own insecurities onto his original comment. “It was a terrible
loss, but not a tragedy, thank God, since the two of you got out in time.”

“You should
have seen Gracie swing out of a second-floor window onto a tree branch,” Dylan
chuckled. “She’s amazingly resourceful.”

“She must
be that and more, if she’s caught your eye.”

Gracie
reddened at the compliment and the senator’s seeming acceptance. She’d expected
the patriarch of Dylan’s family to object to his affection—his attachment—his
whatever it was that he felt for her.

She only
wished she knew what to call it
.

After the
bright, cheerful air of the festival, Dylan kept having the urge to check over
his shoulder for a menacing presence. Following Gracie, he noticed an
oppressive atmosphere blanketing David Collier’s house like a shroud. He
expected his uncle to make excuses and leave. Gracie switched on the foyer
light, spreading illumination over the gloom.

The bulldog
nurse Dylan had met in David’s office lumbered down the hallway.

“How’s he
doing?” Gracie asked.

The woman’s
jowls shook when she wagged her head. “Not so good, I’m afraid.”

“What is
it? What’s the matter?” Gracie flew toward the room in the back, but Ethel
pulled her to a stop.

“He’s had
his medication, but he’s talking out of his head most of the time.”

Gracie cast
a worried glance down the hall but halted long enough to give the starchy woman
a warm hug. “Thanks for the help, Ethel. I’ll stay until Clay comes in. You go
join your family. I saw Harold down at the shooting gallery, winning a stuffed
Barney for your grandson.”

“Even with
bifocals, Harold’s marksmanship’s still dead on.” The nurse beamed with pride
at her husband’s accomplishments before turning to the two men. “Good evening
to you, young man. And Senator. I’m Ethel Brady. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

Uncle
Arthur had remained in the background, but once Ethel took the initiative, he
moved forward with his crowd-winning smile. “It’s my pleasure, Ethel.”

She shook
an admonishing finger at him. “You men in Washington need to do more to fix the
health care situation, you know.”

“Believe
me, Ethel, we’re working on it. There just don’t seem to be any easy
solutions.”

“Easy
answers never work.” Her heavy jowls shifted back and forth. “Sometimes it
takes some practical thinking to get the job done. I’ve got a few ideas I’ll
jot down and give to Dylan to pass along to you.” She wrinkled her brow and
waited for a nod from Arthur.

After the
two women exchanged a muffled conversation in the other room, the nurse
collected her things and waved as she sailed out the door. The two men took
seats in the living room. Dylan switched on a television, surfing channels in
search of a basketball score.

Before
long, Arthur stood and began a restless journey around the room. While Dylan
relayed most of the details about the previous night’s fire, he omitted mention
of the missing cuff link. He ended with the information about Leonard
Castellano.

Arthur
flipped through a
National Geographic
.
“Should I know that name?”

“Probably
not, but you might know his uncle, Sal Eversol.” Dylan watched Arthur’s
reaction carefully.

Arthur
tossed the magazine onto the coffee table. “I know him by reputation, of
course. He has the money to support the causes that interest him, but his
circles are too shady to mix with mine.” He looked at Dylan and crooked his
eyebrow. “Any ideas on what the connection between the three of you might be?”

“Nothing
concrete.”

Arthur
resumed his roaming, gravitating toward a shelf of pictures. “Have you met all these
people?” He gestured to the photographs. “They were always a stalwart bunch.
Some of them look familiar. Tell me who’s who in this one.”

Dylan
clicked off the TV and joined him. He picked up the picture Arthur indicated.
“This is David.” He pointed to the doctor. “With a young Clayton and Gracie,
her grandparents, and her mother.”

“What’s he
like?” Arthur moved on to another photo, one with Clayton and David flanking
Gracie in a cap and gown.

Dylan
considered the mixed feelings he had about the old man. “Everyone here loves
him, including Gracie. Unfortunately, he’s about as hard to talk to as those
fish over there in that tank.”

Arthur
lifted his eyebrows. “I thought you’d spent some time with him.”

