High Stakes (23 page)

He was right on time. Little kids in black-and-pink attire, bought, he now knew, by Rachel, flowed out of the second floor and down the stairs. One girl came up to him. “Hello, Mr. O’Neil.”

Despite the circumstances, he forced a smile. “Kammy, hi. How are things going?”

The glow on her face answered his question. “Good. Um, thanks for bringing Ms. Rachel to my house.”

“Anytime, sweetheart.”

When the girls left, he climbed the stairs and found Rachel still at the barre. Standing on one leg in toe shoes, she lifted her other foot straight up beside her head. Awed at how talented she was, he just watched her. Pain, quick and dirty, hit him in the gut, but he couldn’t take his eyes off her. Finally she caught sight of him in the mirror. Coming down slowly, she turned to face him. She wore a long dance skirt, tights and a fitted, pink sweater. “I’m surprised to see you.” Her tone was cut-glass cold.

“We had a date this morning.”

She leaned against the barre and the lines on her face, the smudges under her eyes told him she hadn’t slept. Neither had he. Still, she lifted her chin. “Didn’t you get my message?”

“Yes, loud and clear.” He walked closer to her. “We have to talk.”

“We’re done talking, Dylan. We’re done, period.”

“If that’s what you want. But I’ll have my say. Can we go somewhere?”

“No.”

“Classes start at ten. I don’t want a time constraint.”

“Not that I care what you want anymore, but Sylvia has a competition today with her older kids. All classes are canceled.”

He glanced around. “Is there an office or a place where we can sit?”

She shook her head. All that beautiful hair was back in a bun, ballerina style, making her features stand out starkly. “Here’s good.”

Crossing his arms over his chest, he said, “I wrote what you found on my computer the day I left the lunch we had on location. Before I came back to the studio that night.”

Her cheeks turned pink, then an angry shade of red. “You wrote that column and then made love to me? You bastard.”

“I wrote another one, too. Praising you.”

“No, you didn’t. Silly me, I checked, thinking that you might be working something out in your head. There was nothing after the negative one.”

“I wrote it in a different file and saved it. I trashed the column you saw.” When she started to speak, he held up his hand. “No, listen. After I got your message, I checked the computer. The first one didn’t make it to the trash icon.”

Her eyes narrowed and she shook her head. “How convenient.”

“There’s something more important you need to know.”

“What?”

“I’m falling in love with you.”

Her eyes widened and she lurched forward, lifted her arm and slapped him across the face. He recoiled with the force of the blow.

“I hate you for saying that. For trying to manipulate me with those words.”

He grabbed her hand so she couldn’t hit him again. His face stung like a son of a bitch. “It’s the truth.”

Moving back, she grabbed the barre with both hands and took in a deep breath, trying to calm herself. “No, I won’t be conned by the great Dylan O’Neil again. I’m done with you.”

“Give me one chance to prove to you that I’m telling the truth.”

“You don’t know the meaning of the word truth.” Shaking her head, she let out a nasty laugh. “Your Irish luck has run out, Dylan.” She motioned to the door. “Now leave me alone, forever.”

“I want another chance,” he repeated.

“Do you seriously think I’ll ever believe anything you say again?”

“Please, Rach.”

“Don’t call me that.” He started toward her. “No. Don’t come closer. We’re through, Dylan. You tricked me and used me and now I’m going to get even.”

He couldn’t believe this. He honestly thought she’d be reasonable. “I saw the show. You’re going to expose my family’s secrets? Our bad times?”

“Ah, so that’s why you came spouting words of love. To keep me from giving my little segments about each of you all next week?”

“I came to explain the column you found. And to tell you how I feel.”

“I don’t believe you.”

It hit him then. He wasn’t going to be able to fix this. And his heart broke at all he’d told her about Aidan, Liam, Pat, Bay and Ma and Pa. God, he’d never forgive himself. “Then spare my family.”

“You should have thought of this sooner. Before you canceled the deal about no personal stuff. You’re going to reveal my worst secret, how my family treats me. I’m returning the favor.”

“Say anything you want about me. I’ll even give you more dirt on my life. Salacious stuff. Just don’t hurt Bailey and the guys.” His voice cracked on the last words.

