AIDAN ARRIVED in the city alone. He’d dropped C.J. at her mother’s house; she said she’d get her belongings and make it to the city on her own. That way, Aidan could go to his sister first, and he could avoid showing up with Agent Ludzecky, both of whom were MIA for the weekend. Nice of her to think of him. Fucking nice of her.
They’d listened to the radio on the way home for news of Clay. She’d also gotten regular updates from Mitch on her cell. When Aidan had pulled the car onto her mother’s street, she started to say something, but he held up his hand. “Don’t.”
They hadn’t even said good-bye.
Keeping his mind blank, he dropped off the rental car and took a taxi to Bailey and Clay’s brownstone. A crowd milled in front of the town house and because the sky was gray and there was a soft mist in the air, it took him a minute to realize the people were reporters. One must have recognized him. She came toward him and stuck a microphone in his face. A cameraman stood behind her. “Mr. O’Neil, Rachel Scott for WNYC News. Do you have any comment on the situation with Vice President Wainwright?”
“No. I just heard about it. Let me by.”
Planted in front of him, she blocked his way. “How is your sister handling the hostage crisis?”
He drew himself up. “How do you think she’s taking it? What’s wrong with you people? She’s pregnant and—”
“Are you worried about her losing the baby?”
Then it clicked who this person was. Rachel Scott. He moved in closer to her and she took a step back. “Look, lady, haven’t you done enough? It’s your fault Rory almost got kidnapped. Now you want to badger Bailey when she’s at her worst. You’re leeches, you—”
“Excuse me.” Mitch Calloway inserted himself between Aidan and Scott. “Mr. O’Neil has no comment.” Mitch grabbed him by the arm. “Come on, Aidan.”
Damn. Sheepishly, he followed Mitch in the path he cleared. “Sorry. I wasn’t thinking. I know I’m supposed to keep my mouth shut when they descend like that.”
“Forget it. I’m just glad you’re here. Bailey’s been as strong as a saint. Your brothers are worried about her keeping everything inside.” He cleared his throat. “So am I.”
“Are the guys here?”
“Yeah, they closed the pub today.”
At the front door, Agent Gorman let them in. Her expression was sober. “Hi, Aidan,” she said moving to the side. “Glad you’re back.”
Nodding, he entered the living room. It looked like a Secret Service command center. There were agents everywhere—here, in the kitchen, dining room. Phones rang. The low mumble of voices drifted out of the den.
“Where is she?” he asked.
Mitch said, “In the bedroom, trying to rest.”
Aidan took the stairs two at a time and made his way to the master suite. Ludicrously, he recalled moving Bailey into this town house when she and Clay got married. After knocking softly on the door, he wedged it open.
His sister was sitting on the bed in a nest of pillows, next to Patrick, who had his arm around her. Dylan slouched in a chair near the wall, one leg propped up on his knee, his foot bobbing up and down. Aidan was surprised to see Pa in another chair, asleep now.
Bailey looked over to the doorway. “Aidan?”
“Hi, honey.” He crossed to the bed. Pat moved away from her, slid off the mattress, and Aidan took his place, encircling his sister in his arms. “I’m so sorry, B.”
Bailey turned her head into his chest and gripped his shirt with both hands. “This is so awful.”
“I know.” He smoothed his hand down her hair. “How are you holding up?”
“I’m scared.”
Glancing down at her stomach, he asked, “How’s the little guy doing?”
“Okay.”
Lying back on his shoulder, she said, “Thank God Rory’s at camp and they’re incommunicado. We contacted the agents there about what happened with Clay but asked them not to even tell Liam what’s going on.”
“Good thinking.” She didn’t say more. “You can let down, you know. It’s just us.”
“Would do her good to cry.” This from Dylan. “She’s been a rock.”
“No. I need to be strong.” Her gaze narrowed on the TV, where CNN coverage of the scene in Zanganesia was continual.
The lights in the tiny embassy were off. There were silhouettes of men with guns stationed around it—not the good guys. Static from radios and shouts in the darkness were live and vivid.
Then the screen split to show the anchor interviewing Clay’s press secretary, Mica Proust.
The woman looked exhausted. “Yes, of course we believe it will end safely.”
“Why are they doing this?” Bailey asked. “The United States doesn’t even have the prisoners. They’re in Zanganesian jails.”
Dylan leaned forward and linked his hands between his knees. “Probably because they blame Clay for influencing the laws over there. They figure they can make a statement by holding him, and also get their prisoners freed.”
“But the Zanganesian government won’t change their laws because of Clay.”
“The militants might think their actions will keep the United States from interfering in the future.”
Bailey shook her head. “We’ll certainly interfere now.”