“I had
dinner with him once, but he didn’t say more than five words to me and not many
more than that when I went to his office the next day.” Dylan frowned,
remembering the odd conversation. “He volunteered the information that Lana
owned her house before she died, but I don’t know why. It seemed uncharacteristically
chatty of him.”

“But if
he’s trying to convince you he’s a member of the family, I thought that would
involve more contact.”

Dylan
rubbed his temple. “Well, he’s Gracie’s stepfather, so she thinks of him as
family.”

“I meant
the younger doctor,” Arthur corrected. “Clayton.”

“Oh, him.”
Dylan grunted and fingered the swelling around his eye. “I’ve gotten to know
him better than I’d like.”

“So that’s
the story behind the black eye.” Arthur chuckled. “You and Clayton Harris have
been mixing it up, hmmm? Interesting. It’s been years since you resorted to
physical violence to get your way, but I assume the other guy looks at least as
bad.”

“Definitely,”
Dylan said with satisfaction.

Arthur
picked up a more recent photo where Clayton stood tall and stiff-shouldered
next to a glowing Gracie. But then, Gracie carried a constant glow around with
her.

“How well
do those two get along?” Arthur asked.

“Gracie and
Clayton?”

“Clayton
and David Collier.”

“David is
very protective of him. And Clayton worships David. He followed him into the
medical profession, and then came back here to help when David became ill.
Before that, according to Gracie, he was all set to join a big practice in
Hartford. Did you know David from the factory?”

Arthur
tugged on his earlobe. “We met a few times. As the doctor of record, he
reported to Matt and they became friendly. They went fishing once or twice, if
I recall correctly.”

Dylan
hadn’t known that. David certainly hadn’t mentioned it. “He’s the one who found
Dad the day he died.”

“That’s
right, he did. I’d forgotten. This place sure brings back the memories, doesn’t
it?” Arthur pulled on his cuff and adjusted one of his cuff links. He was
wearing the Bradford set, accounting for both of his.

That should
make it easy to cross him off Dylan’s mental list of suspects, but it didn’t.

“Do you
know what happened to Uncle Tommy’s cuff links?” Dylan asked.

Arthur tore
his gaze from the pictures and turned to face Dylan. “Why?”

He
shrugged, reluctant even now to mention his father and Lana’s death in the same
breath. He took an end run instead. “I noticed a couple of weeks ago that one
of Dad’s is missing. I wondered where some of the other sets are.”

“We gave
Tommy’s to Gerard.” He paused with an awkward hesitation, as frequently
happened when Arthur mentioned his brother’s partner. “Tommy left him some
money, but Gerard asked for a few personal mementos as well. You have your own
pair, don’t you? Did you need your father’s for some reason?”

News about
the cuff link uncovered this morning would soon become common knowledge, but
some niggling caution kept Dylan from mentioning it. “Just curious.”

“You’re
curious about a lot of things these days, aren’t you?”

His head
reeled thinking about all of it. “Life has taken some unusual turns lately.”

Arthur set
down the picture he’d been holding, placed his hand on Dylan’s shoulder, and
led him back to the sofa. “What about your young lady? She’s very striking. How
serious is it between you?”

“More
serious than anything I’ve ever felt before.” Dylan surprised himself with the
admission.

“Well, that
doesn’t say much.” Arthur chuckled. “I’ve always wondered why no one has held
your interest for long.”

“It was
never the right time before, or the right person. Although, why it seems like
this
might be the right time and Gracie
might be the right person, I don’t know.”

“Love
doesn’t strike according to anybody’s schedule or preconceived notions. I
thought you knew that.”

“Lo—lo—love!”
Dylan choked, coughed, and sputtered over the single-syllable word. “I didn’t
say anything about love.”

He tried
out the picture of Gracie as a permanent fixture in his life and it just
wouldn’t compute. Not that he couldn’t picture Gracie as a wife and mother. He
couldn’t picture her as
his
wife or
his
children’s mother. He tried to
remember his vision of that mythical woman.

