Someone To Believe In (31 page)

“Clayton, what is it?”

“I was thinking about my relationship with
Jon.”

“Now that’s another thing. We can’t have the
son of a VP carousing so hard he has a hospital stay.”

How do you stand it?

“I talked with Jon about that. Actually, I’m
more concerned with improving my relationship with him.”

“What’s wrong with your relationship?”

“It’s started to become like ours, Dad.”

Pure surprise showed on his father’s face.
“What does that mean?”

“It means that you and I don’t communicate.
It means you have no idea how I feel.”

“I know your politics inside out.”

“I meant my personal feelings.”

Clayton Sr. drew in a breath. “I’m not good
at those things.”

“At knowing me personally?”

“Social things like that.”

Oh, God, this is where Clay came from. He
thought of Rory and Bailey, her parents, her brothers. Though they
fought boisterously, they loved and supported each other. “A
relationship among family is not a social thing, Dad.”

“I don’t understand.”

“No, you don’t.”

“Look, could we leave my
shortcomings
for another time and
talk about getting your relationship with Jane back on
track?”

Clay stared at his father, then stood. He
threw some money on the table, which he knew would irk Clayton Sr.
“No, we can’t talk about that. Because anything with Jane and me
just isn’t going to happen.”

As he started away, his father called him
back in his trademark peremptory command. “Clayton, what the
hell’s gotten in to you?”

He pivoted to face the man he’d, in some
ways, always feared. Again, he made resolutions about his own son.
“Some clear-headedness, I think. Finally.” With that he walked
away.

HEY, SISTER. HOW ya hangin’?

Bailey did a double take at the computer
where somebody had just signed on the network. The screen name was
TazDevi12. How could Taz be online? She was at a shelter.

Taz, sweetie, is that you?

You got that right.

But something didn’t feel right.
How do you have access to a computer? Yours is
home at your father’s. You didn’t go back there, did
you?

No way, lady. I ain’t never goin’ back. Me
usin’ one of my sisters’ machines.

Are you at the crib? Why aren’t you at...

Suddenly all Bailey’s street instincts
went on alert.
Who is this?

The Tasmanian devil.

You aren’t Taz. How did you
get her computer?
Oh, God, was it her father, trying
to find out where she was?
Are you her
father?

That piece of shit? No way.

Ah, she got it.
Are you in her set?

Give the lady a cigar.

Can I help you?

We wanna know where our girl is. We wanna see
her.

What makes you think I know?

You stashed her, lady.

Hmm. What if they were just worried about
Taz? What if she could help these kids, too? Unsure, and pressed to
decide, her stomach clenched. Without signing off, she got up and
poured coffee.

True, Taz was tight with her home girls. Gang
kids cared about each other. On the other hand, they left her
alone, bleeding in the alley, probably when they heard sirens,
which weren’t even headed their way. Maybe they went to her house
to find her and got a hold of Taz’s computer. They could know she
was in contact with ESCAPE, whose mission was to get kids out of
gangs. Were these girls trying to find her because she betrayed
them? Why hadn’t Bailey thought of that earlier, when the screen
name came on? She could kick herself. How much information had she
given away?

She went back to the computer. Tried
hard to think of something to say that would imply Taz wasn’t one
of hers. Before she could, another message came on.
You know what’s good for you, bitch, you stay away
from our girl!
Then the screen blinked, TazDevil2 has
signed off.

Her heart pounding, Bailey pushed back her
chair and made her way down the hall to Joe’s office. “We got a
problem, Joe.”

“What else is new?” He turned from his
computer; though his tone was gruff, his look was always tender
when directed at her. “What?”

“I’ve got to go to the shelter and see Taz. I
want you to come with me. Rob can hold down the fort.”

He stood immediately. “Least you asked me to
go with you,” he grumbled. “Let’s book.”

TAZ CHILLED OUT on her bed at the shelter.
Her wounds from bumping titties with Anthrax were healing and soon
she’d bone out of here. At least these digs were safer than the
last one. Nobody dissed her; nobody even paid much attention to
her. She slouched down on the pillows and picked up a stuffed
animal. Somebody had given the cute giraffe to her when she’d come
here. She hated to admit she kinda liked it. Rubbing its soft fur
against her cheek, she thought of her mother, and the stuffed
animals she’d bought Taz. She treated kids as they should be
treated, until she died. The thought made Taz sad.