“Terrorists aren’t always logical, honey.” This from Patrick, who was grim-faced.
“Logical or not, they should know that the United States doesn’t negotiate with terrorists, damn it!”
“Any word on Bailey O’Neil, the vice president’s wife?” the anchor asked.
“Oh, fuck. I wish they wouldn’t keep asking about me.” Her picture flashed on-screen. It was one taken when she was pregnant with Angel. Her hands on her stomach, she was smiling broadly. “Or showing that.”
Mica’s gaze turned hard. “I talked to her an hour ago. She’s doing as well as can be expected. She’s a strong woman, you know.”
The anchor ended the interview and more discussion ensued between her and a few political analysts about what the terrorists hoped to accomplish. At one point, the anchor glanced off to the side. She frowned. Nodded. Then she faced the camera, with the other side of the screen still focused on the embassy.
“This is just in. We have a video from WNYC News. It’s of Ms. O’Neil’s brother entering the vice president’s town house in New York.”
“Goddamn it.” Aidan’s hand fisted as footage of him and Rachel Scott appeared on the screen. How the hell had she gotten it to CNN so fast? He watched himself tower over her and verbally attack her. Thank God Mitch intervened.
Dylan stood and began to pace. “I hate this kind of blatant exploitation of people dealing with a crisis. Aidan’s worried as hell. Anybody can see that.”
“I’m sorry, B.” Aidan swallowed hard. “I shouldn’t have said anything to her. I wasn’t thinking.”
“It’s okay. You look so upset.”
“I am.”
“Sorry to ruin your weekend.”
“I wish I’d been here.”
“It just happened last night.”
“Still.” He kissed her head. “I’m staying for the duration.” He looked to the guys. “What about the pub?”
Pat said, “We closed for today. Tomorrow’s Monday.” When the place wasn’t normally open for business. “By Tuesday this situation will be over.” He smiled weakly at Bailey. “I believe that, lass.”
“Thanks.” Bailey moved away from Aidan and stood. “I have to use the bathroom.” She eyed them. “Don’t talk about me while I’m gone.”
When she left them alone, Pat turned to Aidan. “So, where were you that you didn’t see any TV and you had your phone off?”
“I don’t want to discuss it.” He nodded to the TV. “Especially now.”
Dylan started to speak and Aidan warned him off with a glare.
When Bailey came out of the bathroom, she looked peaked. “I need to eat. I’m feeling weak.” She glanced over to see Pa was still asleep. “He needs food, too. We all do.”
“I’ll get you a plate, babe,” Dylan offered.
“No, I want to go downstairs and check with Mitch.” She frowned. “I can’t believe C.J. didn’t come back to New York. I know she’s recuperating at her mother’s but she has to have heard about Clay. She didn’t even call. Bailey shook her head. “I’d feel better if she was here.”
Patrick darted a quick glance at Aidan. “Did you ask Mitch about it?”
“No, I will now.”
Leaving Pa asleep, they went downstairs. The noise level diminished considerably when they appeared on the stairway. Aidan checked the TV, but nothing had changed. Mitch came out of the kitchen. “Ms. O’Neil, can I help you?”
She pressed her hand to her stomach. “We need food.”
“Come on out, there’s a spread.”
Bailey started for the kitchen when the front door opened. And in walked C.J.
The agent.
Gone was Caterina. Her hair was up, earpiece in place. Aidan could see the glint of her gun when the jacket of her severe suit pulled back. She didn’t even look at him, but crossed to Bailey. “I’m sorry, Ms. O’Neil. About the vice president.”
Bailey hesitated, then threw herself into C.J.’s arms. She still didn’t cry, just hung on as if she was taking strength from her own, familiar personal agent.
Surprise crossed C.J.’s face. Then she simply hugged Bailey back.
o0o
C.J. HAD GOTTEN a double whammy when she walked into the vice president’s town house. First, Bailey had behaved out of character by throwing herself into C.J.’s arms. Though she was surprised, C.J. did what she’d done a hundred times with her own sisters, just held on. When her gaze settled on Aidan, the second blow hit her full force.
Never in her life had she known such a strong need to comfort someone as she had for Aidan at that moment in time. His face was desolate and C.J. wanted to hold him like she was holding his sister. She wanted to give him comfort with her soul, her mind, her body. She had to close her eyes to keep the emotion back.
Finally, Bailey drew away. “I’m sorry. I know you don’t like breaking formalities. I’m just so glad you’re here.”
“Took her a while,” Pat said, a tinge of big brotherly suspicion in his voice.
Dylan glanced at Aidan. “Yeah, it did.”
“What can I do for you, Ms. O’Neil?” C.J. asked.
