Someone To Believe In (6 page)

“All my instincts tell me no.”

“Override them for once. Give it a shot.”

“Well, I’ll probably live to regret
this.” She sat back in her chair and sighed. “Okay, you can come.
But be warned, Senator, if you use anything you see or hear there
to seek out the kids, or to try to close me down, I
will
string you up by the
balls.”

She looked cute, all angry. So he said,
“Watch your mouth, woman.” And made her smile.

THREE

“I THINK I’VE made the worst mistake of my
life.” In her office, with her feet up on her battered desk, Bailey
glanced at the clock and sipped strong black coffee while she
spouted off to Suze Williams, her colleague and good friend.

“What’d you do now?” As she spoke, Suze typed
into the computer, updating a database for shelters that would
accept gang kids trying to go straight. They had a network all over
the city. The clicking of the keys accompanied Bailey’s dark
thoughts.

“I agreed to let Clayton Wainwright visit
ESCAPE tonight.” She glanced at the clock. “He said he’d be here
about seven.”

Peering through wire-rimmed glasses at the
screen, Suze absently rubbed the tattoo of a reptile she sported on
her left wrist. It was a souvenir from her stint in the Lizards, a
girl gang in the eighties. Suze had been its leader. Consequently
she was a damn good social worker in youth anti-gang activities.
She manned the interactive website on opposite shifts from Bailey,
who still couldn’t believe her good fortune in snagging Suze for
ESCAPE. “I must have heard you wrong.” As always her unflappability
soothed Bailey.

“Nope. The illustrious senator who’d like to
close us down is coming here. I caved when he asked.”

Suze swiveled around to face her. Her dark
hair fell in soft curls, and her mahogany eyes shone with surprise.
Her skin was a gorgeous coffee color. “When on earth did you see
him? Last I heard, you wouldn’t give him the time of day.”

“Long story.”

“I got time.”

When Bailey finished the bizarre tale of
Friday night, Suze shrugged. “I think it’s okay for him to come
here. Actually, it could work to our benefit.”

“What if it backfires?”

“What more could he do to us? He knows about
all our programs, right?”

“Yeah, sure. I agreed to submit our
activities for review when I charmed Governor Friedman out of that
last cool hundred K.”

“Well worth it. Besides, we’re proud of what
we’re doing. It’s all on the up and up.” Suze smiled. “Nothing he
can put you in jail for again.”

“He didn’t put me in jail. He was just doing
his job.” She shook her head.

“What?”

“You should have heard Ma and Pa when I
dropped Rory off. They went up one side of me and down the other
for even talking to the guy last night.”

“Hard to forgive somebody who puts your baby
behind bars.”

“Did I hear the word
forgive
?”

Bailey turned to the doorway. “Hey, Father
Tim, I didn’t know you’d be in today.”

The blond, blue-eyed Catholic priest, who
looked more like a movie star playing a man of the cloth, winked at
her. “Gotta see my girl.”

“How sweet. Do you need something here?”

“Just to give you this.” He held out a paper.
“I found another counseling site.”

Part of Bailey’s program included meeting
with gang kids who wanted out; they were called Face-to-Faces.
Problem was, they had to have secure, protected sites so that
ESCAPE workers weren’t unduly endangered.

What the hell are you doing risking your life
every day with those kids? Man, if you were mine, I’d tie you to
the bed before I’d let you do what you do.

“You
are an
angel, Father Tim.” Bailey dropped her feet and swiveled toward the
computer. “Wish you weren’t a priest. I’d marry you in a
second.”

“Ah, don’t tempt me, sweetheart.” He perched
on the edge of her desk. “St. Pius. In Harlem.” After he gave her
the rest of the information, he glanced at Suze. “So, who do we
need to forgive?”

Suze told him about Clayton Wainwright.

“I could come back tonight.”

“I don’t need a chaperone. I’ll be fine.
Besides, Joe and Rob are working with me.”

“Well, then I’ll pray for the good senator.”
Both Joe Natale and Robert Anderson disliked Clayton Wainwright,
but Joe particularly was rabid about the guy. For a moment, Bailey
allowed herself to bask in the good friends, colleagues, and
family who cared about her.

