Someone To Believe In (19 page)

“She’s working for Lawson.”

His dad’s jaw tightened. “So I heard.”

Jon leaned forward. He wanted to touch his
father, but they didn’t do mushy things in his family anymore,
though he remembered a lot of affection when he was little. “I
won’t work for him, Dad. I’m not saying I agree with your politics,
but I won’t undercut you like that.”

“My views might be different from what you
think.” He reached out and covered Jon’s hand with his own. “I’d
like a chance to talk to you about those things without
fighting.”

Jon was shocked. Something was definitely
different about his dad tonight. “All right, let’s do it.”

“COME ON, COME on.” Taz was at a computer in
one of those all-night cyber cafes, signing on to the Internet.
Shit, what were the chances of the Street Angel being on tonight,
anyway?

The screen pinged and buzzed into a
connection and she went right to the ESCAPE website.
Hey, anybody there?

I am. Hi, Taz. I recognize your screen
name.

Hi.
It was
important to be tough.
How you
doin’?

Good. Great actually. How’s the shelter
working out? I’m so glad you’re there.

It was important to be casual.
Oh, that? It didn’t.

Didn’t?

Work out. I
bounced
...Shit, her throat clogged. The Street Angel
was turning her into a regular sissy.

Tell me, sweetie. It’s okay, whatever
happened.

Sweetie. What her mother called her.
What she imagined calling her own daughter some day.
Somebody blamed me for somethin’ I didn’t
do.

Was it serious?

Yeah. Sorry I let you down.

You didn’t let me down. We’ll find you
someplace else.

Any place just gonna be a repeat. I need to
get my own pad to crash.

Where are you now?

Nowhere. It doesn’t matter. I gotta go.

Taz, please, don’t go. Talk this out with
me.

Later, lady. Ciao.

Taz clicked off. She sat back in the hard
chair and stared at the screen. Damn it, this woman stirred up all
kinds of things inside her. Made her hope. Not good, not good at
all.

THE BAND WAS in full swing, right now playing
some cool jazz. Waiters floated around the ballroom, serving
champagne and caviar to tuxedoed men and women glittering in
diamonds. Clay leaned against a post and watched Jane dance with
her father.

“She looks lovely tonight, doesn’t she?”

“I think she looks a little too thin,” he
told his mother, who had come up to him.

“Darling, a woman can never be too thin.”

I’m ten pounds over the
weight the insurance company recommends for my
height
. Well, Clay for one liked those
curves.

A waiter passed by and offered him champagne.
He couldn’t take a glass. It reminded him too much of being with
Bailey yesterday. “I’ll have a scotch, if you wouldn’t mind getting
it.”

“Certainly, sir.”

“What’s the matter, Clayton? You’re brooding
like Heathcliff.”

“I’m restless, Mother.” He turned to look at
the woman who gave him birth. She was also too thin; at sixty-five,
her meticulously cut, styled, and tinted-just-right hair framed a
rather unlined face for her age. She wore a dress like everybody
else’s—long, black and expensive.

“Over what, dear?”

“My life I guess.”

“Maybe it’s time to talk to your father about
the next step, then. The party’s been whispering about you for the
VP spot in the next presidential election.”

At one time, her encouragement, her
confirmation of what he himself had heard, would have elated him.
“That’s a bit premature isn’t it?”

“Not necessarily.” Her gray eyes narrowed. “I
understand that little creature you sent to jail is giving you
trouble these days.”

He stiffened. “She’s not a little creature.
She’s a nice woman who made a mistake. Is still making them, but
her heart’s in the right place.”

“Your father says she can do you
damage. Especially after those editorials in the
Sun
.”

“The Street Angel wrote something else?” He
couldn’t believe she’d do that to him, not now. Not after...

His mother’s frown was as old as he was. He
remembered hating the thought of displeasing her. “No, nothing
recent. Clayton, you sound, I don’t know, sympathetic to her.”

“I’m not. We’re on a committee together and
I’ve gotten to know her some. She believes everything she
says.”