“Just your being here helps. We were on our way to get some food. Have you eaten?”
She and Aidan hadn’t stopped on the four-hour drive to the city. And she couldn’t eat at her mother’s because her stomach was tied up in Boy Scout knots. “No, I haven’t. Let’s go get something.”
Mitch had gone back into the kitchen; he was leaning against the counter holding a plate heaped with food. When he saw C.J., he nodded. “Agent Ludzecky.” He’d never betray her with an “It’s about time” comment. But his annoyance over her absence was in his eyes. He smiled at Bailey. “The buffet’s in there, Ms. O’Neil. Guys.”
All of them headed for the dining room except C.J.
Mitch watched her as he chewed his food. “You’d better eat. It’s going to be a long night.”
“No news?”
“Some.” He set down his plate, crossed the kitchen and moved her into the living room. Now his face was lined with concern. “The Zanganesian terrorists refuse to negotiate. The government’s not letting it out, but the terrorists have given Prime Minister Tikasia some kind of timeline for releasing the prisoners. If Zanganesia doesn’t meet their deadline, they say they’re going to kill the vice president.”
“What?”
“U.S. SWAT teams are all over place. They’ve called in the Big N for consultation.”
“If anyone can get Clay out of this, it’s Joe Nash.” She respected the CIA agent who specialized in hostage crises. More than once she’d watched him work miracles. She prayed he had one up his sleeve for this family. “I feel so bad for Bailey.”
“She asked for you several times.” His gaze was direct. He was waiting for her to explain her absence.
“Mitch, can you leave that alone right now? I’m sorry I was out of touch. It won’t happen again, but technically I was on medical leave and I wasn’t required to check in.”
“Aidan O’Neil got here just before you did.”
“Really?”
A long silence. Before she could respond, she heard Bailey call from the dining room. “C.J., come and eat with us.”
After she chose half of a turkey sub from the buffet, the only seat left at the dining-room table was next to Aidan. She pretended not to notice his scent as she sat down next to him. She tried not to watch the muscles in his arms bunch as he ate. Mostly, she struggled not to remember what it had been like to be close to him. As she’d told him at the lake, their time was over. Back to business as usual.
When she finished with supper, Bailey stood. “I’m going to lie down.”
“I wonder if Pa’s up yet,” Pat said.
“Yeah, I’m here.” Pa O’Neil stood in the doorway, looking older and more tired than he had at the lake. “Ma’s coming over, too. She just called.”
And so they would set up another vigil, like they had when Paddy O’Neil had a heart attack and subsequent surgery. A lot for one family to handle. But they were strong people. She glanced at Aidan. He busied himself with his meal and didn’t look at her.
“Ma’s bringing Angel, right?” Bailey asked.
“Un-huh. Go lie down. They’ll come up as soon as they get here. You and your little one need rest, lass.”
“Want me to come?” Aidan asked.
“Us, too.” Both Patrick and Dylan suggested.
“I want you two” —she pointed to her oldest brothers— “to go home to your families. You were here all last night.”
“We can stay.” This from Patrick.
“I know Brie called you a few times.”
He shrugged. “Isabella’s sick.”
“And Hogan called you, Dyl.”
“Yeah, he’s worried about Clay.”
“Go, both of you. Your families need you.”
Aidan said, “Go ahead, guys. I’m here for the duration.” He glanced briefly at C.J., then dismissed her. “We’ll be fine.”
C.J. blinked so she didn’t react to his coldness. Get used to it, the agent inside her said. This is how it’s going to be. It’s what you asked for.
So she would. She’d be strong for Bailey. This job was, after all, her life.
o0o
AIDAN SLID OFF the bed and stuck his feet into a pair of sandals. It was five a.m. and cool, so he slipped on a long-sleeve shirt over the T-shirt he wore. Thank God Bailey had finally fallen asleep after spending time with Angel. In the dim glow of the TV, which they’d left on for news of Clay, his sister’s skin was pale and translucent. Her hand rested on her stomach.
Sitting on the edge of the bed, he watched the crawler on the news station. Some expert named Nash had been called to the scene. More SWAT teams were in place. Then his heart stopped. Son of a bitch! Shit! The government had gotten an ultimatum from the terrorists. They warned they would kill the vice president at dusk today U.S. time if no progress in negotiations was made. Panicky, he glanced at Bailey. “Please let her sleep,” he prayed and switched off the TV. She might need it. The grim reality hit him hard, and he felt foolish for moping about Caterina and his own problems.
