Someone To Believe In (14 page)

“The Conquerors have the West Side of the
city.” Ned scowled. “I imagine the GGs are over there.”

“Bailey, is Ned right about all this?”

“I have no idea. I never ask those
details.”

“Well, you should.” The captain scowled.
“What’s more, you should have reported to the police that the GGs
are back in business.”

Bailey leaned forward, feeling her
temperature rise; it was easier being pissed at the police than
thinking about Moira. “Listen, Captain, and listen good. I received
no illegal information from that girl. She came on the interactive
network and told me she was tired of gang life. I have a better
than fifty percent chance of getting her out. Telling you anything
about her would put an end to saving her and countless others.” She
straightened and peered down her nose at him. “If you’re going to
badger me like this, I’ll have to rethink my position on this
entire committee.”

“Fine, quit. You won’t get any money for your
programs.”

“All right, both of you, that’s enough. The
last thing I want is for anybody to quit.” Clay faced her. “Is this
the girl I...know about?”

“Yes.”

He looked at Sister Marion. “Did you shelter
her?”

The older woman folded her hands and stared
hard at him. “Yes, but I won’t divulge where, Senator. And I agree
with Bailey. If this is how the committee’s going to go, I’ll
reconsider my participation.”

Clay sighed. “Well, I guess we didn’t get
started off on the right foot, now did we?”

After things settled down, they talked about
their task more calmly. Marion had managed to give a list of
shelters and an overview on medical help available, and Bailey gave
a recounting of her organizations without drawing any more
blood.

When the meeting ended, Sister Marion and Ned
went out talking civilly. Bailey gathered her things and started
for the door by the time Clay was able to grab her arm and pull her
back. “Hold on a second.”

She turned to face him. He’d done a good job
with diffusing the situation, but she was stinging from the cop’s
remarks. Still the understanding in his eyes did something to her
insides. “I have to go. “

“Why, because somebody other than me
questioned your actions?”

She shook her head. “There are other
reasons.” She didn’t expect the ambush, and talking about the GGs
had made her feel vulnerable.

Clay drew her back and closed the door.
“Bailey, I know about Moira.”

It was the last thing she
expected.
“What?”

“I know about the GGs and Moira.”

“Did you have me investigated?”

“I didn’t have to. Aidan told me.”

“My brother? I’ll kill him.”

“Don’t. I probed that day we took Rory for
ice cream. We got talking about you, and I asked why you were so
obsessed with getting kids out of gangs.”

Exhausted, she leaned against the wall. “I
guess it doesn’t matter if you know.”

“Come and sit.” He led her to a stuffed chair
in the corner then crossed to the cooler and poured her some water.
He dropped down across from her and gave her the drink. “I’m sorry
if tonight resurrected old feelings.”

She sipped. The water choked her.
“I...sometimes it creeps up on me. Overwhelms me. Especially when
I’m least expecting a reminder.”

“Want to talk about it?” His question was so
sincere, his face full of understanding.

“How much do you know?”

“Not much. That she came to live with you
when her mother died, and that you loved her.”

Bailey closed her eyes. She could see Moira
with her Mohawk hairdo, with her pierced naval and tongue. But
unbeknownst to the others, she also had memories of Moira climbing
into bed with Bailey and talking to her about her dreams.

“I loved having a sister. She’d braid my
hair, show me how to put on makeup. She wanted to be a ballerina.
But her mother never told my dad, you know, that he was her father,
so there was no money for her to do things normal kids do. We used
to sneak down to a studio near the house and peer in the window,
stare at the girls who could afford lessons. It was like she was
two different people.”

“Gang kids often are.”

“I couldn’t believe it when she died. I
missed her so much.”

Clay reached in his pocket and handed her
something. A handkerchief. “You can shed those tears you’re holding
back, you know.”

She shook her head vehemently. “I stopped
crying when I went to prison.”

His face blanked, then looked pained.
“I...”

“Don’t, Clay.”

“All right. Tell me about Moira.”

She gave him a weak smile. “I used to beg her
not to go out at night. When she first came to live with us, she
got me to swear I’d never tell my parents about the gang stuff.”
She looked up at Clay. “I never did.”

