Someone To Believe In (13 page)

“Good. We’ll see you at Citronelle at
eight.”

Feeling faintly annoyed by this commitment,
Clay tied up some loose ends at his office, thought about going
home to change but decided instead to call Jon. He hadn’t talked to
the boy since they’d clashed over Lawson. He punched in his son’s
cell number.

“Yeah, Jon here.”

“Jon, it’s Dad.”

“Oh, hi.”

“I just wondered how you were.”

“I’m okay. I got an A on my Buddhist Thought
and Practice paper.”

“Good, good.” A strained silence. For some
reason, he remembered reading to Rory O’Neil and the sense of
nostalgia that had come over him. “Saturday’s your grandfather’s
seventieth birthday party.”

The boy offered, without Clay’s asking, “I’m
going, Dad

“Good.” After a pause, Clay took the
initiative. “Can we talk then? Things between us were left badly,
and I don’t like it.”

His son jumped on that. “Me either. I can
come up early Friday.”

“Good. It’s a date.

Clay felt a little more lighthearted when he
left to meet the Carters at Citronelle in Georgetown’s Latham
Hotel. He’d always liked the unique glass-front kitchen and wall,
which changed color every sixty seconds.

At a table with a good view of the goings-on,
Jane stood and greeted him warmly. “Hello, darling."

He tried to participate in the hug. “Jane.”
They’d talked several times when she was away so he knew how the
cruise had gone. He smiled at her. “You’re looking tanned. A bit
thinner.”

“Thank you.”

He hadn’t necessarily meant the latter as a
compliment.

After greeting her mother, whom Jane
resembled, Clay sat down for dinner.

During drinks, his mind drifted from Jane’s
elegant Chanel suit to Bailey’s stretchy knit one.

During salad, his attention went from Jane’s
neat chignon to Bailey’s wild curls.

During dinner, superimposed over Jane’s thin,
elegant face, were Bailey’s full lips, rosy cheeks, and mischievous
eyes.

Damn it, this was not good.

Things went downhill from there when they got
into a cab and he gave the driver her father’s D.C. address. She
put her hand on his arm and, sidling in close, she changed the
directions to Clay’s town house. “It’s been too long,
darling.”

Maybe she was right. Maybe he needed to be
with Jane and he’d forget all about Bailey O’Neil.

THE NIGHT OF her presentation at the school,
Bailey met Eric Lawson at a small crepe place in the city. Diners
crowded the small, wood-paneled interior and there was a healthy
mixture of conversation, china clanking, and some soft background
music.

“So, how did the talk go today?” Eric asked
congenially.

Had she told him about the presentation? She
didn’t remember. “Good, the faculty was cooperative. And
interested. I’ll be going back every Wednesday in September.”

“Is that common?” He asked the question but
was busy scanning the restaurant. To see if he knew anybody,
probably.

“Only when I take off my clothes.”

“Oh, good.”

She shook her head, hating it when men she
was with didn’t listen. Suddenly, she remembered Clay’s intense
gaze when she talked about ESCAPE, his focused attention when they
toured the place. She saw him laugh and ask questions about Rory.
Analyze her Broadway posters.

She thought about telling Eric she didn’t
like being ignored, but didn’t have the energy—or interest—to do
it. She’d just eat and go home. After devouring cheesy chicken
crepes and a few glasses of wine, Bailey was feeling mellow.
Outside the restaurant, Eric hailed a cab.

“Thanks,” she said, as he opened the
door.

“Not so fast,” he told her and slipped
inside. “I’ll see you home.”

At her door, she was reminded of Clay’s visit
there nearly a month ago. How he’d stood on her porch with ice
cream and wheedled his way upstairs. Damn it all! This wasn’t good.
So she slid her arms around Eric’s neck; he needed no more
invitation.

His lips were warm, his hands smooth on her
back, in her hair, finally on her hips, pulling her close. When she
found herself shrinking from his touch, she tried harder to
participate. He took it as a green light, and his hands moved to
her breasts. “Invite me up, Bailey,” he said as he nibbled at her
lips.

In the lamps from the streetlights, she
stared at his flushed face and wondered if making love with Eric
Lawson would banish her thoughts of Clayton Wainwright.

