High Stakes (17 page)

His gaze was steady because it seemed important to be honest. “We know each other, Rachel. And despite what we decided early in the week, I’m afraid we’ve come to care about each other. At least I have. About you.”

Watching him, she whispered, “I care about you, too.” The words were heartfelt.

Suddenly, the air seemed charged. “What are we gonna do about that?”

“I have no idea.”

Silence. Uncomfortable. Meaningful.

When he saw her troubled expression, he changed the subject. “Listen, we don’t have to decide anything today. You’re still recovering. Let’s just take it easy.”

“Okay.” She nodded to the magazine. “What are you reading?”

He grinned. “An article about names people have that reflect their chosen profession. It’s all doctors, appropriate given your situation.” He grinned at her. “The nurses were worried I’d be bored and gave the magazine to me.”

“I heard those nurses were concerned about you.”

“They were sweet.”

“Read me some examples.”

He gave her a wicked smile. “You try to guess what they do. Ted K-a-d-i-a-v-e-r.” He spelled out the last name.

She smiled. “Mortician.”

“Close, medical examiner.”

“Cute.”

“How about Alden G. Cockburn and Abraham Cockett.”

“Oh, Lord. Urology?”

“Uh-huh.”

She giggled like a schoolgirl.

“I just thought of one I know of. Mikey, Liam’s kid, had to see Dr. Mitten.”

“Hand specialist?”

“Adorable, isn’t it?

“So are you when you’re amused.” Her expression was appreciative. “You get this little dent in your cheek, and your eyes twinkle.”

“This will make
your
eyes twinkle. These guys are both OB-GYNs. Brian Seaman, William E. Kuntz” He spelled the last names.

“Let me see that. I think you’re making this up.”

“You questioning my veracity?”

“Never mind, go on.”

“All right, just one more set. What do you think Dr. Stopp, Richard Chopp do?”

This time, he joined in laughter that made her eyes water.

“They can’t perform vasectomies. You have to be fudging this.”

“Scout’s honor. I added Stopp. Pat went to him to get snipped after their last kid.”

A rare morning sun peeked in through the windows and made her cheeks glow and her eyes like emeralds. For a minute, he was stunned by her beauty.

Holding her stomach, she said, “That felt good.”

“I hope so.” He set the magazine aside. “It must have been a brutal couple of days.”

“It was, though I was in and out of it.” She bit her lip. “I got scared when I didn’t get better.” ”You call anybody?” It made him mad that she hadn’t, but he wouldn’t upset her by ragging on her about it today.

Now her face sobered. Saddened. “My family’s all in Orlando, as you know. Sam’s brother’s sick, so he went to take care of him.” She shrugged a delicate shoulder. “Just work people were left. And I didn’t want them to see me barfing all over the place.”

You should have called me.
But he didn’t say that. Instead, he wanted to make her feel better. “You know, I don’t have many friends outside of Pat, Aidan, Liam and Bailey. And their spouses.”

Now she rolled her eyes, but there was still a bleakness in them. “You don’t have room for any more. There are a lot of people who love you and would take care of you at a time like this.”

“Maybe you should think about what you give to your job. You work 24/7, Rach. That doesn’t leave time for much else.”

“I know. I usually don’t stop long enough to worry about it.” She looked weary again.

“Again, let’s table the heavy stuff. You need to rest.” He stood and removed the tray. “I’ll close the blinds and you can take a nap.” As the room darkened, she snuggled under the covers. “Dylan?”

“Yeah?” ”Sit with me till I sleep.”

“Sure.”

As he watched her doze off, the heavy thoughts wouldn’t leave Dylan’s mind. Jesus, he was falling for this woman! How the
hell
could that have happened?

Rachel wasn’t well enough to go to the studio until the end of the following week. Most of the aches and pains had faded; only a modicum of weakness lingered, not enough to keep her home. She’d slept the weekend away, even when Rebecca and her mother tended to her. Now she walked into the news office, ready to work.

“Hey, there she is.” Jeannie called out to her then she and Dennis strode over from their desks and hugged her. Others in the newsroom waved, and there was a rumbling of
Hellos
. Jeannie asked, “How can you look so good after having been sick for days?”

