High Stakes (15 page)

They whizzed down the hill, neck and neck. Cold wind slapped them in their faces, but Dylan loved it; he could hear Bailey hoot and holler. This was just what he needed, good clean fun with those he loved most in the world.

Brie stood next to Mitch at the bottom of the hill. Pat’s wife wore a stunning dark pink ski outfit and huge sunglasses. Cupping her hands around her mouth, she yelled, “Come on, Bay, faster.”

Bailey and Dylan crossed the finish line together, with Kip not far behind. They knew how to turn into a stop, because they’d been sledding since they were Rory’s age. But Kip kept going several more feet until he ran into a bush.

“Bailey won,” Brie shouted as she helped his sister-in-law out of the saucer.

Mitch gave Dylan a hand up.

“She did
not
,” Dylan protested. “It was a tie.”

“Sore loser,” Bailey mumbled.

Dylan drew in a deep breath. “Mitch, tell them.”

He held up his palms arrest-style. “My eyes were glued to her, Dylan. Sorry.”

Not long after, the rest of the family joined them: Rory and Mikey came down in one saucer big enough for them both. Aidan slid down with Angel. And Pat raced Sinead, Sean, Hogan and Cleary. Dylan grinned. All was right with the world. Briefly, he wondered if Rachel had ever had this kind of fun with her whole family.

“Can we have hot chocolate from the little hut over there?” Rory asked when everyone had had enough of the cold.

Bailey looked to Mitch. He said, “We didn’t check it out, and besides, he should eat only food or drink we provide.”

Since he caved on the sledding, Dylan guessed, Bailey looked down at her son. “Sorry, sport, not enough security for us to go somewhere else.”

“Aw…” Bailey bent down in front of Rory, whose lips were in a big pout. “We have to make sacrifices, honey. Your dad’s responsibilities affect all of us.”

“Sometimes I wish he wasn’t vice president. The kids say if he stays president, I won’t be able to do anything by myself.”

Dylan caught Bailey’s gaze. He knew she was thinking the same thing as he.
Out of the mouths of babes…

The agents helped Bailey, Rory and Mikey into an SUV and joined her. Following behind with Cleary and Hogan, Dylan stared at the car: it had bulletproof glass, puncture-proof tires, and the body of an armored truck. He wasn’t sure if he could stand to live like Bailey did.

Back at the Pub, the air was warm, the scent of stew Liam made for lunch filled the air, and Ma and Pa sat by the window waiting for them. His parents had passed on the sledding, reminding Dylan they were getting old. His heart beat faster at the notion of something happening to them. So he walked over, pulled his Ma out of the chair, gave her a big hug and an even bigger smooch.

“Now, what on earth was that for, boy?” Paddy asked.

He held on to her. “Just letting Mama know how much I appreciate her.”

Pa mumbled something under his breath.

Bailey approached them with Ty, who’d stayed back with his namesake, Sophie and another agent. Dylan took the boy from her. “Hey, scout, how ya doin’?”

Only three months old, Tyler cooed and batted Dylan’s face. Man, the kid was the spitting image of Bailey with dark hair and blue eyes. Then he yawned and stuck his fingers in his mouth. “Looks like somebody’s tired.” Dylan turned to his sister. “I’ll put him to bed upstairs.”

Bailey sighed. “Someone has to go with him.”

“I will, silly.”

“No, I mean an agent. None of the kids can be without one when we’re up here. The pub is nowhere as secure as Observatory Way.”

From behind Bailey, Mitch called out, “Gorman, you’re on Tyler duty.”

A woman came over and smiled. She was petite and pretty with hair a shade lighter than Rachel’s. She smiled. “Ah, my favorite.” Vaguely, Dylan remembered her from the time Bailey spent at Keuka Lake and that she and C.J. had clashed. Looked like she was back in favor. She preceded him up the stairs, into his parents’ bedroom, where the crib was set up. “There you go, buddy.” As soon as Dylan set the kid down, he began to fuss. ”He likes to be sung to.” Gorman angled her head at the door. “I can wait out there.”

“Thanks.” Dylan sat in his mama’s rocker and began a lullaby. Viscerally, he remembered the joy he’d felt at having Hogan. Stephanie was okay with him at first, they tended to him equally, but Dylan rocked him to sleep every night.