“HI. IT’S BAILEY.” She gripped her phone and
raised embarrassed eyes to the ceiling of her bedroom.
“O’Neil.”

“I got it on
Bailey
.” Clay’s voice was sleep slurred, but
amused.

“Were you asleep?”

“Um, no. What time is it?”

“Midnight. What were you doing?”

“I’m in bed.” He cleared his throat. “Give me
a second.”

Ohmigod, he’s with
somebody
. Quickly, she clicked off the phone.
Shit, shit, shit
. She bolted from the
bed, strode to the kitchen, and opened the refrigerator. She’d been
prowling around here since Eric left and had stupidly given in to
the impulse to call Clay.

And he was with a woman. At least he sounded
like he was. Jane Carter, she bet. The beautiful, feminine, cool
senator’s daughter. Bailey had seen pictures of the two of them
together. They were well matched. She glanced down at the pretty
peach nightgown she’d bought years ago but didn’t wear much. She’d
been thinking about Clay when she’d slipped into it tonight—alone.
Unable to go through with anything physical with Eric, she’d given
him the boot hours ago.

Her cell phone rang from the counter where
she’d left it. She checked the identification of the sender.
Unavailable. “Hello.”

“Why did you hang up?” His husky voice
rumbled over the phone. It made her shiver, though the night was
warm.

“I, um...” She was flustered. “Fuck, I
realized you were probably with somebody.”

“Why would you think that?”

“Because you left the phone. And your voice
sounded...oh, never mind.”

“I’m not with anyone.” His tone pitched even
lower.

She blew out a breath.

“That sounds like relief, sweetheart.’

“Don’t call me pet names.”

“All right, Bailey.” He sounded frustrated.
“What did you want?”

“Damned if I know.”

He laughed. “How have you been?”

She found herself telling him about the
school talk she gave that day. He listened without interrupting
then asked several specific questions. “I’d like to see that
presentation sometime.”

“Why?”

“Because it’s something you should be doing.
And I’ll bet you’re good at it.”

“You think I should be doing it because it’s
safe.”

“That too. There’s a lot of need for experts
like you in education today.”

Hoisting herself up, she sat on the counter
and kicked her feet back and forth like a teenager nervous about
calling the school football hero. “How have you been?” Oh, Christ,
could she get any more inane?

“We had a meeting today about spending the
Youth Gang Bill money.”

“I thought Congress was on recess until
September.”

“This committee has to hit the ground running
in the fall. We all flew in to meet. Stewart wants the money
distributed ASAP.”

“How’d it go?”

“I told him about our task force.”

“Hmm.”

“You remember the task force meeting we had,
don’t you, Bailey?”

Silence.

“And what happened before. In the
elevator.”

“Clay...” The word came out breathless.
Because just his tone heated her body.

When she didn’t finish, he asked, “Did you go
out tonight?”

“Yes.”

“With whom?”

“Eric.”

“Shit.”

“Did you have a date tonight?”

“With Jane.”

Double shit.

“I don’t like the idea of you out with other
men.”

Ditto
. “There’s
no
other
, Clay. That implies
you’re one. Or the most important one.”

“Sorry. I thought maybe because I had my
hands under your blouse two weeks ago, I had a right to say
that.”

“Did you have your hands under Lady Jane’s
blouse tonight?”

“Do you care?”

No answer.

His voice rose a notch. “Did Lawson get to
first base?”

“I won’t talk to you about that.”

An exasperated sigh. “I didn’t make love with
Jane.”

“Oh, God. I shouldn’t have asked about
her.”

“She wanted to. She’s been away for a few
weeks.”

“Did you miss her?”

“Not as much as I should have.” He waited.
“Do you miss me?”

“No.” Yes.

“Bailey, something’s going on between us. I
keep thinking about you. I couldn’t be with Jane tonight because of
you.”

“Clay, don’t.”

“Give me some crumbs.”

“I didn’t sleep with Eric.”

“Tonight or ever?”

“Ever.”

“Good.”

“What s happening here isn’t good, Clay.”

“You kept my cell number.”

