“What direction?” She peered at him over a pizza triangle, brown eyes wide with curiosity.

“Not women.”

“Men? He was gay?” She chewed on that fact for a minute. “Darn. Who does that leave?”

Dylan considered the question again. “Grandfather Bradford, I suppose.”

“I remember Gran saying he had a real eye for the ladies once upon a time.”

“If he was going to risk everything he’d worked his whole life for, it would’ve been with someone willing to play the game his way.” Of course, his legend had been built on tales of ruthlessness. But still, the theory just didn’t wash. Family meant everything to Grandfather. He was rascal enough to own up to an illegitimate son if he had one. And damn anyone who objected.

“What about the current senator?”

“Uncle Arthur?” Dylan laughed out loud. Arthur had never embraced the exaggerated reputation with women the other Bradford men relished. “The idea of him with a mistress is almost as humorous as Uncle Tommy having one.”

“He’s not gay, too, is he?”

“One-hundred-percent hetero, as far as I know. He met Aunt Delia on Cape Cod when he was seventeen, and, as he always tells it, fell in love with her angel-blue eyes on the spot. I’d bet he’s been a one-woman man ever since.”

“Okay, let’s see who we’ve got.” Gracie put down her pizza, wiped her fingers with a napkin, and then ticked off names one by one. “Not your father. Not your grandfather. Not Tommy or Arthur.” She threw her hand up in exasperation. “I admire your family loyalty, but more than likely, one of these men is Clay’s father. We should try to eliminate them based on something more than your personal preference.”

A bit of pizza crust stuck in his throat, and Dylan washed it down with another pull on his beer. The only reason behind considering someone else to name as Clayton’s father was to clear his own, but that didn’t make it any easier. All of them were men he loved, admired, and respected.

“Would there have been anyone else?” Gracie asked. “Cousins? Nephews. Black sheep?”

Dylan started feeling boxed in by the direct questions, Gracie’s nearness, and the walls of the cabin. “I can’t think of anyone else, but I’ll ask Uncle Arthur.”

“Are you sure you want to ask one of the suspects who the other suspects might be?”

“Trust me, Uncle Arthur’s not a suspect.”

“Okay,” she said, clearly humoring him. “I’ll talk to David.”

“Why?”

“Of all the people left in East Langden, he knew Lana the best. And he knew your father.” Her eyes became guarded, leaving Dylan to wonder what she was hiding. “His health isn’t good right now, but have you noticed how he seems to be doling out information in bits and pieces?”

“Has he doled out something I don’t know about?”

“N-no,” she said, failing to meet his eyes. “But maybe there’s more.”

“Like what?” He nudged her knee with his when she remained silent.

“Maybe he knows something he doesn’t even know is important, like Granddad did. Or someone else might have information.” The tip of her tongue peeked out of the corner of her mouth while she concentrated, driving up Dylan’s temperature. “If your father was at the furniture factory the night Lana disappeared, maybe someone else saw him and knows what he was doing there.”

He dragged his attention away from her mouth. “Like who?”

“There used to be a night watchman, Henry Stillberg. He’s retired and lives in Florida part of the year. But he comes back to East Langden for the summer.” Gracie began filling the pizza box with assorted trash.

His hand on her knee grabbed her attention. “After you talk to David, we’ll find out if Stillberg’s in town and see what he remembers.”

“Okay.” A faint blush colored her cheeks as she stared at his hand.

He expected her to move it or stand or tell him to keep his hands to himself, but she didn’t. Raising her eyes, she looked at him. Cautious and uncertain, yet interested.

He returned the look until looking wasn’t enough. Hooking his hand behind her neck, he pulled her forward. “Come here.”

His mouth claimed hers, taking the kiss he’d anticipated all afternoon. This was it. No interruptions, no appointments, no responsibilities, no audience, and so much better than his wildest dreams.

Without moving his mouth from hers, he took the box from her and dropped it on the floor. He clasped her waist and lifted her onto his lap where she nestled firmly against him.

She groaned, or he did, as his hands crept up her sides. His fingers rested beneath the fullness of her breasts and his thumbs brushed her taut nipples. Raggedly breathing in her scent, he lowered his mouth to her neck and nibbled her earlobe, exercising every bit of control to keep from peeling off her clothes and losing himself in her body.

His earlier theory that a lengthy bout of kissing would satisfy him was soon shattered. He could practically hear the condoms in his glove box calling his name before he remembered that the timing for moving on to bigger and better things might be perfect, but the setting was not. When he got Gracie hot and sweaty between the sheets, he wanted there to be sheets.

He spent a moment banishing the lust from his brain and other body parts. Dylan sighed against her neck and took a deep breath. While he shifted the rest of his body into neutral, he tried to talk himself into believing his decision was for the best.

Graffiti decorated the walls, piles of rubbish sat around them like kindling for a bonfire, the rickety sofa smelled like piss—he probably didn’t smell much better than that—and an animal rustled through the trash...

A what!

Dylan leaped to his feet with Gracie in his arms. Damn! At his feet, a raccoon gnawed on leftover pizza. This place resembled a petting zoo more than a house, but the interruption accomplished the trick of killing the mood for seduction.

“Thanks for the pizza.” He pressed a soft kiss against her mouth and lowered her feet to the floor after the scavenger scooted away.

“You’re welcome.” Her eyes clouded with confusion at his change of direction. “I guess.”

He hugged her tightly against him. “I should get back to work.”

“I’ll help.” She looked around the room, and he could see her assessing the greatest need.

Just like Little Miss Efficiency to pitch in, but he knew she’d already had a long day. And so had he. Rolling his head from side to side, he stretched the tight muscles in his back.

“Let’s pack it in for the night.” He took her by the hand as she tried to pass by him on her way to the sink.

“There’s still a lot to do, and you’ll need a place to sleep tomorrow.” She removed her hand from his, opened cabinet doors and inspected inside.

“Nah,” he said. “Tomorrow night, I’ll be in New York.”

“Oh. Right.” Her features turned into a blank slate as she cleared supplies off the counter and placed them on a shelf.

He hated that look. He hated having to explain himself more. “I told you yesterday I’d be going to the basketball playoffs.” He took a bottle of cleanser from her and turned her to face him. “I’ll be back on Monday.”

“Good.” She shrugged and returned to her straightening.

Although he’d only be gone for a few days, he’d miss her perpetual motion, her bossiness, her smile. He missed her smile already.

“Would you like to go with me?” The question bewildered him even as he asked it. Good God, from what oxygen-deprived section of his brain had that suggestion come from?

“You’re inviting me go to New York with you?” Gracie perked up momentarily. But in the blink of an eye her look changed from intrigued to indifferent. She slumped against the counter. “I can’t go to New York.”

“Sure, you can.” He was determined to convince her, although he sure didn’t know why. “We can fly there tomorrow afternoon and come back on Saturday morning if you want.”