Closing his eyes, he let the solid weight of the baby, the scent of shampoo and powder soothe him. He tried to stay in the moment and enjoy the sensations.

But as he rocked and sang, rocked and sang, Rachel crept into his head. He wondered for a second time if she wanted kids. They hadn’t talked about it. His thoughts turned to the show. Dylan knew he was being an idiot about her absence one day from work and the fact that she hadn’t answered his calls last night or this morning. Maybe she
was
with a man; the notion made his body clench. Still he doubted that. His gut continued to niggle at him that something was wrong. He didn’t know what to do about the feeling.

On her knees in front of the toilet—where she’d been several times during the night and this morning—Rachel drew back from vomiting into the bowl. She was so sick she could barely lift her head. But she had to stand. Grabbing on to the edge of the tub, she dragged herself up only to sway back into the wall. It held her up for a minute, then she slid down to the floor again. Wrapping her arms around her waist, her mouth tasting like day-old cotton, she drew in deep breaths. A bit of fear wended its way into her consciousness. She didn’t know what to do. So far, she’d managed to get herself water by putting a pitcher by the bed. She’d tried some toast earlier, when she felt stronger, but lost that an hour afterward. She knew she had to eat, but nothing stayed down. Her stomach cramped at the thought.

The phone rang in the distance.

Call someone,
she told herself.

She vowed she would. She’d call Rebecca if she wasn’t better by midafternoon. Leaning her head against the wall, she let her eyes close for a minute.

Later that night, Dylan begged away from the family and went home to watch Rachel’s show. Assuming she’d be on, he poured himself a Jamesons and dropped down onto his favorite leather recliner in front of the television. This time, a blond female anchor he’d seen before came on-screen. “I’m Laura Littman and I’ll be your host of
The Rachel Scott Show
tonight.”

Enough! Snatching his phone off the table next to him, he punched in her number yet again. “This is Rachel Scott. Leave a message at the beep.”

Dylan got up and paced. He knew there had to be logical explanations for her absence, but his misgivings were getting worse and worse each time he couldn’t contact her. Damn it. How was he supposed to stay neutral if he didn’t know if she was all right?

Ten minutes later, he called her again. No response. He waited until after her show ended and tried again. Still no one answered. So he phoned NSMBC. “I need to speak to Crane Davis.”

“I’m sorry sir, it’s after hours and Mr. Davis isn’t taking calls.”

If he told the woman this was an emergency, he’d have to explain why.
I’m worried that one of your anchors isn’t answering her phone
sounded weak even to him. Though he hated to do it, he played the
sister
card. “This is Dylan O’Neil, the brother-in-law of the vice president
.
Clay Wainwright asked me to give Rachel Scott’s producer a message.”

The woman said, “Just one moment, sir.”

The phone was picked up immediately. “Crane Davis.” ”This is Dylan O’Neil, Davis. I’m looking for Rachel, and she hasn’t been on her show for two nights.” Trying to sound casual, he added, “She okay?”

“Yeah, yeah, she’s fine. She has a cold and went home with it yesterday. When she called in this morning, she sounded better but still couldn’t do her show.”

“Is this common for her?”

Silence. Then, “Fuck it, O’Neil. You planning to use her illness in your column to show she’s not reliable? Because she is.”

“No, of course not. I was just checking up on her.”

“Like you care. But make no mistake about this. She never misses work, so she must be sick.” Davis hung up on him.

Dylan tried Rachel’s number again, and again no answer.

Having slept through the afternoon to early evening, and because she left her phone in the living room, Rachel bumped her way from wall to wall, counter to chair to get to it. The contact made her body ache more, but she had to do something. She managed to make it to the couch, drop down and close her eyes. Her breath came in heavy pants and she struggled to lift her arm to get her phone and punch in Rebecca’s number. The message she heard was, “Dr. Murray is out of town at a conference. If this is a true medical emergency…”

Damn, she thought as she let the phone drop into her lap, vaguely aware of a buzz coming from it. She’d forgotten Rebecca had gone to a conference in Florida for four days. Her mother was also attending, so they’d decided to take Becca’s kids and spend a few days at Disneyworld.

