High Stakes (14 page)

“Why are you here, anyway?” she asked. “You’re off a couple more days.”

“I’m on another story. I’m meeting some people today to interview them for my column on KPRAY.”

“Here? How come?”

“It’s a public place. Well-known. I think they feel safe.”

“Are these the first people you’ve talked to?”

“No, I had two other meetings when you weren’t here. Both were middle class, earnestly devout, and seemed to have spent their money well. One guy was a soldier who found God in a foxhole.”

She wiped down the bar as she talked, and the low hum of some soft rock spun out from the jukebox. “Do you think donors would tell you if their contributions hurt them?”

“I ask insightful questions, woman. Tricky ones.”

“I’ll bet.”

The door to the pub opened, letting in frigid March air.

Sophie’s eyes widened. “OMG, is that one of them?”

Dylan turned to see a woman cloaked in furs and a fancy hat sweep into the place. His mouth dropped when he caught sight of the white stretch limo out front. This must be Mrs. Robert Windham.

“She doesn’t appear hard up to me,” Sophie commented.

“Yeah, I see.” Rising, he crossed the room. “Mrs. Windham? I’m Dylan O’Neil.”

“I know who you are, young man. You’re in the news, because of your sister.”

“I am.” He bit his tongue at the slight. He’d done some good writing, too.

“You look older than in the photos.”

She was old, too. In her late seventies.

Raising her chin, she scanned the bar. “I’d like a cup of tea, please. And a warm place to sit.”

“I have a table for us over by the piano, where it’s the warmest.” He turned to Sophie, who was gawking. “Soph, could you get us some tea?”

She nodded. And didn’t say Dylan never drank tea.

He led the woman across the room and pulled out her chair.

“Manners, I see.”

“My mama taught me well.”

Peeling off leather gloves, she loosened the fur and shrugged it off her shoulders. “So, you want to talk to me about KPRAY.”

Which was going to be a bust. She obviously had more money than God and could afford to donate to the station. “Yes, I did. As I said on the phone, I’m investigating them.”

“I read that despicable column you wrote. You simply don’t have the facts.”

“Then give them to me.”

Sophie approached the table and set down tea for them. Dylan snagged her arm. “This is my almost sister-in-law, Sophie Tyler, Mrs. Windham.”

“Nice to meet you.”

Mrs. Windham studied Sophie. “Have we met before?”

Sophie bit her lip, trying to contain a giggle, he guessed, because they didn’t run in the same circles. “I don’t think so.”

“I’ve seen you on television, not too long ago.”

Dylan intervened. “She’s one of America’s Bravest.”

“Ah, well, thank you for all you do for the city.”

“You’re welcome.” To Dylan, Sophie said, “If you need anything else, call me over.”

When he turned back to his guest, Mrs. Windham was staring hard at him. “You have such an accomplished family. Why do you go around and pick on good, solid organizations that do God’s work?”

There was nothing else to say but the truth. “I’m trying to find out if people are exploited by the station, if they give more than they can afford, if they get suckered into spending money they need for food or college tuition.”

“What if they are? God will take care of them, I always say.”

“I think people should take care of each other.”

“I do, too. KPRAY fulfills spiritual needs.”

“Look, I know you don’t have to worry about money, but most people do and I—”

She held up her hand. “You don’t know that about me. Despite my trappings, I could be poor and putting on a front.”

“Why would you do that?”

“To get you off KPRAY’s back. Show you that not all, if any, people are being milked by them.”

He laughed. “You might, but then you wouldn’t have warned me.”

A smile turned up the corners of her mouth, which she tried to hide by sipping her tea. “That’s right. I can afford my contributions.”

“I understand.”

“And, Mr. O’Neil, KPRAY doesn’t need to cipher money out of the needy. They have old broads like me who are leaving them half my wealth when I die. And I’m not the only one doing that.”

Pay dirt! Dylan thought and sat back and smiled.

At seven that night, Dylan, his Pa and brothers stood in the corner of the pub, where his mother played the piano. Even the two teens, Hogan and Cleary, had come to join in the fun. Dylan basked in the lilt of all their voices as they sang an old Irish folk tune. Pat was the best singer among them and had a solo section, giving Dylan a minute to let his mind wander.

