Daring Dylan (The Billionaire Brotherhood Book 2) (27 page)

Gracie’s
hand gripped her stepfather’s shoulder. “You don’t know that, David.”

“Yes, I
do.” Attempting to sit up, he clawed the covers. “I saw him.”

“Saw him
what?”

With the
hair standing up on his neck, Dylan became aware that he’d stumbled into a
momentous disclosure. Gracie cast a pleading glance in his direction but for
what he wasn’t sure. He drew nearer, determined to hear the rest.

“That
night. I saw him in his car, driving from Old Maine to the cabin.”

“Was Lana
with him?” Gracie asked, her voice tense, cautious.

“She must
have been. Maybe she was already dead. Maybe she’d told him about the baby, and
he killed her.”

“But it
wasn’t his baby, David. He’d had a vasectomy several years earlier.”

“That’s
what he said, but that can’t be true or why would he have killed her?” David
asked the question of Gracie, but he looked deep into the shadows of the past
for the answer. “It must have been his child.”

“When did
you ask him about it?” The words sprang from Dylan’s mouth unplanned.

Gracie
shushed him and gestured for him to stay back. But he ignored her and edged
closer.

David
shielded his eyes from the dim lamp, trying to see outside the circle of light.
“Ask who about what?”

“The
senator,” Gracie said. “When did you ask the senator about the baby?”

“The day he
died, of course.” He plucked at the sheet with nervous fingers. “I asked him
about Lana, but he laughed. He denied everything. Said I’d lived in a small
town too long and believed too many rumors.”

Dylan had
heard too much, but hadn’t heard enough. He wanted to leave, but had to stay.
He could see Gracie wanted to put an end to David’s narration. But after
keeping his secrets for so long, the old man couldn’t be silenced. He pressed
onward like a windup toy wound too tight.

“We were
down at the dock. He was going out in the boat. We quarreled. Sharp words
escalated into a struggle. He fell and hit his temple.” He shook his head as if
to clear the memory. “It happened so fast. I tried to save him, to pull him
from the water, but I couldn’t. I couldn’t, Gracie! My arm was broken and in a
cast, remember? I couldn’t save him. You know I would have if I could.” The old
man’s grip tightened around her fingers as he begged for understanding.

“I know.”
Her voice trembled, and when she turned to Dylan, a sheen of tears glistened in
her eyes. “I’m sorry,” she said, but he didn’t know who deserved her sympathy
the most.

Meeting
Gracie’s compassion head on, he collided with the full impact of David’s
confession. The revelations weren’t just the ramblings of a sick old man.

David Collier
had killed Dylan’s father!

A US
Senator. A husband. A man. A father.

Accidental,
perhaps, but the outcome had been just as final as an assassin’s bullet.

Dylan
strode forward, eager to confront him, to pummel him, to shout out the anger
and pain roiling inside him. This man shriveling before his eyes was the
villain who had cut his father’s life so tragically short.

This
withered and pathetic old man.

His
father’s killer should have horns and a tail and wear a red cape, so that Dylan
could curse and rave and swear revenge. Evil and injustice shouldn’t wear the
face of a kindly physician, a trusted friend, and a respected humanitarian.

Try as he
might, Dylan couldn’t picture David as evil or unjust. Only old and sick and
possibly confused by events that had happened a long time ago.

God damn
it! A swift kick at the bedside table sent a pillbox, pen and paper, and water
glass flying.

“Dylan,”
Arthur said from the threshold.

David
turned his head toward the newest intruder in his bedroom, sputtered and grew
pale. “You! Get out! You killed Lana! Don’t ever come here again! Get out of my
house!”

Arthur
reeled backward. “What!”

“He thinks
you’re Dad.” Dylan moved forward to protect him from the doctor’s confusion.

“You’re
dead!” David shouted. “You killed her and you died.” He rose up with a burst of
strength, waving his arms. “Get out of my house. Stay out of my dreams. Leave
me alone, or I’ll kill you again.”

The
doctor’s face darkened from ghostly white to red. He collapsed on his pillow
and rubbed his left arm with his right hand. “My med—med—” His face contorted
in pain as he reached for the pillbox from the nightstand. “My medicine,” he
gasped.

“Call 911!”
Gracie had already snatched up the pills from the floor and spilled a tablet
into her hand. David opened his mouth and lifted his tongue.

Pushing his
uncle out of the room, Dylan pulled his phone out of his pocket.

She didn’t
take her eyes off the old man while she took his pulse. David’s breath sawed in
and out, and his chest heaved with the effort. “Relax, David. Just relax and
hang on.”

After a
terse conversation with the 911 operator, Dylan returned to Gracie. He placed
his hands on her shoulder, letting his fingers massage the tense muscles of her
neck. “What else can I do?”

She shook
her head, brushing her fingertips across his hand.

Dylan
wanted to stay with her, but needed to get back to his uncle before the senator
required medical help, too. Slumped in the hallway, his complexion was ashen
and pale. “Come on. Let’s wait outside for the ambulance.”

The senator
allowed Dylan to lead him to the porch. “Uncle Arthur, I’d rather keep this
quiet for now. You don’t intend to inform the authorities, do you?”

“Inform the
authorities that some lunatic accused me of killing a woman?” Fear and pain flashed
through his eyes. “I should say not.”

“No, not
that.” Dylan shrugged. “He’s always thought Dad killed Lana. I meant the part
about him being responsible for Dad’s death.”

”Is that
what he was raving about?” Arthur’s voice sharpened with disbelief and malice.
“He claims he killed Matt, and you don’t want to inform the police?”

