High Stakes (10 page)

Despite his circumstances, Dylan had to smile. Liam and Sophie weren’t living together because of the boys, but she came to Liam any morning they were both free for a lover’s tryst. She must have some time off from the Academy, where she was still teaching. Dylan didn’t bother them when her car was in the driveway, otherwise the brothers visited routinely.

When Liam disconnected, he caught sight of Dylan. “Hey, there.” He frowned. “You look like hell.”

“I need some coffee.” The scent, which filled Liam’s house, had his brain begging for caffeine.

Pouring them both mugsful, Liam joined him in the living room. Sat down. And didn’t mince words. “I know this thing with Rachel Scott is killing you.”

“I wanna talk to you about her.”

“Then, let me say first I’ve thought about the whole thing, too. Patrick has no right to ask you to quit a job you love.” Liam, who’d lost his wife to cancer, added, “Gotta live your life, Dyl.”

“I know. I’ve made a decision.”

“Shoot.”

“I’m going to finish the job. I’ve given myself a deadline. I’ll keep it cool with her, get more information, then we’re history.”

Leaning back, Liam, wearing cords and a flannel shirt, stared at his brother. Though he was younger than Dylan, he exuded a wisdom the other guys didn’t have. “Interesting choice of words. Haven’t you
been
keeping it cool with her?”

“Hell, no. As evidenced by how she threw perfectly good whiskey in my face the other night.”

Liam held his gaze. “How does she feel about your relationship?”

“She’ll cooperate because she wants to impress her boss. More power to her. She can get what she wants and so will I. I just gotta do it fast so we all can move on.”

His brother sighed heavily. “You and Pat are always trying to keep us together, keep us happy. Yeah, we fight, but you take it the hardest.”

Dylan thought about the dream, and his hand tightened around the mug. “Pa said the same thing last night.”

They heard the front door open. Hushed, Liam said, “I can ask Soph to wait if you still want to talk.”

Dylan rose. “No, go get laid. At least one of us will be happy.”

Liam laughed as Sophie came into the room, dressed similarly to Liam in cords and a big flannel shirt—which he recognized as his brother’s. Her strawberry-blond hair was bouncy and curled. She wore a big smile. And her eyes shone when she kissed Liam on the cheek. Sophie seemed younger, happier and more exuberant than she’d ever been before she and Liam committed.

Briefly, Dylan wondered if he’d ever have a relationship with anyone like theirs. His life with Stephanie had been a disaster, so maybe marital bliss just wasn’t in the cards for him.

“Hey, handsome.” Sophie leaned over and kissed Dylan’s cheek, too. “Oh, yuck, you need some toothpaste and a shower.”
She
smelled like fresh flowers.

He laughed. “I’m leaving.” He turned to Liam. “Thanks for understanding.”

“I’m always here, Dyl.”

Wisely, Sophie kept quiet. Dylan let himself out and felt the cold seep into him. He entered his house depressed as hell.

Rachel stood over the conference table with her producer. Every morning they decided which current news to cover and where to fit in preplanned segments. “I’m going to lead with the lane closures. Those emails that came out were damning.” Hard evidence that the governor’s office had been involved in closing lanes had hit the news waves yesterday.

“Good idea,” Crane said in that gruff way he spoke. “You’d better get writing the copy.”

“Dennis and Marie are making an outline now.” Those two plus Jeannine were her favorite staffers. “I’ll write the copy once it’s done.”

“Good morning.”

Rachel glanced up at the familiar voice, her heart pounding before she even got a good look at him. Dressed today in a fisherman-knit, cream-colored sweater with a navy vest, jeans and boots, Dylan looked good. Too good.”They called up to say you were here.” Of course, she hadn’t called him after she stormed out of the bar two nights ago, nor had he contacted her. Instead of taking control, she’d let their situation hang and forced herself to forget about him. Almost.

“Hello, Davis.”

“Mr. O’Neil.” Crane gathered up some papers and turned to Rachel. “Shall I leave you two alone?”

“Yes, thanks,” Rachel said, giving him the okay, much like she’d had to curtail Sam’s protectiveness at the bar. After her producer walked out, she asked Dylan, “Should I close the door? Is there going to be shouting?”

“Nope, no more shouting. I have a plan.” He was calm. Collected.

