“How do you feel?”
“Like I’ve been thrown from a third-story window into the path of an oncoming truck, but otherwise, fine.” His lips tipped up at the corners, but the pain in his eyes rendered the smile ineffective.
She kissed the top of his head and took in his clean scent, enjoying the feel of his soft hair before taking her seat again.
He’d obviously found his suitcase, which she’d left in his room. “How did our stuff get here?”
“Eric delivered it a couple of hours ago.” She slid Dylan’s coffee toward him. “I heard your shower running and ordered breakfast.” The meal was already on the table. “I’m sure it’s not as good as Angel’s. I don’t know about you, but I’m starving.” She lifted the silver covers off the plates. She’d ordered an omelet, pancakes, bacon, and sausage for him and pancakes for her, along with a couple of glasses of orange juice.
“You don’t expect me to eat all this, do you?”
“I’ve seen you put away more.”
He chuckled and grabbed a fork. “Can’t argue with that.” He took a bite, swallowed. “You’re right on both counts. Not anywhere near as good as Angel’s breakfasts, and I’m starving enough not to care.” Another couple of bites in, he asked, “What’d Eric say?”
“He figured out how Zeke found us.”
Dylan froze, fork halfway to his mouth.
“There was a tracker in my purse.”
“In your…” He looked beyond her, frowning. “Any idea how it got there?”
“Nope. Maybe Laura slipped it in.”
“When could she have?”
Chelsea shrugged. “I suppose she might’ve found it when she was at the house on Sunday, though I’m sure my purse was back in the bedroom, and we had staff who were ensuring nobody explored. Maybe she talked her way back.”
His eyes narrowed, and he shook his head. Then, he smiled, though the expression seemed forced. “All our efforts to keep your whereabouts hidden, and Zeke knew where you were the whole time. I wonder why he didn’t come after you sooner.”
“At some point, the job went from killing me to getting me to give them the evidence. Maybe he needed a plan.”
Dylan chuckled. “If you ever get tired of running your empire, you could come work for me. You’ve got a good mind for it.”
“I don’t think I could handle the drama.”
“Believe me, it’s usually much more mundane.”
“That’s good to know. Anyway, other than that, there’s not much new information. Laura is in custody. She requested an attorney right away. They are waiting to question her further. We do know that she was visiting her daughter in the hospital last night, so she couldn’t have been the one helping Zeke.”
His fork paused as he took in the information. “Not surprised. She doesn’t seem the type to get her hands dirty.”
Chelsea swallowed a bite of the pancake. It was too tasteless to be worth the calories. “Police are combing through Zeke’s phone and interviewing his friends, trying to find out who his accomplice might have been. No luck yet, but Eric seems confident that whoever it was won’t try to hurt me again. I should be safe to go home.”
Dylan squinted. He returned to his meal.
“I’m safe, Dylan.” She pointed her fork his way. “You should be happy.”
“Mm-hmm.” He shoveled in another bite.
“It’s good news.”
He swallowed, set the fork down. “Maybe. Probably. But until we know for sure—”
“You’re being paranoid.” She hoped. She desperately wanted it to be true. “Right?”
He sipped his coffee. “I’ll feel better when we know for sure.”
Perhaps she needed to be cautious, but for the first time in weeks, hope was easing its way into her heart. Mum was gone, and she would never fully recover from that loss, as she’d never fully recovered from Daddy’s death. But she’d learned to go on before, and she could again.
This time, she wouldn’t be sent away. She was home now. She had a purpose—to save her parents’ company. No, her company.
She was proud to take over at the helm of HCI, but, for the first time in her life, she allowed herself to acknowledge that she was more than just the heir to her parents’ business. Nearly losing her life had opened her eyes to who she was. Priceless. More precious than any business, no matter what it was worth or how many people it employed.
Dylan had been right. She was her parents’ legacy, and she would live her life to honor their memories and glorify her Father in heaven. Right now, that meant saving Hamilton Clothiers.
