CHAPTER ONE
She woke up, the way she did most mornings, to the sound of silence in her home. Why did she buy such a big one, she wondered for the hundredth time as she stretched and yawned and tried to focus her eyes. Maybe it was for appearances’ sake, because big league politicians couldn’t appear to be too humble in a place where humility equaled weakness? That would be the D.C. answer. Everything was for appearances’ sake in the Beltway. But Kay Laine knew better. She once expected a husband and children to fill up the rooms. That was why she bought it. But dreams and ambition filled those rooms instead, and she found herself climbing that ladder of success to such a degree that she forgot she was climbing alone.
She sat up on the edge of her bed, her pajamas wet with the sweat of another night of dreams you didn’t want bright-eyed little girls to dream: those dreams filled with regret and terror.
She did it. She was in position to make it to the very top of her profession. But did she do it wrong? There were women the world over who had great careers and great families too. Why wasn’t she able to pull off both?
But Kay, being Kay, wasn’t about to sit around moping in that land of coulda-shoulda-woulda. She had to get out of her own head. She had to realize she was the dream those little girls were dreaming about. And it was far from a nightmare. She couldn’t let them down.
She grabbed for her TV remote on her nightstand, but found that it was still in her bed. She didn’t sleep alone after all, she thought with a smile. She had her TV remote to keep her warm!
Some warmth, she thought cynically, as she aimed the remote at her television set, and turned it on.
Another murder in Chicago, according to the morning news anchor, but that wasn’t news, Kay thought as she made her way to her en-suite bathroom. The mayor promising to crack down on the violence wasn’t news either. He’d been promising to crack down for years- and never did. But he won a second term anyway.
Then the national news. Her news. She stood at the vanity washing her hands after peeing, and listened for any new developments. Were the polls still shifting in her favor? Did her opponent, the Governor of Iowa, misspeak again? That, for her campaign, was a gift that kept on giving. Or was she the one stumbling this time?
“Another busy week on the campaign trail,” the news anchor began, “as Chicago’s own, Katherine Laine, is just ten days away from what she hopes will be a victorious day: election day. And what an historic event that will be. She’s on the precipice of greatness as she seeks to become the first woman, the second African-American, and, at thirty-eight, the youngest person ever to ascend to the highest office in the land. She’s leading in the polls, too, by the way.”
The precipice of greatness, that news anchor said. But it made Kay cringe. Was that anchor talking about she was on the brink of great peril? Or great success? And not just locally, but all of the news outlets around the country were fawning over her as if it was in the bag already, that the victory was hers to lose, that she had it all sewn up. She was a black woman in America, running to become the first black woman to occupy the presidency of the United States. She didn’t have shit sewn up. But that was how the media was hyping it.
She looked in the mirror over the sink. She was known for her high cheekbones, her smooth brown skin, her big, bright, almond-shaped eyes. But was that all people saw when they looked at her? Men seemed to like what they saw, although only to a degree. The vibe she always got from men was that she was smart enough. She was perhaps even beautiful enough. But was she good enough to love, to marry, to have children with? She was good enough in conversation, and even better in bed - their actions seemed to say, but not good enough where it mattered. And that was the rub for Kay. That was what affected her all her life. That she was always perceived as good, but never perceived as good enough. Now she was angling to take all that baggage right along with her: all the way to the White House.
Her cell phone rang just as she was about to turn on the water tap to take a long tub bath. But when she walked over to the nightstand in her bedroom and looked at her phone’s Caller ID, she realized a long bath was probably not in her immediate future. A fifteen minute shower was probably going to be more like it. Because it was Roger Pettway, or Rog as they called him: her campaign manager.
“We’ve got a problem, Kay,” he said before she could say hello. And when Rog added: “Are you coming here, or do I need to come to you,” her heart dropped. A problem ten days before election day was always major. But a problem ten days before election day that required a phone call from Rog even before she could arrive at campaign headquarters, and with him insisting it had to be a face-to-face, was a monumental problem. So monumental she dared not ask what the problem was. Which meant counting her eggs before they hatched or pretending she had that election in the bag was ludicrous, as she already knew. “No,” she said to Rog, “I’ll come in. I’ll be there as soon as I can shower and dress.”
“Do it fast,” Rog said, as if she didn’t feel enough stress. “Do it fast,” he said again. And then he added something that astounded her. “And Kay,” he said.
“Yes?”
“I hate to say it, and I know you’re not going to like it, but only one man can help us out of this jam. And you’ve got to ask him.”
Kay was shocked when Rog said those words. Because it didn’t take a second for her to know exactly who he meant. And because he meant him, it had to be an out of this world problem. Beyond major. Which took Kay’s stress level through the roof.
But nothing, in her book, was that major for her to go crawling to him. “You’re right,” she said. “I don’t like it.” And then she ended the call.
CHAPTER TWO
The steps to the Cessna Corporate Jet dropped down, and the boss made his way down those steps and onto the tarmac. The limousine that had just arrived sped up just as his shoes hit the ground, and he got in on the back passenger seat. Then the limo sped away.
“Welcome back, Boss,” Carmine Jusseppi, his bodyguard, glanced back at him and said. Carmine was seated on the front passenger seat. “It’s good to see you again.”
Nicholas “Nico” Bacard didn’t respond. He, instead, pressed a button that lifted the privacy window separating the backseat from those up front, a maneuver that allowed him to avoid all communication. Because Nico was not in the mood. Because he could have been on his plane, heading back to France the way he had planned all along, but was instead where he didn’t want to be. Every time he was anywhere near the Windy City, he thought about her. And it was always a depressing thought.
He sat in the back of his limo, his Driver and bodyguard getting the message and not bothering him, as they made their way through those busy city streets. When the call came in he was in his office in New York, wrapping up a business meeting, and was about to head to his plane ready to head back to France.
But the call came in. One of his crews managed to get themselves in a fix last night that even his number two couldn’t get them out of. And that situation was in Chicago; in the one town he avoided going anywhere near for years. One of his corporate offices was located in that town, employing over two thousand people, and he owned property there too. But after the breakup, he phoned it in, allowing his people on the ground to handle all of his business interests. But he couldn’t phone his other business interests in. Not this time. He had to handle it himself, before matters got even more out of hand. And that was why, instead of flying back to Europe, he was in that very town again, heading to a warehouse where his guys were holed up. But remarkably, he wasn’t thinking about those guys nor the mess they were in. He was thinking about her.