“Sit, then.” She took a chair at the same table where the day’s show contents were spread out. “Tell me.”

He threw back his shoulders. She’d noted the gesture as one of his when he meant business. “I want us both to get what we need from our situation. You’re out to impress your boss. I want my family not to suffer at your hands anymore. I figure if we can find a way to do that, we should put aside our differences.”

“Agreed.” Though she wondered why he didn’t say he wanted to keep his job at
CitySights
, she didn’t probe. He’d been right about staying professional. “I assume that means no more personal stuff.”

“None that we can avoid. I’ll have to hear about aspects of your life and motivations—under the
cone of silence
as we agreed. I do for everybody I investigate. But we won’t share…intimate things.”

“Fine by me. I wanted it that way to begin with. You set up the parameters.”

“Live and learn.”

They were standing there, squaring off like parties negotiating a truce. “So, the goal is to finish as soon as possible.”

“The quicker, the better. Maybe in a week.”

“Hopefully.”

“That’ll mean we have to be together every day and probably a few nights. I’ve hired someone to come in and work at the pub for me, so I’m free.”

That surprised her. Not the timeline, but that he’d already put his plan in play. “Great. Can we start today?”

“Yes. I’d like to follow your around here and see what your routine is. Especially how you dig up stories, decide on what to use.”

She added, “Crane and I were just talking about the segments for tonight.”

Dylan stretched out his legs and crossed his ankles. She wondered if he was as relaxed as his position indicated. “That isn’t done until the day you run them?”

“We leave room for breaking news. But we’re always working on static segments, which we pop in around current events.”

“I guess I should have known that from watching so much news.”

“I’m about to meet with two of my staffers who are outlining the new segments.”

“Can I stay for the meeting?”

“Yes.” A knock on the door. “That must be them. Come on in, guys.”

With the buzz of the newsroom behind him, Dennis entered first. As soon as he saw Dylan he scowled. “You okay, Rach?”

“I’m fine. Mr. O’Neil will be joining us.”

Marie rolled her eyes. Dennis’s face remained stony.

And Rachel was not looking forward to today.

“The lane closures are still the hot topic. Some shows are only covering that one story, back-to-back, investigating the governor and his staff.” Dennis routinely checked into other stations and shows on NSMBC to find out what they were focusing on.

Rachel didn’t agree with that approach. “The governor won’t be our only coverage. Do you think we should block off more than one segment for it, though?”

Marie, beautiful and brainy, nodded. “Two, I’d suggest.”

“Possible guests?” Rachel queried.

Rachel stood and went to what looked like a storyboard on an easel. They’d used Post-it notes to indicate a variety of people willing to come on the show and give insights or relay experiences they’d had with the governor. Dylan focused on Rachel. Of course he was attuned to her physical appearance--today she wore jeans—pressed and probably designer—with a V-neck, plum-colored sweater he thought was cashmere, and an all-shades-of-purple scarf to match. But after watching her, he was more intrigued by how bright she was, taking an idea, making it her own. She asked pointed questions and when the staffers—smart themselves—couldn’t answer them to her satisfaction, they made notes on what to check. After an hour, they left.

Her intercom buzzed and she went to her desk. “Jeannine, I’m ready for you and Tommy.” The young man was her photographer.

“He’s on the phone,” Jeannine responded. “Can we wait ten?”

“Sure.” She disconnected and turned back to Dylan. “Jeannie, my photographer and I will work on the static segments we’ve chosen for today.”

“So, you have five blocks?” he asked. He guessed he knew the answer, but wanted to hear her explain her show.

“Yes, though some are shorter than others.”

“What’s up for tonight?”

Crossing back to the papers on the table she’d been perusing when he came in, she stared down at them. “An army veteran. When he was in a coma, after returning from the Middle East with no legs, his captain came to visit. Totally unconscious, the private saluted.”

“I read about that.”

“We’ve gotten video of him as he was then, and some from today. It’s quite remarkable. He has one prosthetic leg and is awaiting another.” Her face lit up. “His wife is pregnant.”

Dylan thought about asking her if she ever wanted to have a child, but that was off-limits now. It didn’t matter to the column he might possibly write on her. “So, this is a feel-good piece.”

Her gaze narrowed on him. “People need those. I like to show success stories and happy endings—in this case, as happy as can be.”