She couldn’t help the smile tugging at her lips. As difficult as the week had been, she was eager to share what she’d learned in her email.
Dylan glanced up. “Good news?”
“Employees are already responding to the survey with suggestions.”
His eyebrows lifted. “Useful ones?”
“We don’t know yet. We’ll have to go through them, but the point is that the employees are engaged, involved. And Tabby’s spoken with a number of people today, and—”
“Isn’t it Saturday?”
“The factory is only closed on Sundays. Tabby said last night’s TV interview is all anybody is talking about. The mood was, to use her word, ‘jubilant.’”
“That’s great.”
“I hope so. It’ll take some time to repair the damage the rumors caused, but I believe it can be done.”
“You can do it.”
Maybe she could. Maybe, with the help of the employees, her own knowledge of business, and the Lord, she could pull HCI out of the red and back to profitability. She finished the sausage link and pushed her plate away. “I know it makes you nervous, but I need to go home today. Uncle Frank wants to see me, and I need to get settled at my house.”
He said nothing. Just nodded once.
When he’d finished his meal, he stood. “I have a few calls to make. Why don’t you tell your uncle you’ll be home around four?”
She stood as well. “That’ll work.”
Dylan closed the distance between them and rested his hands on her hips.
She’d been trying not to think about his proclamation the night before. All morning, she’d been telling herself this wasn’t the time for romance. Of course, when he’d declared himself at the restaurant the night before, he’d meant it, but after everything they’d been through, they needed time to adjust. To heal. And maybe she was a little afraid to believe it was true.
His fingers traced the bruise she’d seen on the side of her face that morning. The lightest touch. “How does it feel?”
“It’s nothing compared to what you endured.”
He met her eyes, swallowed hard. “I couldn’t watch him… I had to concentrate, and seeing him grope you…”
She shuddered at the memory of Zeke’s hands on her the night before, of seeking comfort in Dylan’s gaze and seeing only closed eyes…
“I’m sorry,” he said.
“You saved me.”
His Adam’s apple bobbed. “Not in time, though.”
“Yes, in time. I’m alive. You’re alive.” She slid her hands around his neck, gently, and tipped her head up to face him. An invitation. Because if he still cared for her…
His lips met hers. The kiss was tender and sweet. And her heart expanded, exploded at his nearness. This man was everything she’d ever wanted. Ever needed. She couldn’t imagine her life without him.
He ended their kiss, and she backed up to look at him. “Dylan, I—”
“You’re grieving. You can’t—”
“But I want to—”
“Don’t, Chelsea.” He pressed his finger to her lips. “You can’t possibly know with certainty how you feel about me. After the crazy week you’ve had, after last night… I hope we can take it slowly. Date. Hold hands. Kiss. And maybe, eventually, when you’re feeling back to normal, you’ll realize you love me, too. If you don’t…” He shrugged, though the casual movement con
trasted with the intensity in his gaze. “I’ll figure it out.”
I love you, too.
Those were the words on the tip of her tongue. She wanted to declare them. She was sure it was true. But what he said made sense. Could she really know how she felt after all that had happened?
He pulled her close, and she rested her head against his chest, gently, careful of his bruised ribs. “Maybe I’m not ready to make promises,” she said, “but I can tell you this. What I’m feeling right now, I’ve never felt before.”
His hand slid down her hair. “That’s very good to know.” He kissed her head and backed up. “Now, I’ve got some calls to make.”
He disappeared into his room and closed the door.
Chapter Forty
It was three-thirty when Dylan and Chelsea entered her house in Coventry. She dragged her suitcase, which Dylan hadn’t offered to carry. Thanks to his bruised ribs—bruised everything—he hadn’t even been able to drive. They’d ridden in the backseat of the bodyguards’ car. The bodyguards who were now outside. Just in case.
As Chelsea headed down the hall toward her bedroom with her suitcase, the doorbell rang.