“Well, know thy enemy. Perhaps you can sway
her if you get more friendly with her.”

Is that what this is all about? A way to get
me to stop my work with gangs?

The song ended and Jane stood talking to her
father and someone else who’d come up to them on the dance floor.
His mother nodded toward her. “I think perhaps it’s time you made
this official, too, Clayton.”

“Official?”

“Yes, you and Jane. It would look good for a
prospective vice president to be married. Especially after that
scandal with Karen.”

“Which she created, Mother.”

“I know.” Jane left her father and approached
them. His mother said to her, “I was just telling Clayton how
lovely you look, dear.”

“Thank you, Marsha. As do you.” She fluttered
heavily made-up eyes at Clay. “I’m afraid your son has hardly
noticed, though.”

He was thinking about Bailey’s eyes,
unadorned with makeup, the freckles on her nose, her long hair,
casual and sexy as hell. “I noticed, Jane. I told you how wonderful
you look.”

“No, darling, you didn’t. But Father says
you’re distracted these days, just as I thought.”

“I wish people wouldn’t keep saying that
about me.” His tone was harsher than he intended.

His mother and Jane exchanged surprised
looks.

Clay pushed away from the post. “I’m going to
find that drink I ordered. Excuse me.”

“Just a moment, Senator.” He turned to
a familiar looking man with a camera. “Hank Sellers.
The Voice.
”

Ah, now he remembered. The reporter on the
street that first night with Bailey. “Mr. Sellers.”

“May I have a shot of you and Lady Jane?”

Jane blushed becomingly at the epithet. Moved
in close so her breasts grazed him. He was forced to slide his arm
around her waist.

“Smile,” Sellers said.

Clay smiled, feeling trapped, unhappy
and...fuck it...lonely for his Street Angel.

BAILEY STUDIED THE pub. Her mother and father
were singing a duet, and it brought tears to her eyes to hear their
melodic voices joined. She was so lucky to have them as parents.
The whole place felt warm and comfortable tonight, with the aroma
of home-cooked food and drifting sounds of people having a good
time.

Tell me about your childhood.

I’ll bet yours was happy.

It had been. Except for the jail thing and
Moira’s death, she’d had a good life. So why was she feeling
miserable?

“Here you go, darlin’. And watch out for that
handsome one’s hands. They’d be likin’ to wander all over you.”

“How would you know that, Bridget?” she
asked, picking up the tray of Guinness.

“He’s lookin’ at you as though you’re
tonight’s dessert.”

Bailey hustled over to the table. The guys
gathered around it were cute. And the blonde was definitely
interested. “Ah, there she is, me girl.” He tried really hard to
mimic an Irish accent, but wasn’t succeeding. He was handsome in a
young sort of way. He had brown eyes, but they were dark, and not
as penetrating as Clay’s.

As soon as she had the thought, she
chided herself,
Don’t do this!
But she couldn’t help it. She’d been
doing this
since yesterday morning—thinking about
Clay. And not just the sex. The talk about their families. The way
he cradled her to his heart. The romantic, silly things he’d done,
like sweeping her off her feet, the champagne, feeding her
strawberries and ice cream, his ministrations in the
bath.

“. .. go out with me darlin’?”

“Excuse me?”

“I asked what I had to do to get you to go
out with me.”

She gave him a saucy smile. “See those four
guys over there?”

“Tell me they’re not boyfriends.”

“No, worse. They’re my brothers. You’d have
to get through them to date me.”

“I’d slay dragons to date you, honey.”

“That would be easier.”

She left the group and went to serve more
tables. After a while, she glanced at her watch and realized she’d
been on her feet for three hours. “I need a break,” she told
Bridget as she set her cocktail tray on the bar.

“About time. Go in the back and take a load
off. Margie can cover for you.”

Bailey headed to the rear of the pub.
She found her mother in the big sitting area, off a small bedroom,
watching an old episode of
JAG
.

“Hello, dear.”

“Ma.”

She moved over on the stuffed and worn couch.
“Sit.”

Bailey sat.

“No, scoot down there. Stretch out and put
your feet up. I’ll rub them.”

