Someone To Believe In (4 page)

“Hurt you, you mean?”

“No, mostly women and children. Whom I fight
for.”

“Not anymore. You vote down funding for
helping teenagers all the time.”

A waitress came and poured them coffee.
Neither ordered breakfast.

“I voted down funding for Guardian because I
think you’re going about things the wrong way.” He added
meaningfully, “Like you always have.”

“And who made you my watchdog?”

“The majority of twelve million voters in
this state.”

She arched a dark brow. “Well, maybe that’ll
change. Your margin wasn’t that big last time. And you may have
stiff competition next year. If the Democratic primary goes as I’m
hoping.”

“Did you side with Lawson simply to defeat me
in the next election, Ms. O’Neil?”

“No.”

“His emphasis isn’t on women. Isn’t on
homeless teens and soup kitchens.”

“Neither is yours these days. You’re more
concerned with giving the police and FBI money, not with financing
community agencies. You used to be someone the people could
believe in.”

“I supported Clinton’s bill, Feinstein’s,
bill, and Stewart’s new one to stop youth gangs. Hell, I helped
Chuck draft that last one.”

Her eyes glittered with resolve, turning a
darker blue. Her complexion heightened in color. “The major support
in those bills is for legal institutions. You used to fight more
for social services and community programs.”

“I still do, but contrary to you, I see the
necessity for cops to have power.”

She ran a restless hand through her hair.
“Look, Stewart’s bill does that by giving four hundred million
dollars to legal institutions whereas social agencies get only one
hundred mil. Isn’t that enough for you for the cops?”

“I’m worried what the social agencies will do
with their portion, which, by the way, I believe is too much.”

“Which
is
exactly why
I
don’t think you
belong in office.” She gave him a withering look. “I think you’ve
copped out on the very reasons people elected you
senator.”

He slapped the table with his hand, making
the dishes dance. “I haven’t copped out! I went to Washington to
make a difference at the national level.”

“You haven’t, though.”

“Of course I have.”

“Like hell,” she said, her face flushing even
more. “You tied up ESCAPE’s funding, voted down clinic insurance to
service these kids, and have so far blocked the special shelter for
them I’ve been working like a dog to get in place. You don’t care
about us.”

“I’ve gotten homeless shelters
for
all
teens funded.
Initiated a bill for more money to be spent on single mothers and
children for health care. Not to mention my work on behalf of soup
kitchens for the hungry. I just happen to think your way of helping
kids is counterproductive to what the police are doing. And
dangerous to you. Hell, you can’t even let anybody know where
ESCAPE is located, let alone the Street Angel’s real name, for fear
of being hurt.”

“We’ve functioned safely this way for five
years.”

“Yeah, well it’s only a matter of time before
some disgruntled gang member who loses his woman seeks you
out.”

Suddenly she threw back her chair, stood, and
fisted her hands on her hips. “This is exactly why I didn’t want to
meet with you.” She leaned over and braced her arms on the table.
“Stay away from me and my family. We’ll argue this out in the
newspaper.” With theatrical flourish, she stormed away.

After he dropped some money on the table, he
followed her to the front of the restaurant and out the door. She
got halfway down the street, then she turned and stomped her way
back. He stood leaning against the outside brick wall, hands in his
pockets, waiting for her. She marched up to him, her eyes blazing
with blue fire, her cheeks rosy with pique. She reached to take off
the jacket just as he put his hands on her shoulders.

They said simultaneously...

“Here’s your jacket.”

“Let me help.”

A rapid
pop-pop
sounded loudly and a flash exploded in
Clay’s eyes. He grabbed Bailey to him, pivoted, and pushed her
against the wall, blocking whatever it was from hurting
her.

It took him a minute, as he held her close in
a lover-like embrace, to realize he was shielding her from a
camera.

Whose flash continued to go off.

“Hey, Senator, who’s the new squeeze?”

Clay swore under his breath. He angled his
shoulders so Bailey was completely blocked from view.

She gripped his shirt as if she was scared.
“What’s happening?”

Moving in even closer, his breath fanned her
ear. “Nothing dangerous. I overreacted to a camera flash and
probably a car backfiring.”