Put that
way, Dylan couldn’t believe it himself. “What good would bringing charges
against him do anyone? Least of all Dad. If David killed him, it was
unintentional. Revealing the truth now would hurt a whole new group of people.”

A speeding
vehicle approached, lights flashing, sirens wailing. Two EMTs rushed up the
walk with a gurney. “Where is he?” one of the men asked.

Dylan
showed them to David’s room but stepped away as they zoomed in on the patient.

Soon enough
they rolled the doctor out of the house and lifted him into the rear of the
ambulance. With a stethoscope draped around her neck, Gracie left his side to
speak to Dylan. “I’m going with David.”

He reached
out and stroked her arm. “Are they taking him to County General? I’ll meet you
there.”

“Thanks.”
Fear for her stepfather held her posture ramrod straight.

“What else
can I do for you?” he asked, taking her hand.

“Would
you—” She bit her bottom lip. “We need to find Clay. He’s not on call, and he
never turns off his phone, but I got his voicemail. Tanya’s not picking up
either. So, you know…”

“Is it that
urgent?” Dylan hated like hell to be the one to track the couple down and interrupt
them.

Her fingers
fluttered inside his. “Yes.”

“Gracie,”
one of the EMT’s called. “Come on.”

She moved
toward the vehicle, and Dylan moved with her. “Please, find Clay.” She cast a
pleading look over her shoulder as she climbed into the back of the ambulance.
“Tanya lives on Adams.”

“I’ll find
them.”

As the
emergency vehicle went screaming away, Dylan noticed the groups of neighbors
gathered on their lawns and porches, watching the drama.

“Will the
doctor be all right?” asked a little old lady in flannel pajamas and hair
curlers.

“I’m sure
he will.” Dylan turned up the walk. His usually powerful and decisive uncle
waited on the porch, seeming at a loss. “I have to find Clayton, and then I’m
going to the hospital. Where’s your car? Can I drop you off somewhere?”

“No,
thanks. Take care of your young lady, and I’ll call you in the morning.” Still,
Arthur didn’t make any move to leave.

“About
David—” Dylan began.

“We’ll talk
about that tomorrow.” His uncle rubbed a hand down his face.

When Dylan
went inside to turn off the lights and lock up, Arthur followed him as far as
the living room. Dylan made a call that went to Clayton’s voicemail. The
senator clutched one of the pictures in his hand. Dylan watched silently, oddly
uncomfortable, as Arthur’s fingers traced gently across the glass.

Dylan
cleared his throat. “Ready to go.” His voice emerged more forcefully than he
intended. “We need to head out.”

His uncle
moved his hand with a guilty jerk and returned the photo to the shelf.

On his way
to find Clayton and Tanya, Dylan spotted Clayton’s truck at McStone’s. Taking
the easy way out, Dylan called Guidry and had him tell Clayton about the
emergency. The couple rushed into the emergency room seconds after Dylan
arrived there.

“What
happened?” Clayton demanded, almost leaving skid marks as he screeched to a
halt. “What did you do to him?”

“I’m sure
Dylan didn’t do anything.” Tanya placed a hand on Clay’s arm. “How’s David?”

“I just got
here,” Dylan said. “Gracie rode with him in the ambulance.”

The young
doctor moved on through the waiting area, shoving his way through the examining
room doors.

“He didn’t
mean that,” Tanya told Dylan. “He’s just upset.”

“Don’t
worry about it.” Dylan didn’t need a psychology degree to figure out that
Clayton’s knee-jerk response all these years had been to pin the blame for all
of his problems squarely on the Bradford family. His reaction just now had
probably been based as much on habit as true resentment.

Tanya and
Dylan were taken to wait in the doctor’s lounge. After a while Gracie came in,
pale and wan, drained of her usual vibrancy. She’d put a lab coat on over her
Spring Festival sweatshirt and gathered her hair up into a bun on top of her
head. Dylan had the inappropriate thought that she looked incredibly hot in her
doctor persona.

“How is
he?” Tanya asked again, with a hug for Gracie.

“Clay and
the cardiologist are with him now. Could go either way.” Her lip trembled as
she said it.

Dylan
wrapped her in his arms and held her close, resting his chin on her head. She
sank into him gratefully, clinging to him.

“I may be
here a while,” she said into his shoulder. “Do you want to go on back to my
place?” Her grip on his shoulders tightened as she asked.

“I’ll
stay.”

“They’ll
transfer him to the Cardiac Care Unit on the fifth floor shortly.”

Tanya
poured a cup of coffee. “If you want something to read newer than last year’s
Sports Illustrated
,” she said, pointing
to the magazine rack in the corner, “I can open the gift shop and get you
something.”

“Maybe
later.”

Dylan and
Gracie perched on the couch, side-by-side, hip-to-hip, hands clasped, with
nothing but David’s confession between them. They had a lot to talk about, but
no privacy. After watching her fidget for about five minutes, he suggested a
walk. She nodded, but just then, Clay returned.

“Jenner’s
running some tests. No change.” Like Gracie, he’d put a lab coat on over his
jeans and Polo shirt. Strain pulled his face taut. “What happened at the house,
Gracie?”

“He
couldn’t rest. Ethel said he’d been agitated all evening, but after she left,
he got worse.” She squeezed Dylan’s hand, silencing him. “I gave him another
sedative, but he kept rambling. Some of it was gibberish, but after a while,
Dylan and Senator Bradford came in. David mistook the senator for Dylan’s
father. He flew into a rage, then collapsed.”