He’d gotten some important information on KPRAY donors today, not damning but significant. He wondered what Rachel would say about the situation with the radio station if he told her about it. Often, he found himself wanting to confide in her about his work, get her opinion on things.

Aidan nudged him. The whole group was singing again, and Dylan threw himself into the last bars. The piece ended with a bang, and the patrons clapped.

“My boys,” Pa said, grinning as he stepped away from the mic. He loved when they performed as a family for regulars. “Especially these two handsome devils.” He clapped Hogan and Cleary on the backs.

“Thanks, Grandpa.” Hogan’s hair was finally growing out and beginning to curl again.

“Can we go down to the rec center for a while?” Cleary asked Liam.

The brothers exchanged looks. The center was only a block away. “Yeah,” Liam answered. “Need money?”

“We still got our allowances.” Hogan spoke for them both. He often orchestrated activities for the cousins.

They kissed their grandma and headed out.

“Two hours,” Liam called after them.

“They’re all so talented, aren’t they, Paddy?” This from his ma, who turned back to her sons.

Liam suggested he was the best baritone. Aidan claimed the accolade, too, and Pat shrugged. “You ain’t got nothin’ on me.”

There ensued another of what Dylan called their one-upsmanship sessions.

I try to cover it with bravado and arrogance, but down deep I’m a wimp about my family.

As they closed the piano and put the sound equipment away, some patrons stayed at their tables and a handful wandered to the bar. A few left, having had their meals and watched the show. Amidst the buzz of renewed conversation, a little runt ran up to Pa and threw himself at the older man’s knees.

Pa’s brows skyrocketed. “Oh, Good Lord in the heavens. Rory?”

“Shh,” Rory said when Pa bent down to hug the boy. “We’re supposed to keep quiet that I’m home.”

His ma’s face lit from within. “Your mama’s here, isn’t she?” Mary Kate clapped a hand over her heart. “Our girl came to us for her birthday.”

Dylan had been disappointed they wouldn’t be with Bailey when she turned forty the day after tomorrow, so this was great news. Pat bent down and picked up Rory, cuddled the boy’s face to his chest to prevent patrons from realizing who he was and then headed out of the pub proper.

No sign of Bailey at the end of the bar, but Bridget winked at them. “She’s out back,” she whispered. Dylan knew the secrecy was because of the stir Bailey would create if people recognized her, especially given how Clay’s position had changed.

All four brothers tried to muscle their way through the door to the back room, but Aidan got in first. He rushed to Bailey, who was seated on the couch but stood when they entered. Dylan got a brief glimpse of jeans and a Harvard sweatshirt before Aidan gave her a bear hug that could crush ribs. “I knew you’d come, B. I
knew
it.” The pure joy in his brother’s voice made Dylan smile.

“I’m happy I’m here, too, A.”

The rest of the guys let their parents embrace her, then each brother took turns hugging her. Dylan was last. “I’m glad you came home, sweetheart.”

Her return hug was extra-long. “Me, too. We need some private time to catch up later.”

“Where are the little ones?” Patrick asked after Bailey sat with his parents on the couch, Aidan hitched a hip on the arm of the sofa closest to Bay, and Pat took a chair. Liam and Dylan leaned up against the wall.

“Angel and Tyler stayed back at the townhouse. They were exhausted by the time we got home. Anika came to New York with us, so she’s there. You can see the kids tomorrow.”

“No fair,” Aidan whined. He turned to Rory. “But at least my man is here.” He held up his palms for two high fives; Rory slapped him heartily.

“Are they safe, lass?” Pa asked.

“Uh-huh. Two extra Secret Service agents came along.”

As if on cue, Mitch Calloway poked his head in from the kitchen. “Everything okay in here?”

Bailey rolled her eyes. “Yes, sir.”

He gave her an affectionate glare.

Liam said to Mitch, “I can make you guys something to eat.”

“No, thanks. We ate on the plane.”

“Coffee, then.” Liam ducked out behind Mitch.

“How come they’re not sticking close to you?” Aidan asked.

“Because this back room only leads to the kitchen; being in here is safe and gives me privacy with my family.”

They spent an hour visiting, each of the boys taking turns to go see if Bridget needed help.

Near eight, Dylan glanced surreptitiously at his watch. “I’m, um, going out front with Bridget.”

“Why?” Aidan asked.

“Rachel Scott’s show is on.”

Pat’s face darkened.

