High Stakes (12 page)

“Thanks for that.”

Reaching out, he tipped her chin up to meet his gaze.

“You can guess its root. You always call me Miss America. I was only Miss New York, but…” She let the words trail off.

“Their attitude started that late in life?”

She shook her head. “I entered my first pageant when I was five. Everybody thought it was a good thing.”

“Even Rebecca?”

“She wasn’t born yet.” Rachel smiled wryly. “I loved the attention. My parents were always so busy, but they came to my pageants. I thought they approved.”

Dylan recalled the comments he’d overheard in the reception line.

Meet our lovely daughter, Miss New York.

From the women, as an aside.
She’s all fluff.

Another woman.
Nothing like her parents and sister. They have important jobs.

He could understand why she’d be offended. “They’ve treated you this way since you were five?”

“Yep. You should have seen the looks on their faces when I stopped entering pageants. They were incredulous.”

“They didn’t see everything else you are, then—or now.”

Her eyes glowed with approval, and Dylan realized he’d told her he
did
see her for who she really was. “When I got into dancing, they came to those performances, too.”

“Activities of the same ilk, though.”

“I guess, though I liked dancing a lot more.” Again, she looked away. “But it carried the same price.”

He watched as she pushed away her drink. He called over a waiter. “Could you get Ms. Scott some ice water, please?”

When the guy left, Dylan asked, “What kind of student were you?”

“Self-fulfilling prophecy. I was a solid B student. Now Rebecca, she got A plusses. She’s a Rhodes Scholar, for God’s sake.”

“But you’re smart, Rachel. Intuitive and insightful.”

“That kind of intelligence isn’t valued in my family. They’re scientists and financial whizzes.”

Briefly, Dylan thought about what he would have turned out like if he hadn’t been loved unconditionally. “Did you try to change their minds?”

“Not purposely. But, in college, I went on a school-sponsored trip to help out in Haiti. I loved the work and found other times when I could go back. They were totally shocked.”

“Why?”

“A girl like me, helping poor kids in sometimes dangerous situations?” She sighed. “They thought I was too superficial for outreach work in other countries.”

“That explains your foreign reporter yen.”

Her green eyes flared with fire. “I’m not going after that position to impress them.”

Not consciously.
“I didn’t say you were. I think you want it for yourself.”

“Which brings us back to you and me. Why did you come tonight?”

He’d been home alone, as Hogan had gone to a movie with Pat’s boys. For some reason, Dylan couldn’t stop thinking of Rachel at the gala. “I haven’t analyzed my motives. I just came.”

Her smile was innately sexy. “In your sister’s tux.”

“Yeah.”

“Did you meet my parents?”

“Uh-huh. They introduced me to people as the Second Lady’s brother.”

“As if you’re not more than that.”

“Same as you, babe.”

Her eyes were bleak. “Dylan, please, don’t use this against me.”

“How would I do that?”

“Don’t see me as some pathetic woman who’s still trying to please her parents.”

“You know, Rach, I still try to please mine. When my marriage broke up, I felt like a complete failure in their eyes.”

“Your family didn’t support you?”

“Of course they did. The guys and Bay, especially. And so did Ma and Pa, the ultimate Catholics, when they calmed down. But we all value their opinions, want their approval, even now. I swear I knock myself out to stay on their good side. Aidan didn’t pursue photography for a long time because Pa disapproved.”

“I’ve seen his photos. They’re exquisite.”

“I know. I think Liam was the only one who never felt he disappointed them. He’s a saint.”

Dylan liked the laugh that escaped her. “He probably wouldn’t appreciate you calling him that.”

“Nope. He and Aidan had a knock-down, drag-out when Liam wouldn’t go after Sophie. I think Aidan called him St. Liam of the Perpetual Grimace. I picked it up later on.”

Amusement made her eyes sparkle like the stones she wore around her neck and at her wrists. “Becca and I never fought. I think she sensed how much I needed her support.” Rachel raised her eyes to the ceiling. “She’s the only person I’ve let get close.”

“Even men?”

“Yeah. We talked about that.”

“I—”

A phone buzzed in the little black purse on the table. “I have to get that. I’m called when there’s breaking news.”

“Go ahead.”

