High Stakes (11 page)

“I…um…” He took the invitation. “Thanks. I’ll see what I can do.”

Marian left the office.

And Rachel deflated. She sank down on the chair, as if standing was too much of an effort. When the door opened again and Jeannine walked back in, Rachel said, “I need five minutes.”

“Sure.” Jeannie scowled at Dylan.

“Jeannine, this is Dylan O’Neil.”

“Jeannine.”

“Mr. O’Neil,” she responded sharply and left.

Dylan waited. When Rachel closed her eyes, he felt a tug of sympathy. “Are you all right?”

“What? Oh, yes, I just need to regroup a bit.”

“Your mother seems nice.” She did, though it was obvious something was off with her relationship with Rachel.

“My mother
is
nice. So are Rebecca and my father.”

“But?”

She looked at him then. “Too personal, Dylan. Way too personal.” She held out her hand for the invitation. “I’ll rip that up for you.”

For some reason, he yanked it back. “Wait a second. How do you know I don’t want to go?”

Her eyes widened and her color deepened. “Please, Dylan. I don’t want you there.”

“Why?”

She just shook her head.

“If you don’t tell me, I’ll have to go just to find out for myself.”

The look on her face turned fearful and he thought about taking the words back. In a minute, her expression disappeared. “Suit yourself.” She gestured to the table. “Let me call Jeannie and get to the last segment.”

Dylan didn’t argue. Truthfully, he didn’t want to push her. Right now, it would be like kicking a puppy.

When he finally got out of the studio, Dylan drove to the pub. It was ten p.m. and he was exhausted simply watching Rachel put her news show together—which turned out to be an excellent production—and then debrief afterward. He’d had no idea how much work went into one simple cable-television hour and wanted only a hot shower and bed.

But Aidan had gotten back from his photography exhibit in California today, and Dylan had told his brothers to let him give Aidan the down low on his investigation of Rachel Scott. He and C.J. were coming to the pub for a late dinner. As he maneuvered the streets, headlights of oncoming cars making him squint, Dylan worried about Aidan’s reaction. Would he attack Dylan as Pat had?

After parking behind the pub, he entered through the back door with his key. The kitchen was empty—dinner hour was long over—but the scent of fresh dough filled the air. Must be for Sophie’s firefighter friends in the morning. After a neighboring restaurant had closed, crews started frequenting the pub after shifts, and that’s how Liam had met Sophie. America’s Bravest still came, in droves, and though it meant extra work for Liam, they were making mega bucks on that little deal.

He went out into the pub proper and caught sight of two of his brothers at a table with their wives—Brie and Pat and Aidan and C.J.. Often they stayed after closing and did their own debriefing of sorts. Crossing to them, he hoped like hell Aidan would understand what he was doing.

His little bro glanced up at him. “Hey, Dyl.” Aidan stood and hugged him. “Good to see you.” He’d been gone only a week, but Aidan was a sentimental one.

“You, too.”

Pat caught his eye. He nodded his chin at Aidan, a silent communication that they hadn’t told Aidan anything.

“Sit down,” Aidan said.

“Gotta kiss my sisters-in-law first.” He circled around and gave C.J. a kiss on the cheek. “How you feeling, girl?”

“Sick to my stomach. Watch out, I might barf all over you.”

Brie laughed, looking sleek and sophisticated, even at this hour. “It’ll pass, honey. Hey, Dyl,” she said squeezing his arm.

“Hey, beautiful.” Tonight her deep red hair sparkled under the lights, reminding him of Rachel, though Brie’s was clipped at the chin.

He sat. Pat poured him a beer from the pitcher on the table and Dylan took a sip. The cold brew went down smooth.

“So, what are you up to?” Aidan asked cheerily. “The guys said you’re taking a week off.”

“Yeah, I am. I gotta tell you something, Aidan. And please don’t kick and scream about it until you hear me out.”

Dylan saw C.J. grasp Aidan’s hand under the table.

Dryly, Aidan said, “I hardly kick and scream at all anymore. What’s going on?”

“I’m probably giving Rachel Scott a second column.”

His still-boyish face darkened. “Why the fuck would you do that?”

Dylan tried to explain his rationale.

“You should have said no.”

“He’d lose his job if he did.” This from Brie; there were few secrets in this family.

“So?” Aidan’s voice rose a notch.