Cool, calm, capable
. Yep, Gracie had all
that. With style, sophistication, and good taste. Someone who would fit
seamlessly into his life. Cater to his whims. Not exactly Gracie’s style. That
sounded more like Linc’s cousin. What was her name again? Valerie? Veronica?

Arthur
resumed the ear-pulling thing and studied Dylan long enough to make him squirm.
“If you aren’t thinking of her in terms of love or marriage, what are we
talking about?”

All of his
affectionate, protective, admiring, passionate, amorous, and amorphous feelings
for Gracie welled up inside him and nearly gushed out. They would have if he
could have defined them with a single word and assigned them to a permanent,
convenient place, but he couldn’t. Not yet. He’d only known her—what? All of
four days? “I don’t know. This is all happening so fast. I want to be a husband
and father eventually, but I’m not sure I’m ready.”

“What part
frightens you?”

He hadn’t
expected to have a man-to-man conversation with his uncle tonight, but maybe
Arthur was the perfect person to share his doubts with. “I’m freaking terrified
that I’m incapable of the f-word.”

Shock
crossed his uncle’s features, and he shifted uncomfortably. “Why, Dylan, I’m
sorry. I had no idea. If it’s a physical problem or you need counseling, there
are doctors...”

“Not the
four-letter f-word.” Dylan laughed. “I meant the big one. The long one. The
hard one.
Fidelity
. There are a lot
of gorgeous women out there, and contrary to tabloid opinion, I haven’t slept
with all of them. I like variety, and I can’t imagine waking up with the same
person for the rest of my life. Never having the freedom to have sex with
anyone else.” Although making love with Gracie every day for the rest of life
sounded more than just doable. Satisfying and exhilarating, too. Still... “I
always wanted the kind of marriage Dad and Mom had, but Gracie’s nothing like
Mom, and I may be too much like Dad. Lately, I’ve wondered if they really had
it as good as it seemed.”

“Marriage
is about a lot more than monogamy. Sex is one part of it, but not even the most
important part. Don’t let worries like that keep you from forming a
relationship with a woman you can’t live without.” Arthur rested his elbows on
his knees and contemplated the weave of the carpet before he lifted his head
and looked Dylan in the eye. “Whatever the whole truth was behind your parents’
marriage, they shared a deep love and respect for one another. They were as
happy together as any two people I’ve ever known.”

“You and
Aunt Delia have that kind of marriage, too.”

His uncle
mused a moment, rubbed a hand over his jaw, then shrugged. “We’ve been lucky.”

A
grandfather clock bonged the hour from the foyer. They’d been waiting for
Gracie for almost an hour. He would’ve expected her to report on David’s
condition by now.

“Is it
really ten o’clock?” Arthur said. “I called in a favor, and I’m staying at Drew
Johnston’s guest house over in Wallingford. I guess I should be heading over
there. Are you going to be here much longer?”

“Gracie
said she’d stay until Clay came home. Do you want to say good-bye to her?”

“I don’t
want to intrude. Perhaps she can leave the patient for a moment?”

Dylan went
in search of Gracie. In the hall outside a bedroom, he heard her speak in low,
soothing tones while David’s deeper, agitated voice rumbled over hers. Dylan
tapped on the door and opened it a crack. Gracie sat in a chair beside her
stepfather’s bed, holding his hand. She glanced up and motioned for him to
wait.

In just two
days’ time, David’s flesh seemed to have withered on his bones. His jerky
movements and listlessness proclaimed a state of agitated exhaustion.

He clutched
Gracie’s hand and spoke urgently. “It wasn’t my fault. He deserved it, but I
didn’t mean to kill him.”

She flicked
an anxious look Dylan’s way and back to the patient. “I’m sure you could never
hurt anyone.”

His eyes
sharpened with a moment of clarity. “I just wanted to talk to him, get him to
admit where she was.”

“But he
wouldn’t tell you.” Gracie’s weary response sounded as if they’d covered this
ground before.

“That’s
right!” His voice slipped back into a fevered recitation. “He said he didn’t
know, but he
did
know. He had to. He
killed her.”