High Stakes (18 page)

“We understand. That charge, however, will be appealed as my client has a constitutional right to invoke the Fifth Amendment.”

Shaking his head, the chair glared at them. “Then this hearing is adjourned.”

The crowd buzzed after the committee members walked out. Some reporters huddled in closer to Weinstein and his lawyer, snapping pictures. Tommy was filming, but Rachel knew all he’d get was, “No comment.”

Sidling out of the row, behind Dylan, she scowled. “Damn, I was afraid the hearing would go this way. I won’t have much to report.”

“Is there a press briefing?” ”There’ll be something this afternoon. I’ll get a tweet about the time and place. But I’d bet my last lipstick this guy isn’t going to reveal anything.”

Dylan took her elbow. “Let’s grab some lunch and see what happens.” Ever the gentleman, he allowed her to precede him out.

Tommy took off with some buddies, and she and Dylan ended up in a café around the corner from the statehouse. Dylan snagged a table by the window—lucky him, because there were only twenty in the place. Rachel looked around at the open, wood-fire grill, green cloths on the tables and bundles of St. Paddy’s Day–green-and-white carnations scattered throughout. “This is a nice place. Have you been here before?”

“A time or two.”

A man he’d spoken to on the way in said something to their waiter, who headed over. He and Rachel ordered coffee first. As she sipped hers, she said, “You know the guy who owns this place, don’t you?”

“Yeah, he visits our pub when he’s in town.” Dylan smiled at her. “So, do you think the second hearing tomorrow with a different witness will go the same way?”

“And the day after.” ”Will you stay?”

“Yes, in case something develops. I was hoping to get an interview with the head of the committee or one of the defense lawyers.”

“How would you do that?”

The query set off an alarm. She just watched him. “Is this for your column?”

His face was inscrutable. “Maybe.”

That should be good news, but she felt the chill between them rise, as if the temperature had dropped ten degrees. “So, you
are
doing a second column on me?”

“You deserve one.” He raised his chin. No longer was he the man who’d tended to her while she was sick. The man who’d looked happy to see her an hour ago. “I’m leaning toward giving it to you.”

Damn, she wasn’t going to cower. If they were going to talk personally, these professional cards had to be on the table. “Any idea about the content?”

“Lots of them. But none I’m ready to share just yet.”

Rachel should have expected that. Just because he’d helped her out a time or two, said he liked her, cared about her, didn’t mean he respected her professionally. But if he slept with her on this trip, which she was hoping would happen, could he still write a scathing commentary?

Of course he could. She’d slept with him and betrayed him the very next day.

Wondering if his thinking ran along the same line as hers, she made small talk during a lunch of Reuben sandwiches. He said little, and the warmth of his greeting, his excitement yesterday morning about the book deal seemed to have disappeared. Oh, hell, maybe he’d thaw later, over a glass of wine.

When the check came, Rachel grabbed it. “I’m on an expense account.”

“That’s right. Sometimes, I forget…” He didn’t finish.

“Forget what, Dylan?”

“Nothing.”

She didn’t push him. “So, ready to go back to the statehouse?”

“You know what? Since this story doesn’t seem like it’s going anywhere, maybe I should head back to New York. I can follow you on TV.”

Her eyes widened. “Seriously?”

“Yeah, sure. No need for me to stay.”

“I see.” She hoped her expression didn’t reveal her confusion and…disappointment.

Maybe it did. He seemed to relent a bit. “I have a column to write about you, Rachel. I came up here on a whim, and because I was with you so much when you were sick. I’d also just gotten great news. I let myself believe I could ignore what I had to do, but I just realized staying—talking personally—will affect my professional integrity.”

She felt like he’d knocked the breath out of her. At first, he didn’t say anything. Then she got out, “Do what you have to do, Dylan.”

“Notes for
CitySights
article on Rachel Scott

“Note to self:
Be tough, Dylan. Make this cutting edge like your other stories.

“These are the facts:

“Rachel Scott works 24/7.

“She is acutely ambitious. No personal life. (Absence of friends and time spent with family. No one to take care of her when ill?)

“She uses poor judgment in choosing stories. (Secret Service Agent Tim Jenkins)

“She blames others for her mistakes. (Sophie—everybody’s edited.)

“She’s devious and underhanded. Doesn’t abide by promises. (Sneaking into Aidan’s wedding—no cameras, I promise.)

“And why: need to succeed, parental disapproval, family of stars.”

He stared hard at the incriminating words. Fuck!

All of it was true, but slanted toward the negative. Yet he knew in his heart that he hadn’t described the real Rachel, or at least not the whole Rachel. Not the Rachel he knew and had come to care for.

