“Didn’t you wonder how your mother came to own a house?”

“I assumed she had a mortgage and insurance like everyone else. Didn’t she?” Clayton frowned as Dylan shook his head. “How do you know?”

“David told me.”

“David told you. My David?” Clayton took his time crossing his fork and knife over his empty plate. His lips disappeared into a thin line. “Why would he tell you something like that?”

“I guess he thought it would strengthen your claim.”

Gracie took an impatient swat at his arm. “Would you tell him what you know and quit acting like Midas dispensing gold coins?” She took over the story. “Your mother had the deed in a safety deposit box along with a letter from a big-time Hartford attorney who worked for the Bradfords.”

Even in the taut atmosphere, Dylan had to suppress a smile. He’d known she wouldn’t remain a silent partner for long.

“And you knew about this, too?” Clayton accused Gracie.

“Not until this morning, but don’t you see what this means? It’s another link between you and the Bradfords.”

His negligent wave swept the information aside. “Is that all you’ve got?”

Clayton’s lack of enthusiasm surprised Dylan. “I talked to the realtor who negotiated the sale. He said your mother paid for the house with a cashier’s check.”

“And she didn’t borrow the money from a bank?”

“Nope. The realtor remembered because he wondered where someone so young and ‘feisty,’ as he put it, could’ve gotten that kind of money.”

“That does seem like a possible link,” Clayton admitted. “And here’s another one for you.” He face gave him away like a novice poker player with a royal flush. “David told me this morning that someone has been depositing money in a trust account for me ever since my mother’s disappearance.”

“Who?” Gracie asked.

“An anonymous benefactor.” Clay turned pointedly toward Dylan. “Any guesses?”

Now Dylan understood Clayton’s odd mood. As angry as the young doctor had been about discovering Gracie in his arms, he’d also been savoring his anticipation of dropping this little bombshell. And it did succeed in sending a few tremors through the foundation of Dylan’s already shaky world.

“There’s nothing in that to indicate my father.” He hoped. “There wouldn’t have been time for him to set up something that intricate. He died right after your mother disappeared.”

“The details of the trust could have been established any time after Clay’s birth,” Gracie pointed out.

“Maybe, but I’d need to see some proof linking that to my father before I’d believe it.”

“Do you have a copy of his will?” she asked.

“What law firm handled his personal affairs?” Clayton smirked at his word choice. “Was it the same one that transferred the house to my mother?”

“Yes.” He’d recently looked over his mother’s and father’s wills to see if his mother had neglected to reveal any surprises besides the cabin. Clayton had not been referenced, but Dylan’s father could have made separate arrangements for any number of outside interests. “I’ve already got someone working on getting more information about the house.”

Even if Uncle Arthur came up empty on that score, Dylan had set his personal assistant to work on the situation. Gilmore was a wizard when it came to hacking, and deeds and trusts were the kind of tangible transactions that left a clear trail for someone with the patience to follow it. An attribute that Dylan clearly lacked.

“This could be it.” Gracie reached over to squeeze her friend’s hand. “This is the kind of evidence you’ve needed all along.”

“This or DNA testing,” Clayton said. “That would have settled the issue when I raised it. Are you still opposed to that?”

Dylan had known since he’d seen the picture of Lana at Gracie’s that he couldn’t deny the possible any longer. He still didn’t believe his father would fail to acknowledge a child of his own, no matter what the circumstances surrounding the birth. But there were too many coincidences piling up to ignore.

“Set up the testing, and I’ll submit to it.” He just wished the agreement didn’t seem like a betrayal of both his parents.

The breath whooshed out of Gracie in a gasp of surprise. She looked at Dylan with dazed admiration, like he’d single-handedly colonized the moon and patented calorie-free chocolate all in the same day.

Clayton looked more puzzled than elated. “What are you up to now?”

Now that he’d gotten a taste for fighting, Dylan would have liked nothing better than to blacken Clayton’s other eye, the ungrateful jerk.

“I spoke with my sister this morning.” Dylan swallowed the fifty-pound boulder lodged in his throat. “We agree that it’s the best way to settle the situation. One way or another.”

“But you still don’t believe you have a bastard half-brother, do you?” If a look could be used as a steamroller, Clay was attempting to flatten Dylan with a glare.

“My disbelief has more to do with my opinion of my father than of you.”

Clayton seethed, probably preparing a verbal attack, if not a physical one, until Gracie jumped in. “How long will it take DNA results to come back from the lab, Clayton?”

He shrugged. “A couple of days, depending on how busy the lab is.”

“Is there any way to speed that up? We can keep searching for something definitive in the meantime, Dylan.”

“We?” Clayton’s eyes filled with hurt and anger. “All of a sudden you and Dylan are ‘we.’”

“In this one instance only.”

“Gracie, come on.” Her friend circled her wrist with his fingers. “You know you can’t trust him. We’ve already talked about his reputation, but there’s more that you should know.”

“If there’s more to know about your mother and Dylan’s father, then you should tell us.” She removed her arm from his grasp. “I’ll always value your opinion and take it into consideration before I make up my own mind.”

Dylan waited for Clayton to reveal any other secrets he harbored behind those steely blue eyes. Bradford blue, damn it.

Clay opened and closed his mouth like an asthmatic fish, but said nothing. Before Dylan could decide what it would take to get him to spill whatever he knew, Tanya sashayed up and made herself at home.

“Jeezo Pete.” She set her tray down and gingerly poked the swelling around Clayton’s eye then glanced at Dylan. “You two look like you were run over by the same truck.”

“Or motorcycle gang,” Dylan suggested.

“I know Clay’s too stubborn to accept help, Gracie, but I thought Dylan would be smart enough to let you take care of him.” Tanya dropped into the empty seat.

“I don’t need anyone to take care of me,” Dylan objected. “I’m in perfect physical condition.” He flexed his arm to show off muscles that bulged like a bodybuilder’s.

Tanya tested for firmness. “God, you’re right. It’s like concrete. You’re lucky to still be walking, Clay.”

Clayton relaxed his clenched fist with visible effort and pushed away from the table. “Talk to you later, Gracie. I’ll check into requesting DNA tests when I go back to the office.” He turned on his heel and stalked away, avoiding eye contact with Tonya and Dylan before he left.

“Was it something I said?” Tanya looked the picture of wide-eyed innocence.

“Isn’t it always?”

“No, it could’ve been something Dylan said. Besides, even though you were the only one Clay actually spoke to, I had the impression you weren’t exactly on his good side either.”

“Does he have one?” Dylan asked.

“Oh, yes,” the two women said in unison.

“Where does he keep it?”

“Behind that grumpy exterior,” Gracie said.

“And he wears that lab coat like a magic cape to hide his vulnerabilities and fears,” Tanya added. “He’s never had it easy, you know.”

Who has? Most people would think Dylan had. Almost everyone but Wyatt and Ryan thought so because no one bothered to look beneath the surface. Of course, he never invited anyone to. And on the surface, he looked like one lucky son of a bitch.