Someone To Believe In (22 page)

“Does it still hurt?”

His eyes twinkled like he was going to tease.
“Yes, but you can kiss it and make it better.”

“I—”

Ned appeared in the doorway. His face was
grim and his posture stiff. “Hi. Sorry I’m late.”

Clay glanced at his watch. “No problem.
Sister Marion isn’t here anyway.”

He frowned. “Don’t you know?”

“Know what?”

“Sister Marion’s in the hospital.”

Bailey set down her mug.
“What?”

“She was attacked in her shelter Friday night
by one of yours, Ms. O’Neil.”

Bailey glared at him. “What are you talking
about?”

“Tazmania Gomez is wanted for questioning in
the assault of Sister Marion Hockman Friday night. She’s gone
underground and we can’t find her.”

“Is Marion all right?” Bailey asked.

“She’s being released tomorrow. She had a bad
concussion.”

Clay leaned forward. “How do you know it was
the girl?”

“Several residents testified to her
guilt.”

“Did the others see her attack Marion?”
Bailey asked.

“One did. The rest came in after it happened
and found Gomez holding the statue that gave Marion the
concussion.”

Bailey straightened. “So it’s the first
girl’s word against Taz’s.”

“We don’t know Taz’s story, as she
bolted.”

Bailey sat up straight. “Well, I do.”

“What do you mean?”

“Taz came on the network Friday night. She
told me she wasn’t living at the shelter anymore because she’d been
unfairly blamed for something.”

“That girl admitted to you Friday night that
she committed a crime?”

“That’s not what I said, Captain.”

Ned raised a brow. “Oh, sure, like
that’s never happened before.” His gaze swung to Clay. “This came
up the last time we met, Senator. I made my point then and I’ll say
it again. The Street Angel’s up to her old tricks.
What
are you going to do about
it?”

Bailey rose so she was more eye level with
Price. “Senator Wainwright has nothing to do with this. A girl I’m
trying to get out of a youth gang told me she was unfairly blamed
for something that happened in a shelter where I placed her. That’s
all. I didn’t break any laws here.”

“This is fucking nuts, Clay. She’s coddling
criminals.”

Bailey looked at Clay for the first time. His
face was strained and a muscle leapt in his jaw. “I have to say,
Bailey, I’m not happy about this. Did you think to contact the
police?”

“We’ve been through this before. Several
times. I refuse to explain myself again.”

Ned shook his head. “You’re a piece of work,
lady.”

“Watch what you say, Ned. We might disagree
but no need to insult her.”

Ned stared at Clay. “I got better things to
do with my time. This subcommittee, this whole committee’s a joke.
I’m resigning.”

“Ned, wait.”

But the cop stalked out.

Bailey looked after him then turned to
Clay.

The muscle in his jaw pulsed. “Tell me this
isn’t the girl you met near Columbia.”

“Clay, listen...”

“Answer me. Is it?”

Her gaze narrowed at his peremptory tone.
“Yes.”

“And she attacked a nun.”

“So one girl in a shelter says. That’s not
the whole story.”

He stared hard at her. “You won’t be meeting
with her again.”

“Excuse me?”

“You heard me. I want your word you won’t
meet with Taz Gomez again.”

“Absolutely not.”

“I won’t have it, Bailey.”

“You have nothing to say in this.”

“Your safety’s in jeopardy.”

“We’ve covered this ground before, Clay. Back
off.”

“Things are different now.”

“I hope you’re not saying what I think you’re
saying.”

“Which is?”

“That our relationship changes things.”

“Bailey...”

“Well, so much for keeping our personal and
professional relationships separate.”

Briefly he closed his eyes, visibly
struggling for control. “Honey, I care about you and I’m concerned
about your safety. I cannot tolerate you meeting with a gang member
suspected of assaulting a nun, for God’s sake.”

She sighed heavily. “I was right, wasn’t
I?”

“Right?”

“You’re trying to use our personal
relationship to sway what I do in my job.”

His face flushed. She remembered how he
flipped her down on the bed after the last time she accused him of
this. “I thought we already rang that bell.”

