High Stakes (24 page)

“I see.”

The woman still didn’t look convinced. Bailey expected that. “I’m also offering something to replace your daily scoops on us next week.” She rose and opened the door. “Mitch, could you bring the boxes in?”

The same agent entered with two big boxes and set them on the tabletop. “You okay, Ms. O’Neil?”

“I’m fine.”

When he left, Bailey opened the lid. Rachel leaned over and looked inside. But she didn’t speak.

Behind her, she heard, “One more thing. You can use all of this, and have the rest of the deal, but I want a promise from you.”

Turning, Rachel asked, “What promise?”

“That you’ll leave my brother the hell alone.”

The Rachel Scott Show,
Monday night segment: “I promised a five-minute piece each day this week about New York’s famous family, the O’Neils. We’ve gotten exclusive coverage of each sibling and are featuring one per night. We start with the acting First Lady of the United States.”

A current picture of Bailey came on-screen. “From the time she was born”—baby pictures appeared—”until her adulthood, Bailey O’Neil has been protected by her brothers. She calls them Patrick, the Fighter; Dylan, the Taunter; Liam, the Manipulator, and Aidan, the Peacemaker. These are photos of Ms. O’Neil with each of them.” The screen showed pictures, and Rachel gave the voice-over… Patrick holding Bailey just after she was born; a shot of her with Dylan as she was learning to ride a two-wheeler; with Liam and his deceased wife on a boat; a picture of her and her brother Aidan holding hands; and last, at Aidan’s wedding with all four boys together. “Wow, aren’t they something!”

The Rachel Scott Show,
Tuesday night segment: Patrick, the Fighter… The same format of the evening before was used: A picture of him shoveling at the pile on 9/11, where one of his high school buddies was buried; a photo of him at the St. Paddy’s Day parade wearing a vest that said,
Volunteer
; him at the pub’s Halloween party wearing a sexy costume. “Hmm,” Rachel commented. “I’ll never think of pirates in the same way again.”

The Rachel Scott Show
, Wednesday night segment: Dylan, the Taunter…the bad boy… A picture of a teenage beau and Bailey, sitting on the front porch while Dylan watches from the window (courtesy of their mother, Mary Kate O’Neil); Dylan in a racecar when he did some stock car racing; a picture of him in a tux at a fundraiser. “These boys bring black tie to new heights.”

The Rachel Scott Show
, Thursday night segment: Liam, the Manipulator… Picture of him holding Bailey’s hand crossing the street for the first time; a shot of him as leader of his son’s Boy Scout troop; the last, a photo of Liam with his new wife, one of America’s Bravest, in her uniform.

The Rachel Scott Show
, Friday night segment: Aidan, the Peacemaker… “Now a well-known photographer, Aidan has been at the job since he was young.” A picture of Bailey posing as a teenage girl, freckle faced and cute. Next, a montage of Aidan’s photographs in a magazine; finally, a picture of him at the altar with Ms. O’Neil’s former Secret Service Agent.

Pat glanced down the bar at Dylan, who sat on a stool with a pitcher in front of him. “So, what are you still mopin’ about?”

Dylan didn’t even look up. “Nothing. None of your business, anyway.”

Pat stormed down to the end of the bar and positioned himself right in Dylan’s line of vision. “Jesus, you give the girl everything she wants, there’s peace in the family, and you still look like a goddamned stone statue.”

“Shut up, Patrick.”

Pat felt his blood pressure skyrocket. Dylan had been a basket case for two weeks, and he was sick of it. “Here’s what I think. I think something’s been goin’ on between you and that broad from the get-go. Then you give her the biggest scoop of the decade on
The O’Neil Brothers,
without us having any say in it
.
Somehow you get Clay to accept her. Then you clam up about why or even how you did it. Buyer’s remorse, little brother?”

When Dylan did look up, there was fire in his eyes. “Shut up, Pat.”

He braced his hands on the bar and got in Dylan’s face. “Don’t tell me to shut up.”

“Okay.” Picking up his beer, Dylan threw the contents of the glass in Pat’s face.

“Holy fuck!” Pat returned the salvo by reaching for the pitcher and emptying it on Dylan’s head. Then he, literally, leaped on top of the bar and off it, landing in a combative stance. “Come on, boy. You been spoiling for a fight, so I’ll give it to you.”