After Tim and Suze left, Bailey worked at her
computer until the buzzer sounded from the entry to ESCAPE. She
checked the clock. “Right on time,” she said to herself, heading
out to the front. Unsnicking the four locks and disarming the
security system, she let him into the outer office area. “Hello,
Senator.”

He smiled, calling attention to the small
nick on his jaw. He must have just showered and shaved because he
smelled like fresh soap. “Bailey.” He’d dressed casually tonight,
as they all did here; he wore a Harvard sweatshirt with jeans and
loafers.

“Come on back.” She led him through the
narrow corridor, off of which were the three offices of ESCAPE.

“We don’t spend much on amenities here,” she
said, vaguely self-conscious of the worn, but clean, space.

“I wouldn’t either.”

“Yeah? I’ve seen pictures of the Russell
Building. All that expensive wood and those Persian carpets.”

“Traditional décor, I’m afraid.”

She reached her office and turned to him. “I
figured you to be big on fancy digs.”

He angled his head. “I appreciate nice
things,” he said, his jaw tightening a bit. There was that cleft
again. “I’m not going to apologize for that.”

“Didn’t ask you to. Come on in.” She showed
him into her space. It was about fourteen-by-twelve, housed two
computers, filing cabinets, a small fridge, and books tumbling out
of shelves and scattered in stacks on the floor. The scent of
strong coffee emanated from a brewing pot in the corner.

He held up a sack, which she hadn’t seen him
carrying this time, either. “Can I put this in the
refrigerator?”

A grin. “You bring me ice cream again?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Go ahead.”

She watched him cross to the fridge,
bend over, and put the treat away.
Nice
ass
, she thought.

“What?” he asked, turning around. “You’re
smiling.”

Oh, Lord. “Nothing.” Purposely, she glanced
at the clock. “If I’m gonna show you our digs, it should be now.
The website gets active around eight, and I need to be near the
computer then.”

He swallowed hard and turned his head away.
Now this was the senator she knew and hated. Disapproving.
Authoritative. She shook her head. “You sure you should be here?”
she asked. “You’re gonna freak about everything you see.”

“No, not everything.” He stuck his hands in
his jeans pockets. “But truthfully, since last night, I keep
thinking about your son.”

“Rory?”

“Yes, and how you endanger yourself.”

Because it was something she wrestled with
all the time, she jammed her hands on her jean-clad hips. “It’s no
different if I’d chosen to be a cop or firefighter.”

“In some ways.”

“Would you keep women out of those
professions if you could?”

“I don’t honestly know. Mothers, maybe.” He
spotted the picture on her desk. “Is that him?”

She picked up the sterling silver frame.
“Yeah, my little guy.”

Taking it from her, he studied the photo.
“Sometimes, I wish Jon was that age again.”

“Jon?”

“My
son.”

“How old is he?”

“Twenty.”

“He in school?”

“Yes. At Bard College.”

She chuckled.

“You know the place?”

“Not your cup of tea, is it, Senator?”

“It was fine with me. My father had a fit he
didn’t choose Harvard, though. Bard’s a good school.”

“Yeah, but liberal as hell. I heard that they
were looking to hurl the worst insult to their rival Vassar and
they put up signs all over that said, ‘Vassar students are
Republicans.’”

“Well, that suits Jon.” The sadness in his
tone kept her from teasing him about his conservative views.

“Don’t you get along with your son?”

“We used to. “ His eyes narrowed on her.
“Now, he thinks like you do.”

“Well, there you go. Your kid’s got
smarts.” He grinned and she was glad. “Come on, I’ll give you the
grand tour.” Ignoring the fact that she felt good about erasing
his sadness—she sure as hell didn’t want to
like
this guy—she motioned to the space
surrounding them. “This is the office I share with another worker
who’s on the opposite shift from me. We also have a few volunteers
who use this space.”

He crossed to one of the computers. “State of
the art.”

“Yeah, we got a grant from Donald Trump to
update our technology. Best thing is it’s ongoing.”

“Donald Trump, huh?”

“Uh-huh. You probably could find out where he
lives, too.”

“You want to know?”

“No, thanks.” She pointed to her computer.
“This one we use for the website that you hate so much, and the
other is mostly record-keeping.”

“For what?”