“A lot of bed rest.” And a bit of extra concealer under her eyes. She also wore a bright blue dress that always made her look good.

After chatting with them about the progression of her illness, she headed for her office and found Crane waiting for her. He rose from a chair when she entered and hugged her, too. “My favorite anchor.” He’d called several times. Under his breath he added, “Thank God I don’t have to work with Raskin anymore. He’s a picky bastard.”

“I’m glad to be back.”

“Ready to get to work?” ”Yes. I assume you and the staff have tonight’s show planned out. Just tell me what I’m doing.”

“That’s what I like about you. You take things head on.”

Not everything
, she thought, recalling her time with Dylan
.
They’d never gotten back to the discussion about their feelings for each other, important now because they were supposed to be staying away from each other. When she woke up, he was gone and Rebecca was by her bedside. Though he’d phoned during the week to see how she was doing, the calls seemed perfunctory.

“There’s big news.” Crane picked up his iPad. “Bridgegate hearings start Monday. The subpoena responses were due last week.” She caught the flashing headline on his device.

“I guess I missed that.”

“It just came down the pike. A member of the transportation staff who was implicated in her emails is giving testimony in court tomorrow.”

Dropping down behind her desk, Rachel stared up at Crane. “How long will the hearings last?”

“These first ones are scheduled for three days until. But in the end, everything depends on what’s revealed or what isn’t.”

“Exciting.”

“You’re going up there.”

“Me?”

“Since you broke the story, the brass thinks you should do as much of the story coverage as you can. Are you up for that?”

“Physically, yes. But I thought you’d want me on air because I missed so much time.”

“Littman can cover again. Her ratings were okay. You can do some cut-ins during your hour and tape segments at a local affiliate for the other NSMBC night shows. Lots of media exposure for you.”

Her life would be completely tied up with this.

Maybe you should think what you give to your job. You work 24/7, Rach. That doesn’t leave time for much else.

But she had no choice. Briefly, she wondered if she’d get a chance to see Dylan during the week. They needed to talk. Then an idea hit her. Maybe, just maybe…

The cold streak in New York City broke, so before he went into
CitySights
, Dylan went out to run. Sun peeked through a few clouds, teasing the world with its presence as he headed down Liam’s street. Dylan had spent the last few days trying to catch up for the hours he’d missed at the office. As he dodged pedestrians and stepped around piles of snow, he thought about how Rachel’s sister had come to her apartment around supper time the day he brought her home, ending Rachel’s need for him.

So Dylan had worked on a new column and did some more interviews for KPRAY. Hogan was with him and they’d had some guys’ nights watching Syracuse basketball games—it was March Madness—and eating buttery popcorn. Remembering how the boy had once preferred cartoons and action-figure movies to sports, Dylan’s heart clutched at the notion of Hogan growing up.

Keeping his thoughts of Rachel at bay, he’d postponed finalizing his decision about a second column for her, but he’d have to make one soon. He was torn between portraying her as the hard worker she was, and underscoring the fact that most people were edited, or writing a scathing essay on how she did a good job but allowed her stories to be changed without fighting for them. This bent would portray her as, well, incompetent. Either way, the column would be milquetoast. He’d have to think of another angle if he was going after her. There also was the alternative to do no column at all, though the top dogs wouldn’t go for that.

In any case, he had to keep an open mind, too.

His phone buzzed and he slowed down to a walk. “O’Neil here.”

“Dylan, this is Clive Mason.”

His agent. “Hey, Clive.” It had been months since he turned a proposal in to this man. Was there word on the manuscript?

“Good news, Dylan. Carolyn Jermaine, an editor at Franklin House, called me. Publishing your columns in book form appeals to her. She has some ideas about how to put them together and she wants to talk to you about it all.”

His heartbeat picked up speed. Was he really going to get a chance with a New York publishing house? Holy cow! “This is great, Clive.”

“It is. You may have to change a few things, but that’s common in deals.”

Everybody gets edited.

“What things?” he asked.