Now, that hurt. He and Aidan had in common the desire to make their own way, and Dylan had supported his youngest brother when he broke off to pursue his photography.

C.J. leaned forward. “Aidan, don’t.” She turned to Dylan. “Seriously, though, Dyl, wasn’t there any other alternative?”

“Not that I could see.” He ran a hand through his hair. “Look, I know everybody’s mad at me for this, but I took the week off to get the whole thing over with.”

“That’s supposed to make it better?” Aidan barked. “Jesus Christ, Dylan, C.J. could have broken her neck, jumping off that Ferris wheel to save Rory from the kidnappers. Her ankle still bothers her sometimes. And all because Rachel Scott leaked Bailey’s location at the lake.”

“I know what she’s done. It’s why I wrote my most recent column on her. There’s more to that story, too, but I want to finish up before I give you guys any details.”

Aidan’s face was still flushed. “So, the second column’s going to be worse than the first one, right?”

“I don’t know enough yet to say that. Or if I’ll even write one. But if I do, I have to tell the truth. It’s my trademark.”

“There’s absolutely no good reason for her to have stalked Clay and Bailey, hurt Rory and Mikey in the process, and made Sophie’s life hell for a while.” Though Bailey called him the peacemaker, sometimes Aidan could be like a dog with a bone.

Dylan sighed. “No, not for all of that. But she does good things, too. Aidan, that’s what my column for
CitySights
is all about. I show both sides when warranted.”

Abruptly, Aidan stood. Shoved back the chair. “Fuck both sides. You pick one, and it had better be ours. “ Turning, he strode toward the front door, grumbling, “I need some air,” and slammed out. But not before he overturned two stools that had been placed on top of a table.

Pat said, “Huh. So much for not kicking and screaming anymore.”

In the ballroom of The Plaza Hotel, The Scotts’ gala was in full swing, abuzz with donors and their dates, who drifted by in tuxes and sequins. Waiters carrying flutes of champagne whisked through the crowd, followed by those offering appetizers. Standing next to Rebecca in the reception line, Rachel called on the strength she’d built up over the years in dealing with her parents. She could do this, stay an hour and leave. To make herself feel better, she’d dressed up in sparkling silver and black and wore heavier makeup than usual.

Her sister squeezed her arm in support. There was no time to talk as the queue moved in a steady stream.

“Rachel, dear.” On the other side of her, Rachel’s mother, dressed in a long, black skirt and white blouse, held the hand of another woman in line in front of her. “Pauline, you remember my daughter Rachel. Rach, this is Pauline Depew. She runs the lab where I conduct my research.”

Pauline, dressed to the nines, like everybody else here, smiled at Rachel. Was there a bit of condescension in the gesture? “Yes, of course I remember her.” A crook of her head. “What exactly do you do again?”

“I’m a news anchor for NSMBC.” ”That’s right.” Quickly bypassing Rachel, the woman leaned over to kiss Rebecca’s cheek. “Rebecca, I read that wonderful article you wrote on childhood proclivities to respiratory disease in the
Journal of American Medicine
. I’d like to talk about the basis for your research.”

Rebecca shot Rachel a quick glance, then mumbled, “Anytime.”

When another group came down the line, her father exchanged places with her mother. “Jared, this is my daughter Rachel.” To Rachel, he said, “Darling, Jared Lake. He’s vice president of finance for Global International.”

Jared gave her a look of pure male interest. “She’s as beautiful as you said, Maxwell.” To Rachel, the man added, “I’ve seen clips of your pageants. You’re even lovelier than you were then.”

Rachel felt her face flush. Jared probably thought it was caused by false modesty. “Where did you see them?”

“Your parents had several of us over a while back. My wife is on the board of Miss New York now, and she wanted to view the videos of when you won.”

Swallowing hard, Rachel could only nod. It didn’t help when the exec went on to Rebecca and asked her about her time in England as a Rhodes Scholar. She heard him say he’d been one, too.

Surreptitiously, Rachel glanced at her rhinestone watch. God, she’d been here only thirty minutes. Peeking down the line, she half expected Dylan to show up, and now half wanted him to. Though he was an adversary, at least the emotion he showed toward her was because of her work in the news industry.

She endured the rest of the receiving line, and when it ended, her father leaned over. “Good performance, darling. Though I wish you looked like you were having a better time. Put on your game face, and all that.”