Thinking about Clay in the bathtub, she lay
back, closed her eyes and let her mother tend to her. From the TV,
the familiar music and dialogue continued for a bit, then went
silent as her mother turned off the set. She said, “Want to be
tellin’ your ma about it?”

Bailey would love to pour out the whole
story, but Mary Kate O’Neil would freak if she knew the reason for
her daughter’s funk was the man who her parents blamed for putting
her in jail. “Nah. It’s nothing important.” She raised her arm and
rested it on her forehead. “Rory okay?”

“Sleepin’ like a baby, after I read him a
good number of books. That boy, now he’s smart.”

He’s as smart as a whip,
Bailey
, Clay had said.

“Why’d you moan, darlin’?”

“How do you keep yourself from thinking about
a guy, Mama?”

Her mother’s laugh was youthful. “Never found
the answer to that myself, love. I tried everything I could to get
your pa out of my head. It never worked.”

Bailey sat up a bit. “He loves you,
Mama.”

“I know.” Her mother’s face shadowed. “That
business with the other woman was my fault, in part. I wasn’t
showin’ him enough attention, then.”

“He shouldn’t have done it.”

“No, he shouldn’t have. Poor Moira paid the
price.”

“I got a girl I’m working with now; she
reminds me of Moira.”

Her mother watched her. “You were never the
same after that, child.”

“Don’t you think so?”

“No. You got so serious.” She drew in a deep
breath. “Then, after that man sent you to jail, it only got
worse.”

“Ma.” She grasped Mary Kate’s hand. “I broke
the law, and got the punishment I deserved.”

“The good Lord wouldn’t have held you
accountable for helpin’ a young lad.” Her face hardened. “It
was
his
fault.”

Shit, Bailey didn’t need this. She started to
get up.

“No, stay here. I’ll go do your tables for
fifteen more minutes. You’re dead on your feet, girl.” Her mother
got up and leaned over her, brushing Bailey’s hair back. “You sure
you don’t want to talk to your Ma about this man?”

Bailey shook her head.

“All right then.”

After her mother left, Bailey nestled back
into the cushions and sighed. Damn, nothing was going right. Taz
hadn’t come back on the website again. And Bailey hadn’t heard from
Clay.

Can I call you this week?

No.

Hell, if she really didn’t want him to call,
why did she carry her cell phone around in her pocket all
night?

Because she did want to hear from him.
Desperately.

No sooner did she have the thought than her
phone rang.

It probably wouldn’t be him, anyway. He
was at that fancy party with his family, and his
girlfriend
, for God’s sake. Maybe the
call was something about work. Something about Taz. Bailey had
asked Suze to notify her if the girl came back to the
website.

Still lying on the couch, she fished out her
cell. “Hello.”

“Don’t hang up, please.” The husky timbre of
his voice curled through her like a kiss.

“I won’t hang up.” A pause. “I’m surprised to
hear from you.”

“Why is that?”

“Aren’t you at your party?”

“Yes, where are you?”

“At the pub, taking a break. It’s been a
zoo.”

“You work too hard, honey.”

“Clay, don’t—”

“Call you pet names, I’m sorry. It slipped
out.”

“Are you having a good time?”

“Yes. No.”

“Well, that’s definite.” Her dry tone made
him chuckle.

“I...I’m having a hard time...I keep thinking
about yesterday.”

“
With Jon?” she asked to divert the
direction of his conversation. “How did that it go,
anyway?”

“No, I didn’t mean with Jon. But it went
well. We talked for hours, some of the time about politics. I think
he saw we have more in common than he realized. And he made me
think I have copped out some.”

“Clay, that’s a huge step.”
I’m so proud of you
, she wanted to
say, but didn’t have the right.

“He talked about you. How you ‘reamed him
out,’ I think he said. Thanks for coming to my defense.”

“You’re welcome.”

A long, uncomfortable pause.

“What I said earlier? I meant I couldn’t stop
thinking about yesterday morning.”

No answer.

“You remember yesterday morning, don’t
you?”