So did everything else. Street life sucked.
She’d been sliced in a little get-down that should have been
nothing. Her home girls had bounced without blinking, ditching her
to bleed alone in the alley. Taz had been mega scared. But the
Street Angel had come to the rescue.

“What does that tell you, girl?” she asked
herself aloud.

There was noise outside. Taz saw somebody
enter the sleeping quarters. They had partitions here, but her bunk
had a decent view of the door. A man and a woman stood in the
doorway: the woman approached. Hmm, speak of the devil...

“Hey, Street Angel, how you doin’?”

“I’ve been better, Taz.”

“What’s happenin’?”

The woman was really pretty. Black as night
hair. Peaches and cream complexion. Even a few freckles. She wore a
pink cotton sweater and a denim skirt. A little preppy, but it was
good on her. Taz glanced down at her hands to see if she had on a
ring. “You married?”

She hesitated. “No.”

“Got a guy?”

A bright smile. “Yep.”

“Why you come here?”

“Have you heard from your posse?”

“They been callin’ on my cell, but I turned
it off. Don’t want to talk to them yet.” She frowned. “Why?”

“I think they used your computer.”

“It’s locked in the closet in the apartment.
They find it?”

“That’s my guess.”

“Well, that ain’t so bad.”

“It is Taz. They came on to the website.”

It took her a minute. “Holy fuck, they know I
been talkin’ to you?”

“I believe so. It’s my bad. I didn’t think
fast enough on my feet when your screen name came on. I indicated I
knew you.” The Street Angel sat down in a chair, reached out and
took hold of Taz’s hand, like her mother used to. Again Taz smelled
lilacs. “Do you know what this means, sweetie?”

“Yeah, they find me, they gonna dust me.”
Suddenly, she felt young and vulnerable. She gripped the woman’s
hand. “What am I gonna do?” Now she had, literally, nobody.

“We’re going to put you in a Gang Protection
Program.”

“What’s that?”

“It’s like the Witness Protection Program
that the government operates.”

“I heard about that. You take a new identity.
You never come back to your turf. You leave everybody you love
forever.”

The Street Angel’s blue eyes saddened. “Taz,
do you really have anybody you love? Or that loves you? Would it be
so bad to leave this town and start a new life?”

Weary, Taz sank back onto the pillows. Her
leg hurt and her head began to pound like the bass on a CD when it
was turned up too loud. Was the Street Angel right?

SEVENTEEN

CLAY SIPPED HIS scotch and stared out the
front window of his town house. The mid-October air was warmer in
D.C. than New York, but the days were growing shorter. As planned,
Bailey would arrive here at dusk. He’d wanted to meet her at the
train station, but of course, he couldn’t do that. God forbid they
might be seen!

“Damn it.” he said aloud, then told himself
to calm down. So what if they were being circumspect? He had an
entire weekend with her, all alone, and hadn’t been able to think
about much else during the long week since he’d seen her.

Finally, headlights shone in front of his
house as a taxi pulled up. He resisted the urge to run out to her.
Instead, he drew back the sheer curtains on the living room window
and watched her climb out of the cab; hell, she wore some slinky
black skirt with big white polka-dots on it and a slim, short
jacket. She even had on heels, though not too high. He smiled. His
girl would never put fashion over comfort, he thought. For a
minute, a vision of his mother and Jane in
too-tight-to-be-comfortable dresses and so-high-they-must-hurt
heels popped into his mind. Bailey could never fit into that image.
He wouldn’t want her to even try.

He whipped open the door before she had a
chance to ring the bell. Her smile was wide; she wore makeup
tonight, and he wanted to kiss the raisin-colored lipstick off her
luscious mouth. “Hi, Senator.”

Bracing his arm on the door, he smiled back.
“Street Angel, welcome to Washington.” He took the small bag she
carried and stepped aside. She entered the foyer. “This is
gorgeous, Clay.”

