The Billionaire's Affair: Billionaire Brothers (Tycoon Billionaires Book 2)

by Farrell, Julie

  Natalia yelled in a bloodcurdling voice. “Dylan! Dylan! Help me, help me!”

  On auto-pilot, Dylan rushed to meet her, and Sarah and Joseph followed. As they came together, Natalia stumbled, and Dylan caught her in his arms.

  Then Sarah saw it.

  Everything else faded into the background as Sarah’s mind glued itself to the terrifying sight of a bloody knife sticking out of Natalia’s back. Fear zoomed into Sarah’s brain as if she’d been injected with a hypodermic needle full of insanity. Her muscles tensed, and the boundaries of her personal space squashed up close, crushing her lungs and restricting her breath.

  She watched through blurring eyes, as the bleeding Natalia locked her gaze with Dylan’s. She panted in his arms, clearly dying. Sarah wanted to reach out and comfort her, but reality was like molasses – like a nightmare where you can’t speak or even move…

  With her last ounce of strength, Natalia pulled herself up to Dylan’s ear and spoke urgently, but the sound of the frantic crowd prevented Sarah from hearing a single word. It was clearly bad news – Dylan’s eyes widened in shock as she spoke.

  Sarah realised with sadness how utterly alone Natalia was. Even though she was surrounded by hundreds of people in this pulsating crowd, no one could save her. Not even Dylan. She shivered and watched in slow motion as Dylan suddenly sprung to life and grabbed Natalia by the shoulders. “What do you mean?” he asked. “What are you saying?”

  Natalia inhaled to speak, but it was too late. She gasped for air, desperate to answer, but her heavy head dropped forward like a cannonball, and her life drained away. She flopped against Dylan’s body. And she was gone.

  Dylan stared frozen at the dead woman in his arms. Dizziness encompassed Sarah. She felt herself stumble as her knees gave way, but she managed to stay upright by colliding with the hordes of people who were now suffocating her, demanding answers; desperate to know what the hell had just happened.

  Sarah’s body prickled with panic – what if the mob turned against them? What if someone accused Dylan of killing Natalia? She felt as if she was standing on the cusp of something terrible. A window ledge. It was like trying to control a slippery fish as it thrashed about, desperate to stay alive. She glanced into the sea of confusion, unsure what to do next… But thankfully two cops were already running over. They eased Natalia’s heavy lifeless body out of Dylan’s frozen arms and rested her on the ground.

  Dylan came back to life and turned to Sarah, hugging her tight. She sank into his body, relieved to feel his strength all around her. She could feel him shaking. Or maybe it was her shaking. Dylan reached out and threw his other arm around Joseph, checking he was okay, then they stood there in the chaos – in the heat and the madness – until more police arrived to deal with the ever-growing crowd; to deal with this celebrity Russian socialite who was now dead on the dusty ground of the famous London landmark.

  Sarah couldn’t drag her eyes away from the cold beautiful corpse. But then someone who Sarah never thought she’d be relieved to see shoved her way through to halt in front of their little group… Detective Edwards.

  “You three need to come with me now,” she shouted, raising her voice against the noisy rabble. “And this time, Mr Quinlan, I suggest you do call your lawyer.”

  Chapter Ten

  Dylan scrubbed his shaking hands under the far-too-hot water in the grotty men’s room at the police station. He splashed his face, then inspected his weary reflection in the warped mirror. Jesus. His brief affair with Natalia had led him to places he’d never thought possible. Poor girl… he’d never wanted this to happen. Not in a million years. What sort of man arranged to have his wife stabbed in a public square like that? Dylan gazed into his own eyes and saw a generally decent man in there. Certainly not someone like Vladimir Orlov. He vowed that this was the last time he’d get mixed up with anything dangerous or dubious. Straight down the line from now on. His priorities had swerved now that Sarah was back in his life, and he needed to keep her out of trouble. Metallic pain pierced his heart as his mind switched Sarah for Natalia in today’s terrible scene. There was no way…

  He prepared himself to face reality again by breathing deeply into his lungs, standing tall, and setting his face to confident, then – happy with what the mirror showed him – he strode back out to the featureless side-room where Sarah and Joseph were chatting quietly on a fraying couch, drinking tea from polystyrene cups. It smelled musty in here, like an ancient closet full of worn-out overcoats.