Pushing himself away from the desk, he walked to the front window. It had snowed again last night. Maybe he’d shovel off this mood. Donning boots, gloves and a thermal jacket, he headed outside. Icy cold slapped him in the face, but he ignored it. Ramming the shovel into the snow on the stoop, he threw the mass into the bushes, then cleared Liam’s stoop, too. On the sidewalk to the driveway, the snow got heavier. He lifted it, though, and felt a twinge in his back. After only a few minutes, he started to breathe hard. Shovel, shovel, puff, puff. His nose watered and his face prickled. His ears were frozen. Forcing himself to blank his mind, he cleared a few feet, then a few more until you could see all the blacktop of the entire driveway. His heart was pounding and his lower back screaming. Damn, he’d overdone it. Thinking
hot shower
, he headed up the now-clear driveway and reached Liam’s side of the house first; the door opened.

His brother lazed against the doorjamb. “We have a snow blower.”

“I know. I needed the exercise. Why didn’t you come out to help?” Dylan asked, annoyed.

“Because you needed the exercise. I can tell by the stiff way you hold yourself that something’s eating you up.” He nodded to the driveway. “Did it work?”

His gut still churning, he looked away. “Maybe.”

“You don’t sound too sure. Wanna come in?”

“There’s nothing to say, Liam. I made some mistakes lately that I’m trying to correct.”

A gust of wind blew some of the snow at his feet and more flakes fell from the roof, landing on Liam’s shoulders and chest.

“Get inside, man, before I freeze to death.”

Dylan followed Liam into his half of the house and shed his outer clothing. He glanced around, noting how much more homey the place was than his. Liam got them both beers. Dylan asked, “Don’t you have to work supper?”

“No, Sweeney’s filling in. I got me a date with Sophie. I thought you were going away for a story.”

“I went. It didn’t pan out.” Aka,
I got cold feet.

“Hmm. I saw Rachel Scott reporting the bridge-scandal hearing on location. I thought maybe that’s where you went.”

Swallowing hard, Dylan held Liam’s gaze. For his whole life, he knew he could trust this man. “I did.”

“When you let me know you were leaving town, you said you might not make it back tonight if there was a lot to do.”

“Uh-huh.”

Liam blew out a heavy breath. “Since it looks like I’m only gonna get one-word answers, let me tell you what I think.”

“I don’t want to hear it.”

“Tough.” Liam leaned forward. “You have a thing for her. I suspected it right from the beginning by the way you taunted her, but it’s turned into more, I can tell that from the expression on your face.”

“You think you know so much about me just by watching me?”

“Don’t be an ass. I’m trying to help.”

Dylan closed his eyes. “I know. Sorry.”

“I thought maybe you were going to tackle your feelings head on when you left this morning.”

Liam’s gentle tone brought forth Dylan’s honesty. “It was a bad idea.”

“Was it?”

He gripped the bottle. “Yes.”

“You know, Dyl, regrets are worse than mistakes.”

“How would you know that? You and Kitty had the ideal life.”

“We did.” He stared off behind Dylan’s shoulder. “But she wanted another kid, and I said no. She’d had too much trouble with the previous two pregnancies given her endometriosis. We fought about it. When she died, I wished I’d given her the little girl she wanted. Then I’d have the child now, too, as a reminder of Kitty.”

Feeling his brother’s pain, Dylan put his hand on Liam’s arm. “You never told any of us that.”

“It was too private.”

“I’m sorry. But I’m not sure that applies to me in this situation.”

“Maybe, maybe not. But this thing with Scott has got you in knots. My advice is to go find her and untie some. See how things hang together.”

Dylan stood. Because his brother was voicing what he wanted to do, he had to get out of here. “Thanks, bro. I’m not sure what I’m gonna do, but knowing you care helps. And for what it’s worth, I wish you had that little girl, too.”

When he walked back into his place, he dropped down in front of the computer and stared at the screen. The icon labeled
Rachel
, under his columns, stared back—accusingly. Shit, he moved it to the desktop, then to the trash.

He opened a new file, where he kept track of her activities and all his notes on her, and listed what was in his heart.

“Rachel Scott is a genuinely hard worker. Her day begins early morning, as she prepares for her show and future static segments, which could be run anytime. She barely stops for meals but still looks beautiful for the taping.”

Damn, delete, delete. He couldn’t say she was beautiful. Could he?

“Rachel Scott cares about her family—world renowned doctors and a CEO. Scott has made her mark in the broadcasting world on par with their successes.

“Rachel Scott believes in pay-it-forward.” He described the dance studio and little Kammy.

“Rachel Scott invites loyalty. People who work for her and care about her. (Not so sure about the higher-ups)

“Rachel Scott is sensitive.” (She treated my confidences with genuine concern and sincerity.)”