“I’m not exactly sure. Jermaine wants to discuss this with you.”

“You told her I wouldn’t bring my sister into this, right?”

Clive cleared his throat. “I conveyed that you were reluctant to do so.” When Dylan didn’t respond, Clive added, “Aren’t you excited? I’m guessing we have a ninety-percent shot getting a contract. This is good, especially with all the self-publishing going on.”

“Of course I am. I’m ecstatic.” He allowed the pleasure to surface within him, basked in it some and ignored the niggling of doubt he had in his gut. Sometimes he was just too pessimistic.

“I’ve taken the liberty of scheduling an appointment with Jermaine at the end of next week. She’s going on vacation but will be back in the office on Thursday. I’ll text you the deets.”

“I’ll be there. Thanks, Clive.” ”Hey, it’s your work she wants.”

When he disconnected, Dylan started to run again. Excitement grew with every step and piled on top of itself. Good Lord, his life could change on a dime if Franklin House bought his book of columns. He slowed down again and punched in numbers on the phone he still held. Waited…

“Rachel Scott.”

“Rach, this is Dylan. I have some good news.”

“Me, too. You first.” Her expectant, happy tone warmed him.

He told her about the press and his book.

“Wow, that’s great. You mentioned you had a manuscript with an agent, but you didn’t seem too hopeful.”

“Because it’s been a while. But I might have a chance here.”

“When do you meet with her?”

“Thursday. What’s your news?”

She told him about her assignment on the subpoenas delivered to the staff of the governor across the bridge. “I’m going over to cover the testimony, which starts Monday. I was thinking maybe you could come, watch me on the road, see how I work under pressure.”

He read the subtext in her words.
And be with me
. He warred with himself for a few seconds. “I could do that.”

She hesitated. “We might get some time to talk personally. I’m staying over for three nights. I’ll be involved with the subpoenas all day, but the hearings will be over by five. Then I’ll tape a segment to run on all the evening shows.”

“So you’ll be free at night.”

He heard her little intake of breath. “Yes.”

Deep in his gut, he knew what she was asking. It was time to talk about, do something about, what they’d both confessed at her house earlier in the week. Either that or commit wholly—again—to staying professional. The problem was, every time he vowed to stay away, something happened to bring them together. But he was on such a high note because of Clive’s call, he said, “I’ll come, Rachel.”

“And we can celebrate your potential deal. I’ll take you out to dinner.”

“No, no celebrating until something’s firmed up.”

“All right. Shall we drive together?”

“We should go separately. I might have to come home sometime in those three days.”

“For Hogan?”

“His mom is in town. He’s with her this week and next.”

“Mmm. I was hoping…”

That I’d stay overnight.
Again, she didn’t finish the sentence, but the subtext was clear.

“We’ll talk when I get there. I’ll meet you at the statehouse Monday morning.”

“The hearings start at ten. See you then.”

It wasn’t until he clicked off that he realized when he’d gotten the call of a lifetime—a New York editor wanted his book—he’d phoned Rachel first, before any of his family. The notion shook him. But he didn’t call her back to cancel. This was a crossroads.

“On the advice of counsel, I assert my right to remain silent.”

Rachel sighed and glanced at her watch. Almost noon and she had nothing to report for a segment. The transportation executive appointed by the governor was not answering questions from the Legislative Committee appointed by the state to conduct a hearing. Her cameraman, Tommy, had gotten footage of nothing but refusals.

“Hey.” She looked up to see Dylan standing above her, back-dropped by the high-ceilinged space with lots of wood and atmosphere. She scooted down on the bench, where she’d saved him a seat. She noticed he wore a press pass as she did. When he sat, he leaned over and she got a whiff of his cologne. “How long has this been going on?” he asked.

“About an hour. They got started late, and after the first time taking the Fifth, the chair explained contempt parameters and tried different ways to persuade the guy to talk.”

That chair asked in clipped tones, “Will this be your answer all day, Mr. Weinstein?”

The man’s lawyer answered. “We respectfully request immunity and we will be glad to supply you with answers.”

“You realize,” the chair said angrily, “that you can be charged with contempt.”