  “Hey,” Dylan said, joining them. He reached down and rubbed Sarah on the cheek. She closed her eyes and relished his touch, like a cat nuzzling its owner’s hand. Sarah was a strong-minded woman, but he was worried he’d dragged her in above her head. And as for his little brother… Joseph had been through a lot recently what with losing Ivan. The last thing Dylan wanted was for him to have some sort of mental breakdown.

  Dylan opened his mouth to ask if they were both okay – which was a silly question after what had just happened – but he closed it as his lawyer strode into the room.

  “Dylan, hi,” he said. They shook hands.

  “Jim, thanks for coming so quick.”

  Jim was a tall wily middle-aged man who Dylan had appointed as Grafton Techs’ legal head as soon as he’d arrived in London. He was balding, slightly grubby, and always had a five o’clock shadow. But what he lacked in suave appearances, he made up for with ruthless legal prowess.

  “Right,” Jim said. “The police are ready to begin, but I suggest you only speak to them in my presence, okay?”

  “Are we in any trouble?” Sarah asked.

  “None,” Jim said. “You haven’t been arrested so you’re under no obligation to stay here. You’re doing them a favour. As a witness to an offence, you –”

  “Offence?” Joseph scoffed. “Is that lawyer-speak for ‘a brutal coldblooded murder’?”

  Jim ignored the interruption. “– you aren’t obliged under UK law to answer any of the detective’s questions.” He pinned Dylan with a stare that probably scared the hell out of witnesses in court. “Technically you could just walk out now, Dylan.”

  “I know. But I need to find out what’s going on.”

  Jim glanced at Sarah. “Was Natalia Orlov – uhh – dear to you, Dylan?”

  “No, but she died right in my arms. And I’m potentially about to do business with her husband. Her widower.”

  “Her murderer,” Joseph muttered.

  Jim transferred his stare to Joseph. “I wouldn’t go around making accusations like that without proof, young man.”

  Dylan intervened before Joseph was able to give whatever sarcastic reply was formulating in his mouth.

  “Look,” Dylan said. “In my mind, the police are helping me with my enquiries. I just wanna find out what the hell’s going on.”

  Jim’s face remained as cool as an ice-bucket. “Fine. I’ll go and tell the detective my clients are ready to talk.”

  Dylan wasn’t sure why he had such an instinctive dislike of the police. Perhaps it was because of the rumours of his father’s gun-running past, which had haunted the family in the decades since he’d given it up – if he had indeed done it. His dad wasn’t telling, and none of the brothers were keen to know the truth. But Dylan was keen to know the truth about Natalia.

  This stuffy interview room was gloomy with dark grey walls and plastic chairs. There was a shabby wooden table between Dylan and the detective, with an industrial tape recorder screwed to the wall – as if anyone would try to steal such an archaic piece of junk in the middle of a police interrogation. Dylan drummed his fingers on the table, waiting for the constable to finish setting up the recording device. Jim sat next to him, and Detective Edwards sat opposite – drinking coffee from a plastic cup and looking weary. She stank of cigarettes, and her voice was gravelly from smoking too much.

  “So here we are again, Mr Quinlan. Perhaps if you’d been more cooperative earlier, Mrs Orlov might still be alive.”


  Dylan’s irritation surged. “This has nothing to do with me. I didn’t stick that goddamn knife in her.”

  Detective Edwards sighed. “Okay, Mr Quinlan. Could you tell us what your relationship was with Mrs Orlov? Is it true you were having an affair?”

  Jim leaned casually back in his seat. “Dylan, you don’t have to answer that. The interview hasn’t officially started and you’re under no obligation to talk.” He glared at the detective. “Perhaps if the detective wants information, she might want to try being a bit more civil.”

  Detective Edwards opened her mouth to reply, but Dylan’s phone rang, so he pulled it out of his inside jacket pocket. “Excuse me. This might be a client.”

  Detective Edwards grumbled. “Mr Quinlan, please finish your call quickly then turn off your phone.”