Fishing out her cell, she clicked on. “Rachel Scott.” A pause. “Kammy, honey, calm down. I can’t understand what you’re saying.” Another pause. “What? Why did you go there?” A longer pause. “Listen to me. Get in the corner of the building, between the fire escape and the wall. You won’t be seen.” More waiting. “Are you there? I’m coming to get you.” She disconnected. “I have to go.”

“So I heard. Where?”

She’d slid off the stool. “I, um, somewhere. I have to call Sam.” She started to punch in numbers then stopped and stuffed her phone into her purse. “Damn, he’s across town, with his family. I told him not to wait. But I don’t want her to be out there alone.”

Understanding the gist that someone needed her, Dylan stood, too. “Come on, I’ll take you. I have my car.”

That she didn’t argue about letting him drive her set off his trouble radar. This was serious. She glanced around. “I don’t want people to stop me as I’m trying to get out of here.”

He winked. “We’ll duck out the back.”

She hesitated.

“Let me do this, Rachel. I promise I won’t probe or ask any questions until the emergency is over.”

“All right. I’ll count on you for that.”

For some reason, it warmed him to think she’d trust him after their rocky relationship so far. But he didn’t stop to analyze the feeling. Instead, he led her out the back of the hotel.

Please let her be okay. Please, please, please.
Rachel said the silent prayer on the drive out to Brooklyn, where DanceWorks was located. Dylan—bless his heart—had kept quiet the whole way—and when he pulled up to the curb in front of the studio, Rachel bolted out the minute he stopped his car. A blast of cold air hit her in the face as she rushed to the steps, circled around them, and found Kammy huddled in the corner nook. “Oh, thank God.”

“Sorry, Miss Rachel. I did a bad thing.”

“We can talk about that.” Rachel stared at the girl, shivering despite her heavy coat. “Let’s get you in the car.”

Pulling her out from beneath the staircase, she found Dylan standing guard, his back to them, on the sidewalk. With a clutch in her heart, she said, “Dylan.”

He turned and looked from her to Kammy, surprise evident on his face. “If you want to sit in the car, I’ll go across to the diner and wait for you.”

“No, why don’t we all go over there. We can get Kammy a drink to warm her up.”

Dylan clicked the locks, took another look at her, whipped off his overcoat and slid it around Rachel’s shoulders, despite the shawl she wore. He led them across the icy road, opened the door to the diner, escorted them inside. “I can sit elsewhere,” he told her.

“Thanks.” Dylan took a chair at the counter, and Rachel accompanied the girl to a booth. When she and Kammy were situated and had ordered hot chocolate, Rachel slid Dylan’s coat off her shoulders.

Kammy’s eyes teared. “Oh, my God, you were at some fancy party.”

“Which you saved me from. I didn’t want to go in the first place.”

The girl averted her gaze.

“Tell me what happened, Kammy.”

“I…I left my house.”

“At eleven at night?”

“My parents didn’t know.” She raised bleak eyes to Rachel. “I couldn’t stand it anymore.”

Rachel took in a calming breath. There were no marks on Kammy’s face, but her coat covered the rest of her. “Sweetie, has someone in your home hurt you?”

A puzzled expression flittered through Kammy’s eyes, then they widened. “Oh, no, not like you mean. Nobody hits me.”

Rachel had to tread carefully here. She wished she had more experience with children. “There are other ways to be hurt. Does anyone force you to do anything you don’t want?”

Again the confused expression.

“Does anyone touch you in a way you don’t want them to?”

Tears again. “No, it’s not like that, Miss Rachel.”

Relief swamped Rachel, making her lean back in the seat. “Then, what sent you out into the night?”

“My mother and father were fighting. He lost his job a while ago. Mama had to work more hours at the hotel.” Kammy ducked her head. “I was early to class that day ‘cause of it. Now she has to work more.”

“I’m sorry.” But that didn’t explain all this.

“My father got a part-time job cleaning the high school on Saturdays. My mother’s starting work at six.”

“Ah. So you wouldn’t be able to come to dance class.” She nodded.

Rachel knew the girl loved dance, but did missing class warrant running away? “Kammy, is this all of it?”

“Sort of. My father was yelling that us kids were a burden.”

“Oh, sweetie, sometimes people say things when they’re mad that they don’t mean. Being out of work is hard for a man. I’m sure your dad is just frustrated.”

