Back Where She Belongs(48)

“Not important.”

He glared at his father, sick to death of his twisted emotions and confused motivations. “I’ll tell you what is important—the contract with Wharton which you practically cost us.”

“Maybe that’s for the best.”

“No, Dad. It’s not for the best. I don’t know why you want to kill it, and it doesn’t really matter because we need the contract. I won’t lose it if there’s any way to save it. And here’s something else. I’m leaving the company. I’ll stay until this business with the bad parts is resolved, one way or the other. I’ll see us through whatever comes of the Tesla wreck investigation. In the meantime, Victor’s going to take over most of my duties.”

“What the hell are you talking about?”

“It’s been ten years, Dad. I’m proud of what I’ve accomplished here. But I’m done. I need to move on. You need me to move on. You have to step up to the plate and lead the company, stop throwing stones into the works. Victor will do great in my place. Better, in fact, since he’s an engineer, too.”

“You’re that angry at me.” His father looked totally betrayed. He seemed to sink into himself. “You’d just walk out on me.”

Dylan fought the urge to rescue him, to take it back, to promise to always be there. He knew that wasn’t good for either of them. He felt the empty ache he’d felt at eighteen seeing his father so ruined. Maybe Tara had a point. Maybe he thought he had to rescue his father or lose the man’s love.

“I’m not angry. I’m just determined. It’s time, Dad. For both of us.”

“I didn’t know you were so unhappy here.”

“We both need a break from each other.”

His father looked down. “I know I’m not the easiest guy to work with.”

“No, you’re not. And maybe I put up with too much from you over the years. You can do better. You’ll have to when Victor takes over. He’s not as easygoing as I am. And you can’t afford to lose him. That’s certain.”

His father looked at him. His eyes showed hurt, but Dylan saw a flicker of acceptance. “I didn’t raise you to let people down.”

“You raised me to believe in myself, to go after my dream. And that’s what I’m doing. I love you, Dad. I respect you. You’re a brilliant engineer. This is for the best.”

“So you say,” his dad said, but there was no energy behind his mockery.

“Right now, I’m going to talk to Dale about getting the testing mess fixed, once and for all. And you’re going to change out those drive assemblies you put in my car, Candee’s car and anybody else’s car.”

“They’re not broken, Dylan. I’d bet my life on it.”

“You bet all our lives on it, Dad. You’d better hope the part on Abbott’s car wasn’t faulty or you’ve not only lost a bet, you’ve your company helped kill a man and put a woman in a coma.”

At home, a few hours later, when he dropped onto the couch with a beer, the enormity of what had happened rolled over him.

The possibility that a Ryland part might have killed Abbott Wharton was almost more than he could bear. If it were true, it might well sink the company.

It had been hard to hurt his father, to hear him say Dylan was letting him down, but the decision was right. Dylan knew that. His father would see that...or he wouldn’t. Dylan would live with it, either way. If his father quit loving him, he’d live with that, too.

And then there was Tara. Their argument and their breakup. He sighed. In some ways, that hurt most of all. He ached all over, inside and out. It hurt to breathe.

Sensing his distress, Duster hauled his arthritic bones onto the couch and rested his muzzle on Dylan’s lap, tucking his head under Dylan’s hand. He seemed to think if Dylan petted him, Dylan would feel better.

“Won’t work, pal. I don’t think I’ll feel better for a long, long time.”

Dylan and Tara had shared only two nights, but it felt like they’d said no to a lifetime together, to happiness, to a closeness he’d never known before.

Not the closeness of teenagers marveling at the wonder of being in love for the first time, but an adult intimacy, a true connection, a lifelong bond.

Too much stood between them. Too little held them together. He was almost grateful to have a work problem to focus on, anything to keep him from feeling the heartbreak that waited to plow him under.





CHAPTER SEVENTEEN



TARA SAT BESIDE DYLAN at a small table in Wharton’s testing office. With them were Dale Danvers and Jeb Harris. Jeb and Dale knew only of the first part of the mission—to look for patterns in part failures. Tara had been able to read the serial number on one of Dylan’s engine close-ups, so they planned to look for it among the failed parts lists.

Tara glanced at Dylan. He looked as awful as she felt. His eyes were red and haunted. He was unshaven, his face gray with exhaustion. She hadn’t been able to talk to him, but she guessed his misery wasn’t just about the possibility that a Ryland part had caused the wreck.

She’d missed him terribly last night. At midnight, she’d gotten all the way to her car, ready to drive to him before she realized how foolish that would be. This wasn’t a romantic movie where you forgot all that was wrong between you and figured love would find a way. Love couldn’t find a way past a dead-end.

“You okay?” Dylan asked her. “What happened to your hand?”

She looked at the scrapes on her knuckles. “From the thorn bush.” She’d found the bumper in a thick bush and had to pull it out. It had had dents and scrapes, and streaks of light blue paint—definite signs it had been hit. She’d put a call in to the insurance agent, hoping what she’d learned from the reconstructionist and figured out herself would trigger an investigation.

“The reports on the failed devices.” Jeb set two thick notebooks of printouts on the table. Dylan took one, Dale the other. “Here’s my analysis.” Jeb presented Tara with several pages of colored graphs and charts with percentages of failures on each date for the past month. The graph showed a steady line, except for a few sharp dips.

Dylan was holding the slip of paper on which she’d written the serial number, while he scanned the report pages. After a while he traded books with Dale. When he’d finished he caught Tara’s eye and shook his head. Not so far.

“These reports only go back a month,” Dylan said to Jeb.

“We recycle every four weeks. Haven’t you got enough there?”

“I’d like to see the earlier results, when we did have a component problem. For comparison purposes.”

“It’s on the computer,” Jeb said with a sigh. “Archived.”

Dylan and Tara looked over Jeb’s shoulder as he clicked through screens.

“Also, we’d like to take a few of the failed parts to test them ourselves,” Dylan said.

Jeb shot him a glare. “I’m only tolerating this so-called review because our lawyer ordered me to. You aren’t the only people who stand by their work.”

“We know that, Jeb,” Tara said. “It will reassure the Ryland team that Wharton has nothing to hide.”

Jeb shook his head, irritated, but going along...so far. “I’ll tell Matt to hold a couple from the recycle load. He’s due to haul it out today.”

“Thanks, Jeb,” Dylan said. “We appreciate that.”

“I want this fixed as much as you do. And, for the record, I don’t buy that your father installed our rejects in any damn car that’s still on the road.”

Tara saw that as her cue. “Do you guys put Wharton batteries in your own cars, by the way?”

“Some do. We put them in free for employees. Here’s the first week,” he said, motioning at the screen for Dylan.

“Because my father had one put in his Tesla,” she continued, her heart racing. “I assume it was done here? He’s an employee, after all.” She held her breath, waiting for the answer.

“It’s possible. I didn’t see it.” He kept his attention on the screen.

Matt Sutherland stuck his head in the door. When he saw the visitors, he stiffened, which caught Tara’s attention. “What’s going on?”

“They’re reviewing our test reports,” Jeb said.

Matt blanched. What was that about? Tara got a prickle. She tried to catch Dylan’s eye, but he was glued to the screen.

“Grab a couple of yesterday’s duds for them,” Jeb said to Matt.

“But they’re already loaded on the truck,” he said, almost panicky.

“Then pull a few off,” Jeb said, turning to look at his assistant. “What’s with you?”

“Nothing. Stuff at home, I guess. We have an appointment this afternoon, so—”