Quietly, he left the room and went downstairs. Half of the agents had gone to hotels to sleep. He heard C.J. and Mitch talking earlier; they’d stay here at the town house and alternate shifts of sleeping. Must be she was in bed in one of the spare rooms, because when he came to the doorway, Mitch was in the kitchen. Looking haggard. Aidan noticed a pack of cigarettes on the table. Man, he wanted one. He’d smoked in college and sometimes, when things were stressful, he and Dylan indulged in one or two.
“Hey,” Mitch said.
“I saw the crawler.”
“Just leaked out. That damn paparazzi. Why do they have to tell the world everything?”
“Did you know before it came on the TV?”
“We were called. Orders were not to tell you, though.”
“You guys are great at keeping secrets.” His stomach roiled. “Sorry, I’m bummed. I can’t imagine what Bailey will do if something happens to Clay.”
“Joe Nash is an expert at what he does.”
“So are the terrorists.”
“Not these guys. They—”
As he poured himself coffee, Aidan interrupted Mitch. “No, I don’t want to beat it to death. That doesn’t help. I’m going outside for a while.” He nodded to the smokes. “Mind if I have one?”
“Go ahead.”
Aidan shook out a cigarette and made his way to the backyard. An agent standing post spoke to him, then Aidan crossed to a swing Clay had put in for him and Bailey to sit under the stars—and neck, Bailey had said with a devilish glint in her eyes.
Aidan dropped down onto the swing, lit the smoke, coughed and sipped his coffee. He thought about Clay Wainwright and how the light would go out in Bailey’s eyes, maybe forever, if something happened to her husband.
A few minutes later, he heard a voice from the darkness. He’d recognize it anywhere. “Aidan? I saw you from the window upstairs.”
He waited until she came into view. “You’re supposed to be sleeping.”
“My break’s up.” She came closer. “Are you smoking?”
“Yeah, my bad.” He drew in a puff. “Bailey and I used to sneak cigarettes when we were young. It was fun being bad then, too.” He swallowed hard. “Nothing’s fun right about now, is it?”
“Mind if I sit with you?”
“Why not?”
Her weight settled into the swing. He could see her better now, in the moonlight. She wore her suit, but the jacket was off. The gun holster crossed her chest like a brand.
Because it hurt to just look at her, he stared down at her feet. “Those shoes have to be the ugliest things I’ve ever seen.”
“Not Jimmy Choos, that’s for sure.”
He butted out the cigarette on the ground. “God, that tasted awful.”
She fished in her pocket and handed him a breath mint. “Here.”
The peppermint refreshed his mouth. “I know about the dusk deadline.”
“Mitch said you did.” A hesitation. “I’m sorry, Aidan. We have to believe Nash can pull this off.”
“Yeah.” He swallowed hard. “I was just thinking about Clay and Bailey.”
“Tell me.”
“He fell hard and fast for her right after they met up again on the task force. She kept him at a distance for a long time.”
No response.
“Sounds familiar, doesn’t it?”
“Do you need to talk about us, now?” No anger. Only concern for him.
“No. As you said earlier, there’s nothing more to say.”
“Then tell me about Clay. “
He told C.J. how Bailey and Clay met up again after eleven years, how once he was with her again, he was smitten. “He and I had some knock-down-drag-outs about Bailey.”
“Clay Wainwright? He doesn’t seem the type.”
“Believe me, where my sister’s concerned, he’s all passion.” He sighed. “That’s what happens when you fall in love with someone.”
No response. What the hell could she say? The night stillness was broken only by the crickets, chirping away.
The inactivity made him antsy. “I gotta move.” He stood and wandered to the back of the lot. Leaning against a tree, he pulled a few leaves from a low branch.
She came up to him and touched his arm. “Is there anything I can do? For you?”
He stared down at her hand, strong and competent, on his sleeve. When he raised his eyes, he said, “How about us going upstairs and fucking our brains out?”
“If that’s what you need now, I’ll find a way to make it happen.”
“No,” he said, turning from her. “No mercy fuck. What we had was too special.”
“I should go in.”
“Yeah, you should. Do me a favor, though?”
“Anything.”
“Don’t make any more of those kinds of offers. Next time, especially if things get worse, I won’t be able to say no. And I’d hate myself afterward.”
“All right. I’m sorry if I said the wrong thing.” A pause. “I just care about you.”
He watched her walk away. He tried to rein in his fury over her, and over Clay, but when she got inside, he whirled around and smashed his mug against the tree, sending cold coffee and ceramic chunks flying.
He was still standing there a few minutes later when C.J. came running back out. “Aidan!”
He met her halfway. “What?”
“Oh, Aidan.” She cupped his face with her hands.
“What? Tell me.”
“The Zanganesian terrorists just released a video. It supposedly shows Clay...”
His heart rate tripled in his chest.
“It says he was executed at dawn.”