“You’re gorgeous.” He came up behind her and
circled his arms around her waist. She wore some unfamiliar
perfume; it was sexy and sinful and made him hurt. “Do you have any
idea how excited I am about your being here for the whole
weekend?”

She pressed back into him so her cute butt
bumped his groin. “Yep, I do.”

“Witch.” Nosing aside her hair, which was
long and curling down her back, he kissed her neck. She sighed and
laid her head onto his shoulder. His hands cupped her breasts.
Through the silk shirt she wore beneath her jacket, he felt her
nipples bead. “I’m not the only one, baby.”

“Hmm. No, you’re not.”

“Do you want a tour of the house before or
after.” His hand drifted to her waist. And below.

“After,” she whispered.

Turning her around, he saw the desire etched
on her delicate features. He cradled her cheeks in his palms. “I’m
going to make love to you, Bailey. For hours. All weekend long. The
way I’ve always wanted to and never had enough time.”

“I want that, too, Clay.” She wrapped her
arms around his neck. “Starting now.” Up on her tiptoes, kissed
him, a carnal, open-mouthed mating that went on for a long time. He
could take her now, standing in the foyer. But he didn’t want that.
Instead he grasped her hand and led her up the steps. On the way,
she ran her fingers over the oak banister. “Nice,” she said,
smiling. She took in the skylights, the huge windows. “This is
lovely.”

He didn’t say anything until they reached the
bedroom. “You realize,” he growled as he closed the door, cocooning
them in. “There’s going to be no interruptions, no worries about
your brothers barging in or Rory waking up.”

She grinned. Sliding her hand in her pocket,
she said, “Just one concession.” She pulled out her phone. “In case
Liam needs to call me. Though they’re out in the wilderness
somewhere in upstate New York so I doubt he will.”

“Well, thank God for the wilderness.”

Slowly, he crossed to her. Gently, he eased
the jacket off her shoulders. “This is pretty.” He skimmed his
hands over the white silk T-shirt and brushed his hands over her
hips.

“Thanks, but I’d rather not be wearing any of
it right now.”

“I think I can accommodate that.” He slipped
the shirt over her head. “Oh, I like that.” The bra was half-cupped
and all lace.”

“Good, I bought it just for you.”

Unbutton, unzip. The skirt hit the floor.
Scraps of lace to match the bra barely covered her. “Why bother?”
he asked, chuckling at the skimpy panties.

“For you, Senator.”

Leaning over, he drew in the scent of her.
“Perfume, too. What is it?”

“A new Calvin Klein.” She nosed his chest.
“Aidan bought it for me. My brothers always buy me these girly
things.”

“Knew they had redeeming qualities.”

Her skin was like cream; he ran his hands
over it, exploring the hollow of her back, the curve of her butt,
the oh-so-tender inside of her thigh. During his perusal, he
removed her underwear. Lifting one of her breasts to his mouth, he
took the nipple between his teeth. She jolted. “Hurt?” he
asked.

“No, no.” She reached for his shirt. “Off,”
she mumbled as he suckled her.

“In a minute.”

At the juncture of her thighs, her curls were
soft as down; he slid his fingers through them, and managed to slip
one inside. “Wet, already,” he murmured.

She squirmed. “Clay.”

He touched her, explored her, for moments. He
let his body heat at her warmth, her readiness, the way her breasts
swelled. She was so soft and pliable he almost wanted to do this
forever. Almost. Stepping back, he had to hold her because she
swayed into him. “Easy, love.” He led her to the bed before he
undressed. She lay there, her dark locks rioting gloriously across
his pillow, and watched him slowly unbutton his casual dress
blue-striped shirt, undo the button of his khakis and let them fall
to the floor revealing navy blue boxers.

Dropping them, he crossed to the bed, drew
out a condom from the nightstand and sheathed himself while she
watched. Her breathing speeded up and he knelt on the bed. He
touched her again, everywhere, then covered her body with his. “I
can’t wait any longer, sweetheart.”

“Don’t wait.”

“I love you,” he said as he slipped into.
“Love you, love you, love you.”

“I love you, too, Clay.”