He called, “I’ll see who it is.” Pulling his handgun from its holster, he made his way to the front door.
Chelsea hurried behind him. “You need to rest.” She caught sight of his gun, and her eyes rounded.
“Just a precaution.” He cracked the door and peered outside.
Tabby stood beside one of the bodyguards on the front step, wide smile in place. Dylan replaced the gun and swung the door open, nodding to the bodyguard, who stepped back to his post.
Chelsea returned her friend’s smile. “What are you doing here?”
“I heard you were back.”
“Already? We just got here.”
Tabby ignored the implicit question. “And I heard what happened last night.” She folded Chelsea into a hug. “Thank God you’re safe.”
“God and Dylan.”
Ignoring that last bit, Dylan hobbled to a chair. Did Captain America ever hobble? Dylan highly doubted it. And anyway, Chelsea had rescued him first.
“I made us appointments for manicures,” Tabby said, stepping inside. “We need to be in town in ten minutes.”
“Oh.” Chelsea glanced at him, then at her jagged nails, which were much worse for the wear after their adventure in the woods. “I need to stay here. My uncle is coming, and—”
“Go.” Dylan waved off her words. “He won’t be here for a while. I’m sure he has lots of questions about everything I’ve learned. I’ll fill him in while you’re gone.”
Chelsea’s gaze flicked between them. “I don’t know. I really think—”
“Go play with your friend, Chelsea. Do something fun.” Dylan loved seeing Chelsea with Tabby, nothing between them but friendship and memories. So different from the worry and fear she’d experienced for too long. “You’ll be safe with the bodyguards. I’ll hold down the fort here.”
She wanted to go. He could see the warring desires in her eyes. The woman was too noble for her own good.
“Please, go,” Dylan said. “I’ll stretch out on the sofa and rest.” He focused on Tabby. “You’ll be gone, what? An hour?”
“Unless I can talk her into going for coffee.”
“Yes,” Dylan said. “Get the coffee. Frank can wait.”
“No.” Chelsea snatched her purse off the counter. “Just the manicure.”
Tabby’s smile widened. “Excellent. I knew I could talk you into it.”
The two of them left Dylan seated at the table.
Forty-five minutes passed before the door leading to the garage opened and Frank stepped inside. Without warning, without knocking, just like the last time he’d come in, treating this house like his own. He gazed at Dylan, then beyond him. “Where’s my niece?”
“She’ll be back.” Dylan nodded across the table. “Have a seat.”
Reluctantly, Frank slid into the chair. “Where’d she go?”
“You and I need to talk.”
The older man’s eyebrows lifted. “You have more information to share?”
Dylan shifted, the pain in his ribs acute. “It’s just you and me here, Frank.”
He nodded as if the information mattered little. “Okay.”
“It’s time to lay our cards on the table.”
Frank crossed his arms. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
Dylan nodded toward the hallway. “Go ahead. Have a look around. We’re alone.”
“Why would I care?” Frank’s gaze flicked around the room anyway.
“I’ll wait.”
Frank huffed a breath, playing irritated, and wandered around the downstairs. Dylan didn’t move, just waited until Frank returned.
“Satisfied?”
“Not that I care,” Frank said, “but we do seem to be alone.”
“I presume you looked for cameras.”
He said nothing, just sat in the chair opposite Dylan.
“I’m not wearing a wire, either. Feel free to check.”
“I have nothing to hide.” A note of anxiety rang beneath the gruff words.
“Your niece thinks that’s true, at least.”
“Look, I don’t know what you think you’re doing—”
“Come to think of it…” Dylan pushed back in his chair and stood, ignoring the sharp pain in his ribcage. “I think we’ll be more comfortable talking outside.”
Frank regarded Dylan, probably fixating on the two black eyes. Staring pointedly at Dylan’s hunched posture, he said, “You won’t be comfortable.”
“But you will.” Dylan gestured toward the sliding glass doors, and Frank led the way. He stopped on the back patio.