Rachel’s stomach was on rinse cycle, and the acute pain in her head made it worse. When was the last time she’d downed some Tylenol? She couldn’t remember. She couldn’t think clearly at all. She’d have to call Sam. No, wait. He’d had to take time off to go take care of his sick brother in Virginia. Then it struck her… She had no one else to call except work people. When she felt the tears threaten, she choked on them. Lying back, she closed her eyes…

“Happy Birthday, to you. Happy Birthday to you. Happy Birthday, dear Bailey. Happy Birthday to you.” The family ended in harmony, and the entire clan clapped.

“Thanks, everybody.” Bailey was smiling ear to ear.

From the end of the table, where he sat with Angel, Rory and Mike, Dylan raised his glass. “Nice to have you here, sis.”

They’d just finished off a meal of turkey and all the trimmings. The Secret Service had brought in the food, and Liam had cooked, of course, but Bailey had helped. She said she never got to be in a kitchen these days.

“Up,” Angel begged from her high chair.

C.J. stood. “I’ll get her.” She winked at Aidan. “Good practice.”

“Hell, look at him,” Pat teased. “Just mention the pregnancy and he gets teary eyed.”

Next to him, Brie shook her head. “Don’t listen to Patrick, Aidan. He cried like a baby each time one of our kids was born.” She leaned into him. “And occasionally when they got sick.”

Sliding his arm across the back of Brie’s chair, he said in a stage whisper, “Hush, woman. You’ll ruin my manly image.”

Sophie and Liam served them cake with gooey, white frosting, Bailey’s favorite, then they approached the agents sitting across the pub, which had closed for night.

“You guys eat some turkey and cake,” Bailey called out. “Mitch, I mean it.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Mitch responded with amusement in his voice.

Surreptitiously, Dylan watched his brothers. Aidan cooed over Angel and kissed C.J.’s cheek. Liam and Sophie had worked as a team to get the meal out. And Pat had his hand curled around Brie’s neck. All of them were couples now, as were Ma and Pa. Everybody but him. The thought usually didn’t affect him—he had a
been there/done
that
attitude—but now his singleness bothered him. He wondered if it ever bothered Rachel. Probably, not, as she was too caught up in her career. That thought led to her illness, but he pushed it out of his mind. There was nothing he could do if she didn’t answer her phone. Besides, surely she’d be on tonight.

Later, at eight o’clock, he tuned into NSMBC from the bar. Once again, Laura Littman came on-screen.

A few minutes later, the birthday girl found him staring at the television. His sister’s pretty blue eyes narrowed on him. “Dylan, are you okay?”

“No.”

“This about Rachel?”

He filled her in on what he knew so far.

“That doesn’t sound good.” Her brow furrowed. “What is this, the third show she’s missed?”

“Yep. Her producer said she left work the day before yesterday around four.”

Dropping onto the stool next to him, Bailey frowned. “You should go over to her house.”

“Even if I thought that was a good idea, there’s no way to get in if she doesn’t answer the doorbell. Anyway, there’s not much hope for her letting me in if she won’t even take my calls.” He shook his head hard. “Not to mention the fact that we’re trying not to get more personally involved. But this isn’t right, Bay. I know it in my gut.”

“I agree.” Bailey thought for a second. “Remember Jimmy Cranston?”

He knew the name. “Your high school boyfriend.”

“Yeah. He called me a few months ago. His kid ran away and he was afraid she was hanging with a gang. He knew my background as the Street Angel, asked if I’d call any contacts I still had.”

“I’d do anything for Hogan, even impose on you like that.”

“Yeah, me, too. I phoned ESCAPE, and my friends ran down some information. They found her.”

“Oh, good.”

“Jimmy’s a captain now in the NYPD.”

Dylan saw where this was going. “Could he get me into her apartment if he knew she was sick and not answering?”

“I’m sure he’d do it for me. He’d probably have to go in with you, though, to make sure she isn’t in bed with some hottie for an extended tryst.”

Dylan felt his face flush. Then he saw Bailey shake her head. “I think it’s time for some honesty, Dyl, with yourself. About how deep your feelings are for her.”

“Maybe. But call your old beau first.”

Like a scene from a movie, an unmarked cop car pulled up to the back of the pub, and Dylan scurried outside, hoping none of his brothers saw him leave. The situation was bad enough between him and Aidan and Pat, but letting them know he was worried about Rachel would make it worse. Liam had taken Hogan home, and he’d told his boy he would be out for a while.

He opened the front door of the car and slid in.

Jimmy Cranston looked over from the driver’s seat and held out his hand. “Nice to see you again, Dyl.”