“I’ll try, Dad.”

“Come on.” Rebecca took her hand after they grabbed their things. “Let’s get some of that champagne.” As her sister led her away, Rebecca whispered, “In some far and distant corner.”

They found just the spot, over by the door to the patios, where it was chilly enough to keep gatherers away and a table sat empty. Rebecca put her pink shawl around her shoulders. It matched her dress. “Are you cold?” she asked Rachel.

Rachel’s dress was long sleeved, though it did dip in the back. “No.” She held up a black wool shawl. “I have this if I need it. I think I got overheated in the reception line.”

A waiter came by and offered them glasses of bubbly. Rebecca took two for each of them and put the reinforcements on the table. She raised her glass. “To sisters,” she said. “I see you, Rach.”

Rachel felt tears prickle behind her eyelids. “I know you do.” Sighing, she scanned the crowd. “Let’s not talk about it.”

“Okay. Then, tell me, what’s going on with Dylan O’Neil? He looked like he wanted to eat you up at Rachel’s basketball game.”

“Not to get too graphic, but he already had that pleasure.”

Rebecca practically squealed. “And I’m just hearing about this?”

“It’s not something I’m proud of.” Especially now. She could still see his closed-down face when he told her what he wanted from her professionally. Only professionally.

“Why? Sleeping with the enemy seems like a good plan.”

Is that how Dylan felt? “That wasn’t why I did it, Becca.” Rachel confided a few details. Her sister made comments. “But it’s over. We’re back to professional stuff only.”

“Hmm.” Rebecca stared out over the crowd. “Then, why is here tonight?”

Her heart lurched a little. “What? Where?”

Rebecca pointed him out. “And he’s heading right toward us.”

“Thank God he didn’t come down the reception line.” She didn’t want to be embarrassed in front of him.

His smile was sun bright. “Hello, ladies.” His grin was aimed at Rebecca. “You look lovely, Rebecca.” Then he turned to Rachel. “You’re gorgeous as usual, Ms. Scott. You shine in silver.”

She chuckled at the formality. “Mr. O’Neil, I’m shocked” —and happy—”to see you here.”

“I couldn’t resist getting a glimpse of you in your element.”

Rebecca choked on her wine.

“This isn’t my
element
at all,” Rachel commented, her voice turning cold. She scanned him. “I hope you didn’t rent that tux for tonight.”

“Nope.” He tugged at the lapels of his gray formal suit, worn with a light gray shirt and black tie. “My sister bought the outfit for me when I had to take her to a shindig much like this.” A mischievous grin now. “I have to admit, I dig it a lot.”

“You should. It looks wonderful on you.” Damn it to hell. Why had she blurted that out? She drained the rest of her glass.

“Is that a compliment?”

“No, never.”

Rebecca slid off the stool. “I have to go find Mike. Nice to see you again, Dylan. Rach, find me if you need to.”

When her sister left, Dylan motioned to the seat she’d vacated. “May I?”

“Of course.”

He studied her. “Maybe you can relax a little before you go back into the fray.”

She glanced at the crowd. “What are you talking about?” ”You’re strung tight as a bow.”

“I’m not.”

“I watched you in the reception line for a half hour. And heard the comments made by your parents and their friends.”

Oh, God, she didn’t know if she could handle his cutting remarks tonight.

“I think I understand some things better now, Rach.”

Still she didn’t comment. She just stared at him. Where would he go with what he’d observed?

“I’m sorry. You deserve better than this.”

At his kindness, one tiny tear escaped her eye and trickled down her cheek.

One tear, that’s all it took. Despite all his proclamations about staying professional, Dylan turned to mush. He always did this; all the O’Neil men did. Paddy O’Neil had drilled into them,
When a woman cries, a real man steps up.

Hastily, Rachel looked away, brushed the evidence aside. When she faced him again, she was more composed, though her cheeks were pink. “I thought you’d be mean if you ever found out.”

“I might have been at one time. Wanna talk about it?”

“Not much to say.” Her voice was raw with emotion as she stared down at her glass. “It is what it is.”

“That day when I told you about Ma and Pa separating, you never said what was the worst thing that happened to you. This is yours, isn’t it?”

She nodded.

“How did it get this way? Regardless of our differences, in the times I’ve been with you, which aren’t even that many, I can tell you’re a hardworking reporter. You cover important stories. Viewers love you.”