Dylan bolted off the stool, kicking it back, so it crashed into others, sending them domino style to the floor. He bent at the waist and tackled Pat. They both fell into the nearest table, hit it and were thrown to the floor with the force. Glass shattered. With Dylan straddling him, Pat tried to buck his brother off. He almost did it, but Dylan landed a right hook on his jaw, making him see stars.

“You son of a bitch.” This time Pat braced on his feet and threw Dylan to the side. He jumped on top of him, raised his fist and returned the blow.

“Goddamn it.” In a haze, Pat felt strong arms encircle him, pull him off Dylan, then a shout, “Aidan, get your ass out here.”

On the floor, Dylan stirred, just as Aidan appeared above them, said, “My God,” and got in front of Pat.

Shucking off Liam, Pat punched Aidan, who also went down.

Dylan said, “Stay out of it, both of you,” rolled to his feet and swung at Pat.

Pat ducked the blow, and it landed on Liam, who also went spiraling backward.

Dylan froze.

Liam lay on the floor with a split lip. Aidan groaned, his nose bleeding all over his white T-shirt. He caught Pat’s gaze and they stared at each other.

Then Dylan sank to his knees and put his hands over his face. Liam and Aidan sat up, and Pat looked at the carnage in front of him. Then Pat dropped to the floor, too, feeling a sting in his butt; blood oozed from his knuckles. For a minute, the only sound in the room was labored breathing.

Finally, Pat couldn’t take it. “Shit, Dylan, I’m sorry.” His voice was tormented, like he felt.

Dylan got out, “Me, too, Pat.”

When they both started to get up, Liam moved between them. “Stay where you are. We’re gonna have this out. Pat, you start. Get everything off your chest.”

Pat hurt all over, but it was nothing compared to the pain in his heart. “I…I know something’s going on with him and Rachel Scott. First that bitch gets a scoop on us.” He addressed Dylan. “Only you could have given it to her. Then you mope for two weeks, missing shifts, barking at everybody.” He fisted his hands. “I just wanna know what’s going on.”

“Fair enough. Aidan?” Wiping his nose with his sleeve, he said, “Don’t ask me. I come out to help and get hammered for it. I don’t know what the hell is happening, either.” Reaching out, he touched Dylan’s arm. “Tell, us, Dyl. Please. I can’t stand watching our family fall apart.”

Liam turned eyes on Dylan. “You better do it, Dyl. Or I will.”

Dylan stared at his bloodied brothers, and his eyes welled. So he said, “I’ll tell you everything, but, Pat, you gotta promise to hear me out.”

Pat nodded.

Turning, Dylan faced his youngest brother. “Aidan, you aren’t going to like it either.”

“I’ll listen. Anything to end this fighting.”

Taking in a deep breath, Dylan let it out slowly. “I think I’m in love with Rachel Scott.”

Gasps from the oldest and youngest brothers, but they didn’t say anything.

“It started when I had to interview her…” He’d already told them what the powers-that-be engineered and Rachel’s desire to be a foreign reporter. “Being with her so much, I see who she really is.”

Pat opened his mouth, but Liam held up a hand. “No, Pat. Let him finish.”

“There’s a whole different side to her…” He revealed her situation with her parents, her work at the studio, other stories she’d written.

“Then she went on location for a story, and I followed her. We slept together.”

“Christ.” This from Pat.

Aidan sat stone-faced.

When Liam said nothing, Pat turned to him. “You knew about this?”

“Only up to when he joined her on location. I didn’t know what went down from then on.”

“And you didn’t share it with me or Aidan. Why?”

Dylan motioned to the broken stools and glass. “Take a wild guess.”

Softly, Liam said, “Finish the story, Dylan.”

He told them about the book deal.

And how he and Rachel met to make love on St. Patrick’s Day.

He confessed how Rachel found his trashed column. And how she broke the agreement they’d made and threatened to use what he’d told her in confidence.

“And so you gave her the pictures and stories to shut her up?” Pat’s tone was so defeated, it killed Dylan.

“Not quite.”

He described Bailey’s role in the fiasco.

“That brings us to the last two weeks and why I’ve been a bear. I thought I’d feel better when it was all over, and I don’t. I feel like something got ripped out of me.”

“So,” Liam put in when nobody else spoke. “How are we gonna support our brother, guys?”