Her eyes lightened. “You think so?”

“I do. As a matter of fact, they’re probably frantic that you’re missing.”

“They went to bed. They don’t know I’m gone.”

“I have to take you home, Kammy.”

Kammy shrugged. “I know.”

“Let me go talk to my friend while you finish your hot chocolate.” Reaching out, she squeezed the girl’s hand. “This is going to work out, Kammy.”

“But I can’t come to dance. I can’t see you.”

“I promise I won’t let that happen.”

Rachel crossed the room to Dylan. His head was down, he was reading the newspaper, and a steaming cup of coffee sat before him. He turned when she touched his shoulder. “She okay?” he asked softly.

“She’s upset. Thank God it isn’t any kind of abuse.”

“Whew!”

“Look, I know I owe you an explanation, but can we take Kammy home first?”

“Of course.”

Twenty minutes later, they pulled up in front of the apartment building where the girl lived. The outside was white brick—clean—and the sidewalks were shoveled and clear. From the backseat, Kammy asked, “Can I just sneak in, Miss Rachel?”

“No, sweetie. I’m sorry, you can’t.”

“I guess I couldn’t, anyway. I don’t have a key, and the door to our apartment locks when somebody leaves.”

Rachel reached for the door handle. Dylan got out the other side. Kammy climbed from the back. “We’ll only be a minute.”

“Sorry, Rach,” he said firmly. “I’m not letting you walk into a dark building at almost midnight alone.”

She still had his coat wrapped around her. “Dylan, I—”

He touched her lips. “Shh. It’s a deal breaker.”

Oh, what did it matter, anyway?

The man who answered the door after three knocks was big and burly, with bed hair and a scowl on his face. She’d met only Kammy’s mother, not him. “Who—?” He looked down “Kammy, what—?” He eyed Dylan and Rachel. “What’s going on here?”

“Your daughter snuck out of the house tonight,” Rachel told him. “She got scared and called me. I’m Rachel Scott, her dance teacher.”

Rachel was again relieved when the man hunkered down and gently grasped Kammy by the shoulders. “Little one, why did you do all this?”

“Perhaps we can come inside,” Rachel suggested. “Kammy can explain everything.”

Seated on a white leather couch, Dylan watched Rachel pour them both a drink from a liquor cabinet where she stood by the window. The room was all white, except for splashes of blues and greens on throw pillows and paintings. A faint tinge of her perfume hung in the air. The night of the wedding, he was so anxious to get to her, he didn’t remember anything about the place.

Dylan knew he could have been gallant and told her she didn’t have to explain tonight to him. Actually, he’d tried to refrain from asking about the girl. But something drove him to insist. She’d invited him up here because… Well, he didn’t know why.

Handing him a rock glass, half full of whiskey, holding one for herself, she sat across from him on another white couch and took a sip. Man, she still looked gorgeous in that dress, the jewels, and though her hair was windblown by now, it was sexy as hell. Dangerous thoughts, he knew, but he couldn’t help himself.

Without preamble, she said, “I teach a dance class in Brooklyn for underprivileged kids. Mike and Becca helped me identify the girls and find a studio.”

He nodded for her to continue.

“And yes, I don’t charge them for classes or dance attire.”

“That’s very generous of you.”

She raked back her hair, messing it even more. “Becca and I had so much, growing up.”

“And you want to pay it forward. That’s good, Rach. It says a lot about you.”

Her eyes flashed. “This is all personal, Dylan. You have to keep it to yourself.”

“God forbid I tell anybody you do good work.”

Her top teeth came out to bite her lip, devoid of color now. Desire sliced through him.

Though he’d pieced together some things from the conversation she’d had with the girl’s parents, he didn’t know the background. So he asked, “What happened with Kammy?”

“Her dad lost his job, so her mother had to go to work full time. He just got some janitorial position on Saturdays, but both parents have an early schedule. So no one can get her to class.” She’d crossed her legs, giving him a great view, and now her foot bobbed impatiently. “She’s also upset because her parents are fighting; the tension in the house must be awful. When she heard she couldn’t go to dance class, she snuck out of the house.”

“And went to you.” Rachel nodded. “That speaks highly of your relationship with the girls. How many are there?”

“Eight. I could have more in the room, but this year, that’s all we could get.”