  Dylan ignored her and blocked out the petty squabble that she and Jim were launching into. He held his phone to his ear. “Dylan Quinlan speaking.”

  The end of the line crackled. Dylan strained to listen. “Hello?”

  A whispered Russian voice said. “We know you are with police. You must not tell what Natalia said to you, or else your brothers will die one by one. And then your sweet little sister. Understand?”

  Dylan’s shoulders shuddered with shock as the air constricted around him. His mind raced with frantic dread. Were his siblings in trouble? Joseph was still here at the police station, wasn’t he? And Adam? Surely he’d be okay; at the office as usual. And what about… the others… He glanced at the detective, who was still having a restrained argument with Jim about Dylan’s involvement in all this. “You need to either arrest and charge my client, or let him go. He’s done nothing wrong.”

  Dylan calmed his thrashing heart and opened his mouth to appease the caller, but the line went dead. Trying to stop his hands from shaking with adrenaline, he dropped the phone back in his pocket and forced himself to think straight. He needed to get out of here with as little fuss and suspicion from the detective as possible. Then he could sort this mess out himself.

  He splayed his hands on the table. “I’m ready to answer your questions.”

  The detective threw her attention over him. “Anyone important on the phone?”

  “Wrong number.”

  “Right. Okay, let’s get on with this witness interview then – before your lawyer decides to sue Her Majesty’s Law Enforcement Agency.” She pressed ‘record’ on the tape player and gave a preamble. Then she gazed deeply into Dylan’s eyes. He held her eye contact, refusing to be intimidated. “Okay, Mr Quinlan, first things first. We know Natalia Orlov shouted your name and sourced you out in Leicester Square. Our officers say Mrs Orlov spoke into your ear. What did she say exactly. Word-for-word, please.”

  Dylan straightened his tie. “I don’t know. She was speaking in Russian.”

  Detective Edwards raised a skeptical eyebrow. “Okay. In that case, can you tell me what business you had with Mrs Orlov at the Grantham Hotel last night?”

  “If you must know, I met her to call it off.”

  “To call what off? You were having an affair?”

  Dylan glanced at the tape recorder. If he admitted this on record, would Orlov come after him again?

  The detective followed his gaze. “What you say will be treated as strictly confidential, Mr Quinlan.”

  He glanced at Jim, who nodded.

  “Well, okay, it’s none of your business, but we’d previously met up to have sex maybe two or three times.”

  “I see. Was it two or three?”

  “I don’t really remember.”

  The detective sneered at him as if he was some disgusting slut. “Right. Can you tell me what happened last night? You were seen leaving the hotel with the general manager – Sarah Newell – and a maid.”

  Dylan glanced at Jim, who shrugged. “Okay,” Dylan said. “This is the truth. There was this Russian guy with a knife trying to kill me last night. Natalia hid in the bathroom, but she must’ve screamed or something, which alerted Sarah, who came to the room and bashed the guy over the head with a lamp. He was fine; he got up and walked away. We decided to smuggle Natalia out of the hotel dressed as a maid, for her safety as well as mine. Alright? That’s the truth.”

  “I see… And do you think the same knifeman might’ve killed her today?”

  “No clue. I didn’t see anything until she’d already been… stabbed.”

  “And why would anyone want her dead?”

  “Isn’t that your job to find out?”

  The detective glared blankly. “I’m asking for your opinion.”

  “Alright, well – if you want my opinion – I’d say you need to start with the jealous husband. I assume you’re asking Mr Orlov similar questions, huh?”

  Detective Edwards didn’t blink. “I believe you and Mr Orlov had a business meeting this morning. What was discussed there?”

  “That’s confidential, sorry. But it was nothing to do with last night. Or Natalia.”

  She softened slightly. “Mr Quinlan – off the record – I strongly recommend you don’t continue down that road with Vladimir Orlov. He’s trouble.”

  Dylan leaned forward and stared into her eyes. “Thanks for the tipoff. Can I go now?”

  Chapter Eleven

  Sarah was exhausted by the time she left the police station with Dylan and Joseph. At times during her interview she’d felt as if the police were interrogating her, rather than asking for information. And she hadn’t understood what relevance it was that Dylan was a former boyfriend of hers, but this fact seemed to be of great interest to the detective. Thankfully Dylan’s lawyer had been very professional and ensured she only answered the questions she was comfortable with.

