Someone To Believe In by Kathryn Shay Page A

. “You shouldn’t be thinking about me as
anything but an enemy.”
    He looked like he’d been slapped. Then his
eyes darkened to a smoky quartz. “All right, sure, fine. Forget
it.” Giving her his back, he went for the button to release the
elevator.
    Without thinking of what she was doing,
Bailey reached out and grasped his arm, effectively stopping him.
“Clay.”
    The use of his name, the way she uttered it,
seemed intimate. Felt intimate. She slid her hand to his wrist and
lightly grazed his bare skin. It was sprinkled with dark blond
hair.
    Suddenly the air felt oppressive, hot; the
elevator became an emotional powder keg. She tugged her hand
back.
    He pivoted. There was heat in his eyes.
A kind of heat she’d seen before from men. Oh, my God , she thought just as he grasped on to
her, pressed her against the wall, and covered his mouth with
hers.
    From there, it got very wild, very fast.
     
     
    “FIRST, I’D LIKE to thank you all for
consenting to be on New York’s Youth Gang Task Force.” Governor
Friedman’s look was sincere as he scanned the ten people at the
oval conference table in his stately office of cherry wood
paneling and expensive furniture. “I know you’re all busy. But I
chose each of you carefully for your diverse views. That said, I’m
hoping you can pool your expertise and come up with concrete
suggestions for using our share of the hundred million dollars
provided by Stewart’s Youth Crime Bill, earmarked for social
agencies to counter gang activity in our state.”
    People nodded. Smiled. Some sent
surreptitious glances at Bailey, then Clay, who were, of course,
well-known adversaries on this topic. Yeah, sure, and that
adversary just had his hands underneath her blouse in the elevator,
for God’s sake. God, she hoped she’d tucked it in right. He’d tried
to help her.
    Here let me.
    She batted his hands away. No!
    Right now, he could barely look at her, and
she’d die before she caught his gaze. They’d both been late to
this meeting, though thank the good Lord, no one else knew
why.
    The governor gave his committee an
ingratiating smile. “Let’s introduce ourselves. Tell us who you
are, and why you’re here.”
    He nodded to a plump woman of about sixty.
“Marion, would you start?”
    “I’m Marion Hocker. A Sister of St. Joseph. I
work at the Baden Street shelter that takes in gang kids. I’m here
because we need to make some progress in housing for these kids.”
She smiled at Bailey. The nun finished with, “I fully support
ESCAPE’s proposal for Guardian House.”
    Next up was a police captain, Ned Price, who
had extensive anti-gang experience. “I’m tired of competing
efforts. We need to work together.” His steely gaze focused on
Bailey. “And to know our places.”
    The senator went next. “I’m Clay Wainwright.
I’ve made no secret of my tough-on-crime stance, especially with
youth gang members. And I agree with Ned. We need to work
together, and know our roles. I have some ideas where I’d like
that money spent.”
    The others followed.
    A state senator.
    A single mother who used to be in a gang.
    A social worker.
    A teacher and a principal.
    A female pastor.
    When it was her turn, Bailey smiled
congenially at everybody—with lips that felt slightly swollen.
From his mouth. “I’m Bailey
O’Neil, otherwise known as the Street Angel. I run ESCAPE and know
some of you but not all. Since this is money earmarked for social
agencies, and the federal government already got its four hundred
million” —here she took a bead on Clay— “for prosecutors, the FBI,
and other legal eagles, I wonder why the local senator and the
federal senator are even participating.”
    Clay leaned forward to answer that. There was
still a flush on his face, and on his neck was a red mark from her
mouth. “We’re here to make sure you spend this money wisely.”
    She gave him a blistering look. “That should
not be your decision.”
    “Oh, and who should decide?