“Shelters that will take gang kids,
psychologists who’ve volunteered to work with them, the database
for the Gang Protection Program.”

“Ah, the innovative GPP. Was that your
idea?”

“Uh-huh.” She leaned against her desk. “You
have a problem with it, if I recall.”

“I think it’s unique to set up a form of a
witness protection program for ex-gang members.”

“Yeah, you called it that in your comments to
the governor.”

“But the cops should run it.”

“And how many kids would go to the cops?”

“Enough.”

“No, not enough. One loss is too many.” Like
Moira. For a minute she was tempted to tell Wainwright about her
sister. But she shook off the stupid idea. He was the last person
she should be sharing confidences with. “Come on, I’ll show you the
other offices.”

They traveled down the hall. At the first
one, Bailey stopped. It was a bit smaller than hers, and at a desk
sat her buddy. “Hey, Joe. Want you to meet somebody.”

Slicing gray eyes looked up from the computer
screen.

Bailey strode over to Joe and put a hand on
his shoulder. “This is Joe Natale. Joe, Clayton Wainwright.”

“I’d say it’s nice to meet you, but I make it
a habit not to lie. Still, Joe stood. Bailey suspected it was to
alert Wainwright to his size. Swarthy of complexion, he was
six-four, about two fifty, with muscles to die for. An ex-cop, he
worked out religiously; he also still had contacts at the
precinct.

“What are you doing?” Clayton asked, nodding
to the computer.

At Joe’s questioning look, Bailey said, “He’s
here tonight so we can get him off our back by showing him we’re
careful.” She crossed her arms over her chest and nailed the
senator with her best tough-guy look. “And that we obey the law.
Joe’s an ex-cop.”

Wainwright nodded.

Joe told him, “I’m handling the phone hotline
and trying to contact people for the Gang Protection Program.”

“Oh, good.”

“Yeah, right.” He looked to Bailey. “You sure
you know what you’re doin’, doll?”

“Absolutely. We’ll let you get back to
work.”

Squeezing Bailey’s shoulder, he sat back
down. He completely ignored the senator.

Nonetheless, Wainwright bade him good-bye.
“Thanks, Natale. I appreciate your honesty.”

With his back to them, Joe barked, “Thank the
little lady. Because you threw her in jail and have been attacking
her ever since, I’d have decked you as soon as I saw you if it
wasn’t for her.”

They left, the senator shaking his head. “You
seem to surround yourself with protective men.”

“Do I?”

“Yes.” He followed her to the next office.
“That’s good.”

“Spare me.”

Though he was as big and muscular as Natale,
Rob Anderson exuded a serenity that Bailey admired. A recovered
alcoholic—she credited the 12-Step Recovery Program for his calm—he
was now a top-notch psychologist and one of ESCAPE’S most valued
workers. “Hey, beautiful.” Standing, he kissed Bailey’s cheek. He
shot a glance at Wainwright, then back at her. “You okay?”

“Just peachy. Rob, this is Clayton
Wainwright.”

“I know the face.” He stuck out his hand.
“Joey give you trouble?”

“Enough.”

She nodded to Wainwright. “Rob’s a
psychologist, and when I get in trouble, he bails me out.”

“As if.”

“What do you do here?” Wainwright wanted to
know.

“Mostly I work on the Face-to-Faces.”

Bailey saw the senator’s jaw tighten again.
She knew he objected strongly to this program.

“They bother you?” Rob asked.

“I’m afraid so.”

“Maybe you can ease his mind, Rob.”

“Sit.”

Clay took a chair next to the computer and
Rob’s hands flew across the keyboard, calling up a series of sites.
“These are the places we meet with the kids. As you can see, many
of them are in churches. Some in social agencies. All of them have
two-way mirrors. A second person watches through it. We go by the
rule of three.”

“What’s that?”

“Three ESCAPE workers go at a time.” Rob held
up his fingers to count off. “Say Bailey is the face. I watch from
behind the glass. A third person checks the kid or family out for
weapons, dope, anything else.”

“Bet the clients don’t like that.”

“No, actually, it’s all right with them. By
the time they get to this phase, they’re pretty desperate.”

Wainwright shook his head. “Oh, well, that
makes me feel better.”