“Oh.” She still held on to him.

“Turn around and go into the restaurant; find
the back way out. Use the kitchen if you have to. Scoot over to
your family’s pub.”

“But why?”

“I’ll call you and explain. Do it now unless
you want to have your face plastered all over the papers
tomorrow.”

“Son of a bitch.”

“I’m sorry.” He didn’t know why he did it,
but he kissed her hair. She froze, then slipped out of his grasp.
He waited till she was gone before he circled around.

A small man of about thirty, wiry, and
dressed in jeans and a denim jacket held a camera up. He took
another picture. Clay shielded his eyes. “
The Village Voice
, Senator. Who’s the
girl?”

“None of your business.”

“It’d be Lady Jane’s business.” Clay’s
not-so-significant other was dubbed “Lady Jane” because she was a
senator’s daughter and had been involved, off and on, with Clay for
a number of years.

“Don’t you have something better to do...” He
waited for a name.

“Hank Sellers.”

“Mr. Sellers.”

“The senator from New York’s big news.”

“How’d you know I was down here?”

“Just dumb luck, I guess.”

Clay didn’t believe that for a second. But
who could have known where he was tonight? “You’re wasting your
time.” He nodded to the restaurant where Bailey had gone. “Not only
was that completely innocent and platonic, but even if it wasn’t,
my personal life is my own.”

“Yeah, right.”

“Do what you want. I’m leaving.” He stepped
into the street to hail a cab, forcing himself not to glance down
to Bailey’s pub.

“Senator, wait.”

Clay turned.

“I’d like an interview.”

He glanced at his watch. “At one a.m.? That’s
above and beyond the call of duty.”

The guy nodded back to the Greek restaurant.
Clay got the message. If he didn’t give him something better to
print, the reporter would speculate about tonight. “Tomorrow. I
have a tour of the new women’s shelter on Twenty-first Street at
ten. Meet me there. We’ll talk after.”

“Sure thing.”

Clay shook his head. This was all he needed.
As he flagged down a cab and hopped in, he wondered what Bailey
O’Neil was thinking of him now!

SOMETIMES, HAVING BIG brothers was a real
pain in the ass. They circled Bailey around the table and fired
questions at her like interrogators during the Spanish Inquisition.
The fact she’d hurried into the pub still wearing Senator
Wainwright’s jacket hadn’t helped. But, God, it smelled so good she
didn’t want to take it off. The place had emptied out, the music
had stopped, and they all sat around a small table.

“He
what
?” This from Patrick, the oldest and most
protective.

“He threw himself in front of me. Literally.
I thought it was some kind of bomb or something. But it was a
camera flash that went off, apparently just as a car
backfired.”

“He must have believed you were in danger.”
This from Aidan. “So he tried to protect you.” Her closest sibling
scanned the others. “I told you he wasn’t a complete jerkoff.”

“Don’t mean nothing,” Liam put in. “He was
protecting his own ass from publicity. “ Though Liam was a scout
leader for his son’s and Rory’s troop, and mild-mannered, problems
with Bailey turned him into Mr. Hyde, too. She hated to upset Liam
the most, because he was still sad all the time about his wife’s
death a year ago.

Bailey shook her head. “Yeah, guys, he
was covering for himself.
After
he realized what happened. But before that, he was a regular
Sir Galahad.” She tucked back hair that had escaped from her clip.
“Look, I don’t like it any better than you, but he did put himself
in harm’s way for me. Much as I’d like to, I can’t deny
it.”

“What’d he want, anyway?” Dylan asked. “To
come down here.” All of them looked alike, but her third oldest
brother’s eyes were darker, almost navy. Right now they were filled
with thunderclouds as they bored into her with a stormy gaze.

“He wants to make peace.” Bridget had brought
them all beer and Bailey sipped hers. Truth be told she was still
shaken. From the fear. And from proximity to the senator. He’d made
her edgy, even before the incident with the camera. “I think the
governor came down on him about our public feud.”

“I told you not to write that letter to the
editor.” Aidan’s tone was kind, despite the criticism.