Dylan matched the scowl. “Don’t start.”

“I won’t. Brie says to lay off you and I’m gonna do it. Besides, I hate that this bothers me so much.”

Dylan never expected any concession from Pat. “I knew I loved your wife for a reason.” He socked Pat’s arm, then headed out to the bar, took a stool within viewing range of the overhead TV and waited for Rachel to come on-screen.

Instead of Rachel’s pretty face appearing before him, though, another announcer sat in her chair. “Good evening,” the man said. “I’m Rubin Raskin, filling in for Rachel Scott.” He winked at the audience, which Dylan thought inappropriate. “You’ll have me for two hours tonight, instead of one.” His show followed Rachel’s.

Hmm. Where was she? On assignment? No, she would have told Dylan, especially after their closeness the other night and how amenable she’d been the last two days. He listened to Raskin for a while, then turned the set off. Damn, he wasn’t going to call her like some teenage boy wondering where his girl was, so he wiped up the bar, washed some glasses. “Fuck,” he mumbled and pulled out his cell phone. Ducking into the office, another small room off the bar, he punched in her number. And got, “Rachel Scott. Leave a message at the beep.”

Swearing again, he dropped down onto the chair behind the desk and put his feet up on the wood surface. “I am
not
going to worry about her. So what if she took a night off? She’s entitled.”

A thought hit him. Did she have a date? Nah, she’d never miss her show for a man. He hoped nothing was wrong with her family. With Kammy. Hell, he still couldn’t believe Rachel had so many layers to her. She was loyal to her parents, even when they didn’t deserve it. And she financed a dance class for girls who couldn’t afford one.

Rebecca and I had so much growing up.

Closing his eyes, linking his hands behind his neck, he could practically hear her husky voice from the other night, smell her perfume. His mind spun back to their time together after Aidan’s wedding. Rachel Scott, the woman, not the anchor, had been warm and willing. Intense about his pleasure, yet taking her own. Man, an affair with her would probably blow the top of his head off.

When he realized what he was doing, he dropped his feet to the floor with a loud thunk. He’d made a decision to keep this professional, but he’d reneged by going to the gala and helping her out with Kammy. He had to do better. The door to the office opened, and in walked Bailey.

“So, big brother, what’s going on?”

Every muscle in Rachel’s body hurt. The achiness had started about four this afternoon, and within hours, she realized she was too weak to go on camera. Which had never happened before. Huddled in her kitchen, she watched the red numbers on the microwave count down. When the buzzer went off, she took out her cup, placed the chamomile tea bag in it and noticed her hands were shaking. Wrapped up in a green fluffy robe, she was still cold.

Hoping the tea would help, she plodded back to her bedroom, climbed under the covers and sipped the warm drink, inhaling its sweet-smelling daisy scent. She’d turned on NSMBC earlier. Now she had to watch Ruben Raskin put his stamp on the already planned segments of her show and didn’t like anything he did. And his voice grated on her nerves. Ten minutes later, she switched off the television, set aside her drink, doused the light and slid deeper under the covers. God, she hoped she was better in the morning.

“Ready to go, Dad?” Hogan asked.

“You betcha.” Dylan shouted over to his sister, “Gonna take you, girl.”

Situated in her own saucer, bundled up in light blue down, Bailey’s nose was bright red and she stuck her tongue out at him like a four-year-old instead of an almost-forty grown woman.

Dylan was glad for the outing that Rory had chosen. The morning sun turned the snow around them crystalline, and the kids were getting a kick out of seeing their puffs of breath in the cold air. They’d decided as a group that the younger O’Neils could skip school for the day. Life was short and Bailey didn’t get home often enough!

“Get ready, get set, go!” Liam shouted.

Hogan pushed off Dylan, and Cleary gave Bailey a shove. Behind them, Liam sent Kip Michaels, C.J.’s replacement on Bailey’s security detail, down behind Bay. Mitch Calloway waited at the bottom of the hill.

He’d had objections to this outing…

Ms. O’Neil, sledding is a very bad idea. It will be impossible to cover you from all perimeters.

Instead of insisting or ordering, Bailey charmed him into agreeing to let her go. In all the time she’d required protection, she’d never once gone against their limits, but she had changed their minds more than once with good-naturedness. And it was obvious Mitch had deep affection for Dylan’s sister.