Her face remained stone cold.

His chest tightened. “Please, Rachel.”

Nothing.

Panicky now, it took him a minute to collect himself. “That book deal we were going to talk about this morning? Franklin House wants to publish my columns with editorial comments.”

“I don’t care what you do anymore.”

“You will. They want scathing second columns on KPRAY and you, or there’s no deal.”

The tears that formed in her eyes cut him to the bone, but he continued. “Your family will be humiliated if I do include what your relationship is like with them. Public humiliation might even keep you from getting your foreign reporter job.”

“You came armed with that, didn’t you?”

“No, I came to convince you of how I felt and ask you not to hurt my family.” He did move in closer, despite her protest. He could see the fear in her beautiful green eyes. “I care about you, Rachel, a lot. We might have had a future together. But believe me, if you dare to reveal one word of what I told you, I’ll take the book contract and destroy you.”

“And if I don’t use the information?”

“I’ll reject the deal.” Turning, he walked toward the door.

“Dylan?”

He stopped but couldn’t look at her again. “What?”

“What were you going to do about the book deal before I found your notes?”

Summoning the will, he pivoted. “When I went back to the pub yesterday after we made love, I decided I was going to turn it down.”

“Sure you did.”

“Believe what you want now. I don’t care. Just don’t hurt my family.”

Barely able to breathe, Dylan made it to the steps but then had to sit down on the top one. The magnitude of what she could do to those he loved was too much to bear.

When Dylan could finally move, he got up and walked outside. The cold weather chilled him but no more than the cold inside him. He looked down the street to see if a cab was around, but before he could snag one, a text chimed from his phone. The message was from Bailey. “Come to the townhouse right away.”

Hell! His sister had come to New York. Because of his screwup. Hailing a cab, his mind whirled about what Rachel could do to him. How had he been so stupid? He arrived at Bailey’s New York home in fifteen minutes, dreading what he had to confess to his sister. Mitch Calloway opened the door after one knock. His face was grim—this was how he’d looked when the story Rachel had done on Tim Jenkins, Clay’s agent, who’d died, came out. The Secret Service had been furious with her. “Come on in, Dylan. They’re in the study.”

“They? Clay came, too?”

He nodded to the living room where six agents sat, more than usual because of Clay’s acting presidency. When he walked down to the den, he saw another at the door. The man let them inside. Bailey and Clay were seated on the couch, holding hands, talking softly.

They’d seen the show. They knew what was coming. His heart hurt so much he wondered if he was having an attack like Pa.

When she caught sight of him, Bailey bounded up and threw herself at him. He hugged her tight and felt his eyes fill. What had he done to this woman? To all of them?

She drew back and studied him. “Don’t you dare blame yourself.”

“I am to blame. You don’t know what I did.”

Clay stood and approached them. He put his arm around Dylan’s shoulders and said simply, “I’m now the most powerful man in the world, Dyl. At least for a while. I imagine I can fix anything with our family that needs fixing.”

Bailey took his hand. “Let’s sit down, then tell us what’s happened.”

Rachel often worked on Saturday, and since she had a lot to do in preparing next week’s mini-segments, she changed into jeans and a sweater, took her hair down and went to the studio straight from dance class. The outer newsroom was humming with weekend programs, so she snuck into her office, closed the noise and activity out and sat down at her desk. Every single muscle in her body ached. With no sleep and only coffee to keep her going, she was beginning to feel the effects of treating her body badly.

And of Dylan’s words.

I’m falling in love with you.

“No!” she said so loudly that it echoed in the quiet surroundings.
No more tricks or false promises. I have to rely on myself.

Forcing all thoughts of him out of her mind, she booted up her computer, called up the documents she’d created last night and dived in. She’d start with Bailey. That would hurt Dylan the most. She typed copy from the notes and internet searches she’d done last night: “young, impressionable teen, loves half-sister, who’s in the worst girl gang in history of New York.”