“We did. Apparently, you forgot what it
sounded like.” She stood. “I’ll be leaving now.”

“You’re kidding, fight?”

“No.” She started for the door. He grabbed
her arm. “What was your decision about us before you came
here?”

“It doesn’t matter now.”

“It matters to
me
.”

“Let go of my arm.”

“After you tell me what conclusion about us
you came to.”

“The only conclusion there is about us is
that we were both foolish to think there was a shot in hell of our
relationship working.” She shook off his arm. “Good-bye, Clay.
Don’t contact me again.”

Bailey hurried out of his office. He didn’t
call her back. Which was good. Maybe he’d finally come to his
senses, too.

TWELVE

TAZ RAISED THE billy club and faked a smile.
She hated initiations, and would’ve boned out on this one but
Mazie had caught on that she was always sick or busy during the
induction of a new member—shit, they sounded like a goddamned
sorority—and had made a point of Taz being here tonight.

Tazzie baby, what’s goin’ on with you
lately?

What do you mean?

I dunno. You always on the
computer of yours
. Again Taz had worried that Mazie
had seen the screen for ESCAPE that day they came over.

I’d hate to think you coppin’ out on your
homies.

Shit no.

Then be at the jumpin’ in.

As the new recruit ran through the gauntlet,
Taz halfheartedly swung the club on the chick’s butt. The other
GGs weren’t so kind. The girl was bleeding everywhere, and limping
already. Feeling her stomach churn, Taz concentrated on why she was
here.

Everybody but the gang had japped out on her.
She’d had to deep-six the shelter. The skunk girls set her up, and
got her in trouble with the 5-0. So she’d gone home; in the past,
she’d left her house before for a few days; sometimes the old man
didn’t even notice. Sometimes he just beat her up.

This time he’d raped her. He’d never done
that. He’d tried twice before but he’d been so drunk she could fend
him off. He wouldn’t have succeeded last night if he hadn’t knocked
her senseless first.

She surveyed the scene. The stoned and
vicious posse. The battered wannabee. Hell, this was her only
family? What did that say about her? Was her life even worth
living?

Finally the initiation was over. She let down
in the aftermath—booze and lots of it, a little pot, but left when
the GGs all started fucking the boys in the Conquerors who’d come
to watch. At her father’s apartment, she climbed the fire escape
and went in through the window. Maybe he wouldn’t know she was
here. Maybe he wouldn’t be home. She fingered the blade. She was
done letting him do anything to her.

The place was quiet. She dumped her stuff and
went to the locked closet. Beneath piles of junk, she found her
computer. She plugged it in and went on to the ’net, and right to
ESCAPE’s website.

There was a notice box where they published
things sometimes. When they had a new program. When they wanted to
get in touch with somebody. Sometimes just an inspirational saying.
Tonight there was a note from the Street Angel. “TD2, please come
on to the network. I need to talk to you. SA.”

Taz stared at the screen. It was dated last
week. She’d avoided the site since the incident with the nun. But
after tonight, damn it, she wanted big-time to be out of the
GGs.

What the hell. She clicked on to the
network.

That you, Street Angel?

No, it’s the Street Angel’s coworker and
buddy.

Never mind then.

If this is Taz, please, stay, I’ll talk to
you.

No.

I used to be in a gang. I can help, too.

When she gonna be on?

Tomorrow morning. Please come back then.
She’s so worried about you.

Maybe. Ciao.

So the Street Angel was worried. Smart broad,
Taz thought kicking off her boots and lying down on the bed. She
had blood on her pants and smelled like weed and booze but she was
too tired to change. Without even taking off her clothes—she might
need to make a quick escape—she slid the knife from her pocket,
grasped it in her hand, and turned her face into the pillow. Like a
child’s teddy bear, the weapon made her feel secure and she held it
through the night.

CLAY RAISED HIS racquet and slammed the ball
into the front wall so hard it echoed like a gunshot, bounced back
and caught Thorn in the shin. “Son of a bitch,” his press secretary
said.

“Sorry.” Clay wiped his face with the sleeve
of his shirt. He was dripping with sweat and smelled to high
heaven. “My point.” He went back to the serving line, tossed up the
ball, and whacked it. “Ace.”