Like an old man, Pat crawled to his feet. “I’m not. He betrays all our secrets to his whore. Ma and Pa are gonna be devastated that he’s in love with Benedict Arnold. You think I’m gonna forgive this? Not a chance in hell.” Pat limped out the front door, letting it slam.

Dylan risked a glance at Aidan, who’d also got to his feet. “You understand, A?” Dylan asked from the floor.

Aidan nodded, stood and looked down at Dylan. “I understand how this unfolded. But she almost got C.J. and Rory killed. I can never forgive her for that. Or you, for letting yourself fall for her. You have free will, you didn’t have to do any of this. I’m with Pat.” He left by way of the back room.

Liam sat openmouthed. Dylan put his head between his knees.

After a while, they heard their mother’s soft voice. “Oh, St. Mary in Heaven, what’s happened to my boys?”

“Here, son, put this on your face.” His mother handed him wrapped up ice from the refrigerator in her upstairs apartment, her voice wrought with concern.

Dylan took the bag, feeling like a man condemned to death. He’d started a physical brawl with his brothers and now was about to hurt his parents in a way he’d vowed he’d never do after their separation. He couldn’t even meet their eyes; instead, he focused his gaze on the floor.

Pa said, “Tell us, boy.”

“It’s my fault.” His tone was grim.

Sitting down next to him, his ma adjusted the ice on his face. “This can be fixed, Dylan. Everything can. Tell your mama and pa.”

He had no willpower to refuse. In halting words, he confessed the same story he’d given to his brothers. He could hear Pa swear under his breath, along with his mother’s painful sighs. On top of what he’d done to the guys, their suffering was almost too much to bear.

Then Mary Kate O’Neil took him by the shoulders and made her face him. “Anything’s forgivable, Dylan, me boy. We love you. We’ll always love you no matter what happened in the past.”

Silence from across the room. He braved a glance at his pa. Paddy O’Neil was red faced and stony. Beside him, his mother stiffened. “Isn’t that right, Paddy? People who love each other do stupid things. Hurt each other. If you get my meaning.”

Dylan thought he might vomit. He’d forced the recognition of his father’s mistakes out in the open, slicing a healed scar.

He burst into huge, hurting sobs.

Ma drew him to her chest and held him like she used to when he was little and got in trouble. The sobs continued.

After a few seconds, he felt a large masculine hand on his shoulder. “That’s right, boy, anything’s forgivable. Don’t worry. We’re here for you.”

With a heavy heart, Rachel typed the script for a segment on the latest revelations that plagued the governor of their neighboring state. She didn’t much care what happened to him. She’d spent the last weeks on automatic pilot, not even enjoying the vignettes on the O’Neils that made her ratings soar. She was haunted by her last meeting with Dylan and the angry words they’d spoken to each other. She knew full well they couldn’t be taken back and would live forever inside her. But she continued with the script. Her job was all she had now. She just wished the constant ache in her shoulders and clutch in her stomach would go away.

There was a quick knock and then her office door opened; in walked John Walsh, the head of the network. Surprised to see him, she said, “Hi, John. What brings you down here?”

“You. It’s time for a talk.”

She nodded.

He sat in the chair in front of her desk. He was a diminutive man with a receding hairline and shrewd black eyes. He was also brilliant. “Last month’s ratings were sky-high. Your show was off the charts compared to any other news program of the year.”

“Seriously? That’s great.”

“Not only has your reporting on the governor been stellar, but the O’Neil segments, especially as an exclusive, were fantastic.” He angled his chin. “How’d you get that?”

“Can’t ask me for my sources, boss,” she said with a smile.

“Does it have something to do with the First Lady visiting you right before you aired the segments?”

Rachel just shrugged.

“I’m pretty sure it was, since Clay Wainwright’s secretary called me to say you were back on his core of reporters.”

She had a vision of Bailey sitting in this very room, offering her a deal. The woman’s normally warm blue eyes, seen on television numerous times, had been cold as glass.

But her words were crisp, cold and final.

I want a promise from you.

What promise?

That you’ll leave my brother the hell alone.

“Let’s table that. I’ve come because I have some good news. There’s an opening for a reporter in Syria. For a month’s stint. The job’s yours if you want it.”

Where was the joy, the elation of achieving her goal? Damn, she’d get back in the groove if it killed her. “Yes, I want it.”

“Then you leave next Friday. Laura Littman will cover your show. Our contact on the other end will lead you through the scenarios you’ll want to cover. Take Crane and a cameraman.”