Needing exact information on the half-sister, she clicked into the site she’d found last night but hadn’t had time to examine. It was an article on deaths in girl gangs. The county had put out a list with names and any information known about them. Not too long ago, a young girl named Taz had been killed. She’d had some contact with ESCAPE, which was Bailey’s baby. Now that was new information. More searching brought up a name she recognized. Moira Lincoln. A picture accompanied it of a teenager with the O’Neil blue eyes. She had the face of an angel but sported a Mohawk hairstyle. And she’d been killed in a gang fight. The name of Moira’s gang was the GGs, just like Taz’s affiliation.

Both were horrific stories, which made Rachel’s stomach queasy. Halfway into taking notes, her heart sped up and she began to sweat. She sank back into the chair and closed her eyes. Was this the kind of person Rachel had become? Exploiting innocent girls sucked into gangs and the people who helped them? How could she do this?

Realizing she was having a panic attack, she’d just calmed herself down when there was a loud knock on the door, and then it opened. She must have fallen asleep, be dreaming, because Crane had opened the door and behind him, she could see the acting First Lady of the United States. A man dressed in a black suit stood behind her, and Rachel saw other agents with him.

“You have a visitor,” Crane said gravely.

From the men in black, “We’ll be right out here, Ms. O’Neil.”

“Thanks, Mitch.” He closed the door.

Bailey, dressed in simple, gray wool pants and a blue sweater, her hair clipped back, walked over to the desk and stared down at Rachel with venom in her eyes. “I want to talk to you.”

The first thing Bailey saw on Rachel Scott’s face was shock. Beneath that, though, was anguish—so deep it silenced Bailey for a moment. There was a hell of a lot more going on here than she’d realized. So she asked more gently, “May I sit?”

“Yes, of course.”

Bailey took a chair at the conference table, signaling she would be met on equal ground. Rachel rose and joined her. Now Bailey saw Rachel’s hands were shaking. Still, Rachel raised her chin. “What do you want, Ms. O’Neil?”

“Call me Bailey. You’re already on intimate terms with my life and my family’s history.”

Rachel glanced to the computer, then back to Bailey. “You talked to Dylan.”

“Yes. And I learned some things. You’re planning to expose painful private details about my family.”

Rachel’s spine stiffened and she sat up straighter. “As Dylan is about to do with mine.”

“That’s up for debate.”

Rachel raised an eyebrow. “What do you know?”

“That you’re not the monster I thought you were.”

The shock returned to Rachel’s face. Bailey had hoped to knock her off-kilter. “Why do you say that?”

“Because my brother cares about you, so there must be more to you.”

“He only cares about you, Bailey, and the rest of the family.” The words were said bitterly, laced with hurt.

“You’re wrong. But that’s between you and Dylan. What else is happening concerns all of us. I can’t let you do what you’re planning.”

This time, Rachel glanced nervously to the door.

“Don’t worry,” Bailey said a bit amused. “In the United States, we don’t arrest reporters who tell inconvenient truths.”

“W-what do you do to them?”

“We make deals. You wanna deal, Ms. Scott?”

“Do I have a choice?”

Bailey swallowed hard, but knew she had to be strong. This woman could do real damage. “Yes. Your alternative, though, is to let both of our families be destroyed by your anger at Dylan.”

The woman sat forward. “Now, wait just a minute.”

“No, you wait.” Bailey came to the edge of her seat, too. “You know this war between you and Dylan will end in heartache for everybody. You know that in the long run, our family will survive, but what will happen to you, Rachel? Can
your
family handle a scandal like ours can? Do you get to keep your job as Dylan does?”

Apparently, the stark truth hit her square in the jaw. She paled but fought back the emotion threatening her. Bailey admired that. She waited.

“I can’t deny any of that. What’s the deal?”

“The first thing is Clay will agree not to cut you out of his press conferences, press core trips, etcetera. You won’t get special treatment, but you’ll have the same access as other reporters. The access he’s denied you so far.”

“I’m not sure that’s enough to ditch the stories I have on all of you.”

“No, it probably isn’t. But I’m not done. Dylan agrees to keep silent about your family’s relationship with you.”

“What about the book deal and the column?”

“He has to decide on what he writes in his column about you and if to accept the deal. But he will
not
include your personal family relationships.”