Free High Stakes by Kathryn Shay Page B

those guys hold grudges.”
    “Stereotype much, Pat?” Liam retorted.
    Shrugging, Pat said, “If the shoe fits.”
    Dylan stared at the screen, not commenting.
    Liam nudged him. “What’s wrong, Dyl? You think the governor ordered the lane closures as retribution of some kind?”
    “I have no idea. But I
should
have known she and her team were investigating the story.”
    “Why?” Liam asked.
    Pat added, “What are you talkin’ about?”
    Uh-oh. He hadn’t told his brothers he was working with Rachel, nor the circumstances that had brought that about. Shit, what to do now?
    Pat moved in closer. “Dyl, what’s going on?”
    “Something I haven’t told you.” Both brothers waited. “I’m investigating Rachel Scott, to give her a second chance to explain herself. You know, like I have with a lot of the columns.”
    “You mean explain why she got Rory kidnapped? C.J. hurt in the process? Smeared Sophie? How could she ever explain that?” Dylan knew Pat would be upset. And wait till Aidan found out.
    “She can’t, Paddy, I know that.”
    Liam asked, “Then why are you giving her another shot?”
    Dylan prided himself in taking responsibility for his actions. But he had to tell his brothers the truth or they’d hate him, for a while at least. “Her boss is cozy with the mayor. The mayor called my editor’s boss. I was ordered to give her another chance to prove herself. And you know she wanted one. I did tell you that.”
    “You should have said no.” Pat’s tone was implacable.
    “And lose my job?”
    “Maybe.”
    Dylan didn’t know what to say. Pat and Liam worked full-time at the pub, but it had never been enough for Dylan. Besides, the business couldn’t support three families. Aidan had gotten into his photography, and Dylan had snagged another job writing for
CitySights
. Because he loved journalism, he’d gone on to earn a degree in it. “I want to keep my job, Pat. Besides, I need it to make ends meet.”
    “You could quit the column, fill in here more and work on that book you keep saying you want to write.”
    Like his namesake, Dylan Thomas, he’d tried his hand at poetry and a screenplay but had eventually set his sights on a novel.
    “You know my agent suggested submitting my columns for a nonfiction book to get my feet in the publishing-house door before I ventured into fiction.” That manuscript had been with Clive Mason for a couple of months, and he was shopping it around. A bit hurt by Pat’s accusatory tone, Dylan added. “I told you all that so you’d know I haven’t given up on a writing career.”
    “Bullshit! No job is worth having to make a deal with the devil.”
    Dylan’s spine stiffened. He’d learned two things long ago: that his family meant everything to him—hell, he’d die for them—but paradoxically, he had to stand up for himself, protect himself, as well as them. “I’m keeping my job at
CitySights
, so I have to work with her. If you’re mad at me for it, you can shove your objections up your ass.”
    “All right, everybody, calm down.” Liam stood and ducked under the opening to the bar. He slid his arm around Dylan. “You do what you have to do. We’ll stand by you.”
    Leaning into his little brother, Dylan said, “Thanks, Liam,” then turned to Pat, who was now propped up against the back counter, his arms folded over his chest. “What about you, Paddy? You standing by me even if you disagree about what I did?”
    oOo
    Rachel stepped out of the town car and said to her driver, “Sam, would you mind not coming in? This probably won’t be pretty.”
    Samuel J. Stone, a man she could count on, crossed his arms over his chest and scowled. “Then I should go with you.”
    “No, but thanks. Stay in the car, where it’s warm.”
    Pulling open the carved oak door to Bailey’s Irish Pub, she stepped inside and out of the night. Dylan hadn’t called her after the show and she knew his silence was worse. She’d decided to go on the