“I’m pissed at his trying to block my
shelter.” Just the thought of his presumptuousness incensed her all
over again. “Who the fuck does he think he is?”

Patrick straightened. “Hey, watch your mouth,
young lady.”

“Gimme a break, Paddy,” She was thirty-six
years old, a mother, and they treated her like a kid. Instead of
biting Patrick’s head off, though, she stood. “I’m gonna go check
on Rory.”

“Brie took him home,” Patrick told her. “When
she came to get Kathleen.”

“Brie was here?” Things between her oldest
brother and his spirited wife, Brie, were not good since she’d
taken a job. Man, these guys, except for Aidan, were
Neanderthals.

“After she got off work.” He spat the words
out. “She said Rory could stay overnight.” Patrick’s daughter
Kathleen and Rory were only a year apart and as cousins, spent a
lot of time together. Bailey had had her overnight twice this
week.

“Oh, okay, I’ll pick him up in the morning.”
She glanced around the bar. “I should get to work.”

“It’s almost two. Go home, we’ll close up.”
Leaning forward, Dylan chucked her under the chin. “Aidan’ll take
you.”

Her apartment was three blocks away, and she
dealt with gang kids for a living, but still, they watched out for
her. She only let them so they wouldn’t get on her about her
job.

In minutes, she and Aidan left the pub and
walked leisurely to her house. The misty air was even cooler now
and she snuggled into to the senator’s jacket.

Aidan was quiet, thoughtful, as usual. “So,
what do you make of all this with the good senator?” he finally
asked.

“I don’t know what to make of it. He drives
me nuts with his conservative views and how he’s copped out from
the potential he had to be a good politician. Still, he would have
risked his own life for me tonight, Aidan, had that been a gun or
other kind of weapon.”

“Not something to ignore.”

She stuck her hands inside the pockets of the
jacket. One connected with cold aluminum. “Oh, hell.”

“What?”

“He left his cell phone in his pocket. I not
only got his damn coat, but now I have his cell. Both of which I’ll
have to give back.”

“And see him.”

“Yeah.” The thought discomfited her. “Damn
it, Aidan. I don’t want that guy in my life.”

“Well, kiddo, then you’ll have to stop this
feud.”

“Only when he leaves my gang activities
alone.”

“Be a cold day in hell when—”

The cell phone rang.

“Shit.”

“Better answer it. He probably wants his
phone back.”

She drew it out. Its ring was no-nonsense,
like hers. “What if it’s somebody else?”

“Who’d be callin’ him at one a.m.?”

“How the hell do I know? His girlfriend?”

As it continued to ring, Aidan took the
phone from her and checked the identification. “It says
town house
on it.” He pressed the
Send button and handed it to her. “Gotta talk to the man,
Sis.”

She rolled her eyes and took the phone. Into
it she said, “Hello.”

“Bailey, it’s Clay.” The informality of his
greeting startled her into silence. For a split second, it made her
think of being plastered up against him in front of the diner.
“Bailey?”

“Yes, it’s me. I, um, have your phone.”

He chuckled. It was an all male sound. “I
know. Look, I’m sorry about that, earlier.”

“What
was
that?”

“I’ll explain when I pick up my things. Where
are you?”

They’d reached her house—an older building
ten minutes from the pub and twenty from ESCAPE. She had a walk-up
on the second floor. “Just about at my apartment.”

“Tell me where it is, and I’ll come
over.”

“Now?”

“Ah, yes. Is there a problem with that?”

“I’m not sure I want you to know where I
live.”

“Honey, if I wanted to, I could find out
where Susan Sarandon lives.”

“Susan Sarandon?”

“She’s my favorite actress.”

Bailey couldn’t help herself. She laughed.
She and Aidan had walked up to the front and climbed the four steps
to the porch.

“What?” Aidan asked at the door.

“Susan Sarandon’s his favorite actress.”

Aidan’s dark brows rose. “Oh, that’s good to
know.”

She shook her head, still chuckling.

“Who’s with you? No, let me guess, one of the
Fearsome Foursome.”

“Yep, the only one who
doesn’t
wanna string you by
your
cahones
,
Senator.”