No response.

“You called me tonight.”

“I know. It was a moment of weakness.”

“
Then you admit there’s something
between us.”

“All right, but I don’t like it.”

“See me this week? I’ll be in town for the
task force.”

“We shouldn’t. Besides I’m swamped.”

“Then at least go out with me after the
meeting Thursday.”

“I’m afraid to.”

“Why?”

“Because I don’t know what will happen if
we’re alone.”

“Nothing would ever happen that you don’t
want to.”

“How did we get here, Clay? We’ve been
adversaries for years.”

“It doesn’t feel like we’re adversaries
now.”

“But we are.”

“Maybe professionally. Personally, we seem to
hit it off rather well.”

“Look, I gotta hang up.”

“Say yes, about dinner, and I’ll let you
go.”

“Maybe. It’s the best I can do tonight.”

“All right. I’ll call you in a few days.”

No answer.

“Bailey, before you go. Tell me what you’re
wearing.”

She looked down at her silky nightgown. “Good
night, Clay.”

“That good, huh?”

EIGHT

CLAY HAD CALLED the meeting of the Youth Gang
Task Force subcommittee on community programs for six on Thursday
at his office in town. His New York headquarters were big and
imposing—a lot like him—with wooden paneling, heavy furniture, and
expensive-looking drapes. The place even smelled powerful. Bailey
viewed his day-to-day surroundings as just another thing that
separated them.

He hadn’t phoned or sent her emails all
week—which was good, really it was. He had called her this morning,
though, and told her he’d made a reservation at a restaurant a
block away from the office. She’d hedged, but he’d insisted and she
hadn’t objected. Her mind was reeling with a thousand different
thoughts and her heart was conflicted with as many emotions.

“Thanks for coming, everybody.” He smiled at
Ned the cop, Marion the nun, and Bailey, the Street Angel.

His gaze encompassed her only briefly but she
was acutely aware of herself; she’d worn a slim-fitting off-white
raw silk skirt—one of the few expensive skirts in her wardrobe—and
a bright lagoon-blue top that Aidan had brought her from the
Bahamas. She’d fussed with her hair, finally pulling it back off
her face with some clips. Thank God she’d resisted the urge to put
on makeup.

With brisk efficiency and the
authoritative command of a man used to being in charge, Clay passed
around an agenda. He was all buttoned up in a starched white shirt,
gray suit, and paisley tie. How could she
like
that conservative dress? “First, let’s
review our assignments from last time: Ned, you’re to report on
which youth gangs are operative now in town so we’re all up to
speed. Marion, you’re to give us an accounting of the shelters that
take gang kids, and what medical facilities are available.” He
faced Bailey. “I know you have your hand in all these reform
activities, but your task is to summarize what exactly ESCAPE does
and the other organizations like yours in the state.” He glanced
at them all. “Everyone agreed?”

They did.

“I think we should alternate taking notes.
I’ll do it tonight.” He sat down, loosened his tie, opened a thin
notebook computer, and fiddled with some buttons.

Price eased back in his chair. He was about
fifty, in top shape with shrewd, if world-weary eyes. “The police
are aware of four youth gang elements in the city. Two are
front-runners—the Barracudas and Anthrax. The other two are up and
wannabees—the Conquerors and the Legends.” He sighed. “They all
accept girls. The first two have splinter groups which operate for
females. “

“That’s the extent of it?”

“Far as we know.”

Clay glanced up from his computer screen at
Bailey. “Anything to add, Bailey?”

“Anthrax is gaining a following. They’re one
to watch.” She looked at Clay. “And the Conquerors’ girl group has
a name.”

“The Shags,” Ned said.

“No, they’ve changed it to the Good
Girls.”

The cop frowned and sat forward. “How would
you know that?”

“Really, Captain Price, you don’t expect me
to answer that.”

“The Good Girls was one of the most brutal
youth gangs that ever hit this city.” Ned glared at her. “If
they’re reincarnated, we’re in trouble.”

Bailey ignored the emotion inside her at the
thought of Moira’s gang legacy. “I know. They’re going to be a huge
problem.”

“Where do these gangs operate?” Marion
asked.