“Wherever you want to go,” Dylan said.
“What’s up with all the cloak-and-dagger stuff?” But Frank walked onto the grass about twenty yards from the back porch before turning to face Dylan. “Satisfied?”
“Chelsea told me you weren’t in the office yesterday because you were at the factory. But I talked to the factory manager. He said he saw you early in the morning and then not again all day.”
“I had a meeting off-site.”
“And you lied to Chelsea because…?”
“I don’t answer to her.” Frank ran his hands through his hair. “I’m going to have to get used to it, but taking orders from a girl less than half my age, a girl I used to give piggy-back rides to…”
When his voice trailed off and he offered nothing else, Dylan asked, “Who was the meeting with?”
Frank’s mouth tightened at the corners. “I don’t answer to you, either.”
“You own a rifle?”
Frank blinked at the change in subject. “I hunt.”
“I just wonder if the ballistics from the shots fired on the mountain yesterday will match your gun.”
Frank stepped back. “Are you crazy? I would never… Why would I do that?”
Dylan said nothing. Just waited.
“I refuse to listen to your paranoid ramblings.”
But he didn’t walk away.
Dylan said, “Besides Chelsea, Detective Cote, and me, you’re the only person who knew Dougie Brewster saw Zeke the morning Chelsea was pushed off that cliff.”
“You don’t know that.”
“We showed the driver’s license photo to the other people we interviewed. I talked to your investigators this morning, and Cote, and none of them told anybody about Dougie seeing Zeke Granger on that mountain. But you knew. You saw the sketch.”
“That crazy Brewster kid could’ve told anybody what he saw.” Frank’s raised voice carried across the yard before it faded off the cliff overlooking the lake. “And everyone at the police station probably knew. Secrets carry like dandelion fluff in Coventry.”
“Maybe.” Dylan tried a shrug. Even that brought pain. “Laura Blanchette was broke. Cote confirmed that she was deeply in debt. Yet, she’d been paying Zeke Granger. How?”
“How would I know?”
“Someone had to be funding her. Zeke thought Laura was behind all of this, but it was somebody else. Somebody with cash.”
“And you think it was me?” Frank’s head moved back and forth slowly, a forced move. “You’re crazy. Why would I try to kill my own niece?”
“Taking orders from a girl half your age—”
“I would never!” The words were a shout. “Sure, it’s weird having her in charge. But I love that girl as if she were my own child.”
“Or your brother?”
Frank’s eyes narrowed. “What does that mean?”
He changed tack. “The other stuff could be explained away. Maybe it wasn’t you who froze all of Chelsea’s accounts and turned off her phone. I assume you—or whoever it was—was trying to keep her isolated and afraid. Maybe someone at the police station leaked the information about Brewster. Maybe you really did have a meeting on Friday. Maybe your rifle won’t match the ballistics from the bullets in Dougie’s leg. Maybe there won’t be any large cash withdrawals from your accounts that would point to your having paid Granger. Maybe, if the police never consider you a suspect—your old friend Cote probably won’t—”
“Because he knows me better than that. I would never hurt Chelsea. I would never hurt anybody.” The murderous look in Frank’s eyes belied his words.
Dylan fought the urge to touch the gun in the holster at his waist. If it came down to a physical fight, in Dylan’s weakened state, even against this old man, he’d lose. The gun was his only defense. He didn’t want to use it. Killing Zeke was one thing. Killing Chelsea’s uncle…
She’d never forgive him.
She might not forgive him for any of this.
“All of that could be explained away,” Dylan said. “There’s just one problem.”
Frank’s features froze as if he were working very hard not to give away his thoughts. Didn’t matter. Dylan was pretty sure he could guess them.
“The tracker.”
“What tracker?” His scoffing tone sounded forced. “What are you talking about?”
“It’s how Zeke found us. Someone slipped a tracker into her purse.”
“Anybody could have done that. This house was filled with people last Sunday. Anybody could have—”
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