By the time darkness fell, Dylan sat back and looked at the new draft. It was all true, but so was the one he’d trashed. Damn, what was he going to do with all this?

Rachel stared into the camera and gave her phoniest smile ever to the audience. “I’m afraid that’s all I have for you, Laura.”

“Thanks for the live appearance tonight. I know your fans miss you.”

They had. She’d been deluged by emails and tweets about her absence. Finally, she’d had to post on her Facebook page that she was under the weather. And then gone on assignment.

As she waited for the camera to turn off, she thought about what a bust this trip had been. First, she’d expected to get some kind of story about Weinstein other than,
On the advice of my lawyer…
There had been a bomb scare in the city and Tommy was needed. He’d return tomorrow.

And then, out of the blue, when they’d been having a nice lunch, the columns came up and Dylan took off.

“That’s a wrap, Rach.” One of her favorite on-location studio operatives smiled over at her.

Rachel stepped away from the desk and took off her mic.

He added, “Great to have you here.”

“You, too, Nick. Hey, I haven’t seen you since the fall. Did your kid like college?”

“Happy as a clam. Dad’s still missing her, though.”

Trying to summon energy, she dragged her way to the dressing room she’d used tonight, put on her long, red wool coat and took the elevator down to the lobby. Since she didn’t need Sam here, she should have called a cab from upstairs but had been preoccupied with thoughts of Dylan. What was he doing tonight? How was he feeling?

When the doors opened, her jaw dropped. Because there he was, looking sexy as sin in a black leather jacket over a light blue sweater that highlighted his intense gaze.

“I—”

He silenced her by stepping inside, shocked her by closing the door and pushing the stop button. Pressing her back against the wall of the car, he engulfed her in his arms. She was aware of only the hardness of his body and the demands of his mouth. He teased open her lips and then explored her. Ravenously. Rachel’s mind spun away from why he was here into a swell of sensation. He took more of her, consumed her. When he finally broke the kiss and stepped back, she was shaking with desire, wet with wanting. “I—”

He placed gentle fingers over her mouth and shook his head. Then he turned and released the stop button.

She got the message—no talking. So Rachel didn’t talk. She let him lead her outside, and kept silent for the entire trip to her hotel while he simply clasped her hand on his knee. When they reached their destination, he let the valet park his car and drew her to his side as they walked into the plush lobby. They ignored the people milling around and strode to an elevator. He kept her close the whole trip up to floor thirty-five. It was the sexiest thing—like he was staking claim. And his silence added to the arousal she felt in every nerve ending.

When they reached her room, she took her card out and promptly dropped it to the floor. Dylan arched a brow in an arrogant gesture. Then his mouth turned up at the corners, showing his dimple. He knew she was in a hurry. Retrieving the card, he unlocked the door. She wasn’t prepared when he picked her up and carried her into the room, kicking the door shut behind him.

Nor when he crossed to the bed and tossed her—albeit gently—onto it. A vein pulsed in his neck, telling her he was affected, too. When he spoke, he said only, “This okay by you?”

“Y-yes.” She could barely utter the word.

Dylan stared down at Rachel. He’d always been a calm, cool lover. Oh, he got swept away in the heat of the moment, but he knew what he was doing. His forte was foreplay and he made a point of being attentive to his partner’s pleasure. But tonight he noticed his hands shook when he discarded his jacket, then reached for her and eased her coat off her shoulders, slid it out from under her and threw it aside. Toeing off his boots, he knelt on the mattress and removed her pretty low-heeled shoes. Then he covered her with his entire body, fingers linked, chest to chest, legs entwined with legs. The wool of her sweater and matching trousers rubbed against his denim. Soon, she freed herself from his grip, clutched on to his shoulders and pressed up and into him with her hips. His groan came out a grunt as he took her mouth. This kiss was different, though. Still hot. Still intense. But it was infused with tenderness, and he didn’t know where that emotion came from. For God’s sake, he was practically bursting out of his jeans. He brushed her lips, back and forth, then exerted more pressure. After tasting his fill, he moved from her mouth to her jaw, down to her throat. A sexy chorus of moans escaped her, which made him granite hard. Her fingernails dug into his back and she bucked upward. He found her breast and kneaded it. After a few glorious moments, he slid his arms around her and rolled over. She was above him now, her hair a waterfall down her back and over her breasts. He fisted his hand in the heavy locks, drew her down and took her mouth again. She pressed her body down into his. He’d spread his legs and groin met groin. “Arrgh!” he growled, trapping her with his knees. Desire surged through him like a dangerous current, about to swallow up anything in its way.