“Now why doesn’t that surprise me?”

“Yeah, even then, huh?” She swallowed hard.
“Maybe if I’d told somebody she’d still be alive.”

He reached out and grasped her hand. “You
knew she was out the night she got arrested, didn’t you?”

The gentle soothing touch felt so good, she
let him hold her hand, trace her fingers with one of his own.
“Yeah. I kept vigil at the window all night.” She swallowed hard.
“She never came home. She’d been picked up by the cops.” She
sighed. “Grand larceny."

“Aidan said she was sent to Greensboro.”

“She died in Greensboro.”

“I know. I’m sorry.”

“Dad blamed himself. Said if he’d known about
her being born, maybe he could have done something.” Her throat
closed up. “Do you think ballet lessons might have helped?”

Sliding an arm around her, Clay tried to pull
her close.

“No, I’m all right.”

“You’re not all right.” He tugged harder.

Still she resisted. “Clay, don’t. I lose it
when people try to comfort me.”

“So tough,” he said, brushing back her
hair.

She watched him. He was sincere. Empathetic.
And she was tempted to rest her head on his shoulder and bawl like
a baby.

But she wouldn’t. She had to be strong. And
clear where this man was concerned. “Don’t let me do this, Clay.
Please. It won’t help. If I think about it too hard, guilt
overwhelms me. And I can’t break down. I won’t.”

“Maybe you should talk about it to ease some
of that guilt.”

“No. Just let me handle this my way.”

“All right. If that’s what you need.” He
stood. Held out his hand. “But I won’t take no for an answer on
dinner, now. We’ll go to Pipers.”

“I don’t want to talk about any of this.”

“Okay, you can tell me about your
brothers.”

“And you can tell me about your family.”

“It’s a deal.”

Slowly, she put her hand in his.

BAILEY COULDN’T EVER remember a better
conversation with anybody. And Clay had never found it this easy to
talk about his feelings...

“My brothers are all two years apart.
Patrick’s the most conservative; he doesn’t even want his wife to
work. I’m afraid they aren’t going to be able to stay together if
he doesn’t wise up soon...When I insisted on going away to college,
my parents sent me upstate to a small Catholic girls school. Aidan
was at the boys’ school down the road. It’s how we got so close...I
liked regular social work enough but I wanted to help kids like
Moira so I left the traditional agencies after a year...Rory was a
complete surprise. His dad was a singer and had a stint at the pub;
he was handsome as sin. I liked him but didn’t love him. We used
birth control every time, but my cycle’s erratic so I didn’t even
know I was pregnant until he was gone. By the time I confirmed it,
he was busy with something else; he offered to marry me, but we’d
gone our separate ways...My family’s close—we have each other’s
kids all the time so the cousins are like siblings...The future?
Well I don’t see any more kids in the picture, but I’d like to find
a soul mate. Wouldn’t you, Clay?”

‘MY PARENTS WOULDN’T hear about anything but
Harvard and raised hell when Jon refused to even apply there.
They’re cold, proper people. I could never get close to them, and
tried hard, at least when Jon was little, not to be that way with
him...I always wished I had siblings but mother was too busy with
charity work and supporting my father’s political career...No, I
wanted politics. I saw it as a way to change the world. I have in
some ways, but—now don’t use this against me—I feel stymied in
Washington sometimes...My marriage was preordained. My parents were
best friends with Karen’s parents. She went to Radcliff, we got
married our senior year in college. Yes, the divorce was totally
unacceptable. Finally, when they found out she cheated—don’t look
so surprised, but thanks for the compliment...My biggest regret in
life is not being close with Jon now. We used to be like you and
Rory. Somehow we drifted apart. Every time I try to get back to
what we were when he was little, it goes south. Any advice,
Bailey?”

HE SAW HER home in a cab. Rory was at a
sleepover with his cousins so Bailey hadn’t been in a hurry. Clay
had been so enthralled by her, by the way talk of her son and
family lit her eyes and made that pouty mouth smile, he hadn’t even
noticed the time. And he’d ignored four calls on his cell.