“I get that.”

Before she sat back down, she poured coffee from the table off to the right, offered him some, and he took a cupful. “Dylan, one segment scheduled for today is a report on Clay Wainwright and how he’s doing as acting president.”

Hmm. “You’ve been fair so far about that.”

“I know. He has big shoes to fill.”

“What does that segment contain?” ”A cut-in done by another reporter. Rubin Raskin put something together on Clay that we’ll all use. His piece shows the vice president with some of his staff in the oval office, a press conference he gave on the Middle East, a few candid shots we had on file of him, your sister and their kids.”

“Does it criticize him?”

“No, not at all. One reporter did ask him if he felt qualified to do Langley’s job.”

Dylan smiled. “I can guess his answer.”

She cocked her head, sending some hair over one shoulder. “What do you think he said?”

“‘Hell, no. Nobody’s qualified for this job.’”

She grinned, and it was stunning. “Something like that.”

“So, his segment brings the total to four?” She nodded. “What’s the fifth?” A brief knock, then the door opened. A young woman was standing there with someone behind her. Rachel asked, “Ready, Jeannine?”

“Tommy’s still on the phone. But you have a visitor.”

“A visitor? In the middle of the day?”

Jeannine stepped aside, and Rachel took in a deep breath. “Hello, Mom.”

This was going to be interesting, to see Rachel in the relationship with her mother. Sometimes, all four boys and Bailey turned into children when their ma wanted something from them. Dylan had noted, though, her parents hadn’t been at the younger Rachel’s basketball game.

“Hi, Rachel,” he heard as the woman entered the office.

Holy shit. She wasn’t at all what Dylan expected. The Scott family had old money. But instead of glamorous and sophisticated, like Rachel, her mother was tall, thin, blond, with brown eyes and a rather plain face. She wore a navy blue skirt and sweater, and held a wool coat. He knew Marian Scott was a genome researcher and guessed she had other things on her mind than fashion. “I don’t mean to bother you, dear, but you haven’t returned my calls.”

Rachel gave a quick glance to Dylan. Marian tracked her gaze. “Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t realize anyone else was here.” She extended her hand. “I’m Marian Scott.”

“I’ve read about your genome research. It sounds fascinating.”

She nodded and waited.

“I’m Dylan O’Neil.”

The woman’s eyes widened. “Of
the
O’Neil family?”

“Guilty as charged.”

Marian didn’t react to his family’s shunning of her daughter. Hadn’t Rachel told her? Interesting.

Turning to Rachel, she said, “I won’t keep you. But my calls?”

“I’m, um, I’ve been busy. I’m sorry I haven’t phoned you back.” Rachel didn’t sound sorry.

“So I had to come to your place of work.” She held up an envelope. “You never responded to the gala invitation.”

Rachel’s shoulders stiffened. Her mouth did this little trembling thing when she was upset, and she clamped her teeth over her bottom lip. “I didn’t? As I’ve said, I’ve been busy.”

“Your father and I want you there.” Marian gave a wan smile. “You know stardom impresses people.”

Dylan would hardly call anchoring a cable news show stardom.

Rachel’s face tightened even more. “I’m hardly famous.”

The mother stepped closer and touched her daughter’s arm. “Rachel, you hosted the Miss New York Pageant last year. No one’s forgotten you won the crown, even though it was a while ago.”

“The network arranged the hosting.” Which she clearly objected to.

“Be that as it may, donors like to hobnob with celebrities.”

Dylan waited for something more personal. Maybe like,
You’re our daughter, and this is a family thing.

But all that came out was, “It would look odd if you didn’t support the Children’s Hospital.” ”I’ll write you a check.”

Marian’s face fell in genuine, serious disappointment. She blinked at her daughter.

And just like that, Rachel caved. He could see it on her face. What he didn’t understand was why she didn’t want to go to the gala. “All right. I’ll come.”

“Early enough for the reception line?”

She nodded. “I can’t promise I’ll stay the whole night.”

“Well, yes, breaking news.” Now Marian’s tone was dismissive. “Thank you, dear.” Moving closer, she kissed Rachel’s cheek. “Bring a date if you like.”

When Rachel didn’t answer, Marian turned to Dylan and held out the invite. “We’d love to have you there, Mr. O’Neil. It’s for a good cause.”