  They all got a cab back to Dylan’s apartment, where he’d been living for the last few months to oversee the Grafton Techs takeover. Sarah refrained from gasping as she walked in. Dylan had obviously done very well for himself in the years since they’d split up. The apartment was huge and modern; clean and immaculate. His monthly rent was probably the equivalent of a year’s wages for some of her staff at the hotel. It was pure luxury. But… it was characterless, like living inside the glossy-but-bland pages of a home-furnishings catalogue. The cream walls, beige carpets, and angular furniture were dull enough, but the lack of personal artefacts – such as books or photos – made the place feel utterly soulless. She knew Dylan wasn’t planning to move here permanently, but still… did he actually live here, or just exist?

  Dylan showed them through to the lavish kitchen. It was metallic and minimalistic, reminding Sarah of a futuristic movie. But the clinical décor was quite fitting for how Sarah was currently feeling. Detached. Cold. Emotionless…

  Dylan pulled her out of her thoughts with a kiss her on the lips – making her feel shy in front of Joseph. Then he headed back to the living room. “Hey, Joe, make Sarah a cup of tea, okay? I need to call Adam and the others. Make sure they’re all okay.”

  Joseph frowned. “Why? What would be wrong?”

  “I’ll tell you in a minute. Let me call them first.”

  Sarah unwrapped the plastic from an untouched packet of tea, then she watched as Joseph poured the boiled water from the gleaming kettle into a brand new mug. He stared into the steaming liquid and pressed the teabag up against the side of the cup to within an inch of its life.

  “Still can’t make a decent cuppa, I see?” she joked.

  He glanced up and smiled. “Sorry, I was miles away.”

  “It’s okay. It’s been a bit of a weird afternoon, hasn’t it? You okay?”

  “Oh yeah, I’m okay. I’m getting used to people dying all around me.”

  Sarah gazed at him with compassionate eyes. Poor kid. “You miss Ivan… he was a good guy.”

  Joseph gave the teabag one last squeeze then fished it out with the teaspoon. “He was the best. But life goes on. I just wish… oh, nothing. There’s no point in wishing, is there? It doesn’t change anything.”

  Sarah reached out and
grasped his arm affectionately. “I know how painful it is, Joseph, I really do. But – and it’s cliché, I know – but time will take the sting away. It won’t always feel this bad. I promise.”

  Joseph smiled sadly. “Thank you, Sarah – I know I’m not the only one who’s been through this.”

  Sarah opened her mouth to share her own losses, but Dylan strode back into the room. “Good news – everyone’s alive.”

  Sarah poured a splash of milk into her tea. “Why wouldn’t they be, Dylan?”

  He leaned against the marble counter. “I got a phone call during my police interview. They told me not to repeat what Natalia said to me when she died, or they’d exact revenge on my family. One by one.”

  Joseph’s mouth dropped open. “What!”

  “Don’t worry, kiddo, I didn’t tell the police anything.”

  Sarah’s anxiety sputtered into life. “Did you tell them what happened last night, though? I did. I mean, I didn’t think it would be a problem. Your lawyer said it was okay to tell them that.”

  “I told them the truth,” Dylan said. “But I get the feeling that detective thinks I had something to do with what happened, so I need to make sure I clear my name. I don’t trust the police.”

  “What did Natalia say to you before she died?” Sarah asked. “You can tell me and Joseph, surely?”

  Dylan rubbed his forehead wearily. “She said ‘Orlov will use Grafton Techs to create a war between Russia and America. He knows about Ivan… Long live the rebels.’”

  Joseph stood tall, ready to fight. “What do they know about Ivan? That he’s dead? It’s hardly a secret, is it?”

  “No… I know.”

  “So what did they mean?” Sarah asked, stifling a yawn. “Oh sorry… What a day.”

  Dylan put his arm around her and pulled her close. “It’s okay. It’s been a pretty traumatic afternoon, huh?” He transferred his attention to Joseph, “Hey, you got a gig tonight?”