They were quiet on the trip across town,
having talked for four hours. The whir of traffic and occasional
static from the radio were the only sounds in the car. They sat
close enough so he could smell her perfume...lilac scent. They
pulled up to the curb on St. Patrick’s Street.

“Wait here,” he said to the cabbie. Then to
her, “I’ll see you in.”

She put a hand on his arm. “No, Clay.”

“Why?”

Her eyes glimmered in the light from the
street lamps on the lawn. “You know why. Stay here, don’t say
anything, and by all means, don’t get out of this cab.”

Reaching over, he tipped her chin.
“Afraid?”

“You’re damn right. And you should be,
too.”

“I’m not afraid of starting something with
you.”

She smiled sadly. “Did you hear us tonight?
Not only are we sworn public adversaries, but our whole lives, past
and present, are so different. There’s no way to mesh them.”

“What if I don’t agree?”

“It doesn’t matter. I’m sure enough for both
of us.” It seemed in spite of herself, she lifted her hand and ran
her palm down his cheek. He leaned into her touch. “You’re a good
man, Clayton Wainwright, and I’m glad we got to know this side of
each other. But you’re not for me.” Leaning over, she kissed his
cheek. “Good-bye.”

He let her go, watched her get out of the cab
and make her way to the front door. God, he wanted her. His body
was as taut as a tightrope, and his heart yearned for her. But he’d
respect her wishes.

From the front seat, he heard, “If I were
you, buddy, I’d strike while the iron’s hot, if you get my
drift.”

Clay watched her fish in her purse for her
keys.

I’ll leave if she gets inside fast. But if
she looks back...

His body tightened even more as he continued
to watch her. She found her keys. Was probably putting them in the
lock. The front door opened. She stepped inside and Clay couldn’t
remember a time he’d been more disappointed.

Then, she turned and looked back at him.

He stuffed several bills into the taxi
driver’s outstretched hand and bolted out of the cab. He strode up
the sidewalk and steps, never taking his eyes off Bailey. She stood
in the doorway, as if frozen. He reached her, stared down at her,
and waited.

After an interminable time, she stepped
inside, and back to allow him in. He entered before she could
change her mind, shut the door, and locked it. Then he faced
her.

Her eyes were huge, dark, and very
vulnerable.

“Bailey, I—”

She raised shaky fingers to his mouth. “Shh,
don’t say anything.”

He wasn’t sure if he liked that, but then she
stepped close and he could see her lips tremble. She slid her hands
up his chest, wrapped her arms around his neck and pressed her body
into him.

It was all the encouragement he needed. His
arms clamped her in a vise so hard it probably hurt. She only tried
to get closer. He buried his mouth in her neck as she stood on
tiptoes and did the same to him. He kissed her, sucked there,
primitively hoping to leave marks. She bit him, soothed the nick
with her tongue. Pivoting, he shoved her against the wall and hiked
her up. She wrapped her legs around his waist. With his hands on
her shoulders, he took her mouth. Ravaged it. He reached for her
buttons, fumbling, he was so enthralled in her. Her top was open,
then some scrappy lacy pink thing that passed for a bra unclasped,
and she spilled into his palms. She was full, lush, and womanly. He
massaged her, whispered, “You are so beautiful,” and took a nipple
in his mouth.

She moaned and clasped his head, anchoring
him there. His groin bumped her crotch, ground against her, and for
one terrifying moment, he was afraid he was going to go off.

“Clay, oh, God, yes, there.”

His hands went everywhere, to her bare
shoulders, naked rib cage. All the while he suckled her.

“Your skirt,” he growled, “I can’t get it off
with your legs like that.”

“You first.” She was tearing at his tie,
popping the buttons off his shirt. With her still anchored against
the wall, he shed his jacket and shirt. Bare skin met bare skin.
She jolted, he swore. She took a bite out of his shoulder, and he
lowered his head to her breasts again.

They were breathing like bellows when
he said, “This fucking skirt!
Get it
off
, Bailey.”

He stepped back, she slid her feet to the
floor and went for the buckle on his pants. A moment of sanity
claimed him, and he became aware they were at the bottom of her
stairs, in a tiny foyer.