Thorn mumbled something, but Clay didn’t ask
what. He was playing like a maniac, as he’d done everything else
this past ten days; he’d lost five pounds between the games of
racquetball, running, and lifting. It was the only way he could
stop thinking about her. He was so pissed he wanted to rip
something apart, and the exercise helped.

“That’s it,” Thorn said after a while.

Clay pivoted. “Huh?”

“You won, Senator. Again.”

“Oh.”

Thorn closed the distance between them.
“Besides, you have a meeting in two hours.”

“With Stewart, right?”

“Yep. He wants an update on New York’s Task
Force. How’s that going?”

“Don’t ask. What’s after that?”

“An ad hoc committee of taxpayers on the new
energy bill. Followed by the Senate hearing on the new Seahawk, and
a bipartisan brainstorming session with the president on some new
antiterrorist measures.”

Clay nodded. He’d been packing his
schedule since Congress reconvened in September in order to stay
busy. In order not to
think
.
“Good.”

Thorn gathered up his bag and towels as Clay
did, and accompanied him out of the court, down to the locker
room. Once they’d showered and dressed, Thorn checked his watch.
“You have time. Get some coffee with me?”

“I don’t think so. I want to—”

“It’s important, Clay.”

Since Thorn rarely called him anything
but
Senator
, Clay paused. He
wondered if something was wrong with his press secretary. He’d
hardly noticed what was going on around him all week, and now was
ashamed of that. “Sure.”

They stopped in at the coffee bar on the
ground floor of the Russell Building. When they were seated, Thorn
faced him. His shrewd eyes held a hint of what? Exasperation? “I
drew the short straw.”

“Excuse me?”

“Mica, Joanie, Bob, me—we’re all wondering
what happened.”

“Happened, when?”

“Oh about a week ago when you turned into a
slave driver.”

“A slave driver? Have I?”

“Clay, you work from dawn till dark, come
back here after the party’s evening events, never take a break, and
have stopped eating lunch. We’re all exhausted trying to keep up
with you.”

“I’m sorry if I’ve worked everybody too
hard.”

“It’s not just that. We’re worried about
you.”

With good reason. But he hadn’t realized he’d
turned into an inconsiderate boss. Hell. He stared over at Thorn,
wondering, not for the first time, why he didn’t have anybody he
could talk to about these things.

You could talk to Bailey.

Not without ringing her neck.

“Clay?”

“I’ve got a personal problem.”

“With Jon?”

“No, actually things are going fairly well
with Jon.”

“He’s not still intent on supporting Lawson,
is he?” ‘No.

“Thank God, what a political nightmare that
could be.”

“It was more than that, Thorn. It hurt like
hell to hear what he’d done.”

“Sure, I know that. I just look at the
professional side of things all the time.”

“Because I’ve wanted that, haven’t I?”

Thorn gave him a quizzical look. “You going
to get all touchy-feely on me now?”

“Go to hell,” he said good-naturedly.

“Seriously, we’ve been working together for
ten years. If you want to bat something personal around, I’m
here.”

“Thanks.” He sipped the café au lait,
enjoying its sweet taste.

“Is it a woman?”

“Why would you ask that?”

“You have all the signs of a troubled love
life.”

“It’s not love.”

“Lady Jane seems in love to me.”

Over the rim of his mug, he stared at Thorn.
“It’s not Jane.”

Thorn’s brow furrowed. It was his formal
Chief of Staff scowl. “Is there somebody else?”

“I thought there might be, but it didn’t work
out.”

“Clay, everybody’s expecting an announcement
about your engagement after the picture of you and Jane in the
paper last week. I’ve tried several times to discuss this with you
since your father’s party but you blew me off.”

He’d gone ahead and broken off with Jane,
despite the fact that Bailey had nixed their relationship. Or at
least he’d told Jane how he felt. She hadn’t listened, suggested
they take a hiatus from each other, and not do anything rash. He’d
reiterated that they were through, though. At least he was sure
about that aspect of his life.

“No, there isn’t going to be an
engagement.”