discovered she loved politics and had run for a term of her own the next year. After that had come a four-year stint as the first female vice president of the United States. Her party had lost the next election and now she had people whispering in her ear about running for president when election time rolled around again.
She wanted it. But her decision about running for the most prestigious and powerful position in the world was tempered by other elements besides her own desire.
She’d made many friends in her years of public service, but she’d also made enemies and she didn’t have just herself to worry about when the election got dirty, and elections always got dirty.
Moving away from the window, she thought of her sons and how the decision to run for president might affect each of them. Trey would be all right. He was a strong man and already preparing himself for the battle arena of politics.
She worried about Sam. He’d come home so damaged and unwilling to seek help from either family members or professionals. He was a loose cannon at the moment and she was concerned how the bright spotlight of a national campaign might affect him.
Then there was Thad. Her youngest, Thaddeus had turned his back on the family business and had made a modest life for himself in Garner, North Carolina. He worked for the Raleigh Police Department as a crime-scene investigator.
He led a quiet life alone and would hate having any role in the world she loved. Maybe she should just flip a coin to come to a final decision, she thought ruefully.
She only knew two things for sure. She believed with all her heart that she was the right person for the job, that she would be far better for the country than the front-runners who had already begun the political dance of becoming elected.
The second thing she knew with certainty was that some of the enemies she’d made over the years were utterly ruthless and would do everything in their power to destroy her and anyone she loved, not only politically, but personally, as well.
Chapter 3
Debra arrived home, hung her coat in the hall closet and then raced around like a mad woman to make sure her living room/dining area and the kitchen were spotlessly clean.
She was by nature a neat and tidy woman, so there was little to do, but with the thought that Trey would be seeing her home for the very first time she wanted everything perfect.
She fluffed the red-and-yellow throw pillows on the black sofa twice and dithered over lighting several of the scented candles she normally lit in the evenings. She finally decided against it, not wanting him to believe that she was in any way attempting to create an intimate, romantic setting.
At six forty-five she sat down on the edge of the sofa and told herself she was acting completely ridiculous. Trey probably wouldn’t even take a step into the small, gleaming hardwood-floor foyer. He’d meet her at the door, hand her the list of names he’d prepared and then leave with his mission accomplished.
The last thing Trey Winston cared about was sitting around and chatting with his mother’s assistant. Debra had eaten on the way home from the estate and had put on coffee, which now filled the air with its freshly brewed scent.
The coffee wasn’t for him. She always made coffee or hot tea when she got home from work, especially at this time of year when outside the cold knocked on every window and attempted to seep into every crack.
She was thankful that the townhouse seemed well insulated and she loved to keep the thermostat low and build a nice fire in the stone see-through fireplace that was between the living room and kitchen.
There were no flames in the fireplace now. Again, she didn’t want Trey to get any ideas that she had any thought about another encounter with him. The last thing she wanted was to come off as some pathetic one-night stand who didn’t understand exactly what she’d been.
She’d changed out of her suit and into a pair of comfortable jeans and a mint-green fleece sweatshirt. She hadn’t even bothered to check herself in a mirror as she’d left her upstairs bedroom to come down here to wait for Trey’s appearance.
She jumped when the doorbell rang, nerves jangling discordantly through her as she got up from the sofa and hurried to answer.
Her breath caught slightly in her throat as she opened the door and he smiled at her. Trey Winston definitely had a killer smile, all white straight teeth and warmth. “Hi,” he said.
“Hi,” she replied.
His smile widened, crinkling the corners of his eyes. “Are you going to invite me in?”
“Oh, of course...if you want to come in... I mean you don’t have to if you don’t want to.”
“Thanks, I’d love to come in.” He swept past her, trailing the bold scent of his cologne as she quickly closed the front door and followed him into her living room.
He shrugged out of his coat and slung it across the back of one of the two chairs that faced the sofa as if he’d done it a hundred times before. He’d changed clothes, too. Instead of his usual suit, he was dressed in a pair of casual black slacks and a white polo shirt that hugged his shoulders and chest as if specifically tailored for him.
“Is that fresh coffee I smell?” he asked.
“Yes, it is. Would you like a cup?” To say that she was shocked to have him not only actually in her townhouse, but also asking for a cup of coffee was an understatement.
“I’d love a cup,” he replied.
She motioned him to the sofa. “Just make yourself comfortable and I’ll bring it in here.”
“I don’t mind sitting in the kitchen,” he said as he followed at her heels. His gaze seemed to take in every nook and corner of the room. “Nice place.”
“Thanks, I like it.” She was grateful when he sank down at the round wooden table with its centerpiece of a crystal bowl with red and yellow flowers.
The kitchen was her favorite place to spend time. Located at the back of the townhouse, the windows looked out on a lush flower garden she’d planted last spring, although now there was nothing to see but dormant plants and the redbrick tiers of the flowerbeds.
Above the butcher-block center island hung a rack with gleaming copper-bottomed pots and pans. The counters not only held the coffeepot but a variety of small appliances she used on a regular basis on the weekends.
“You like to cook,” he said as he looked around with obvious interest.
“On the weekends,” she replied as she reached with slightly nervous fingers to get two of her nicest black mugs down from the cabinet. She swallowed hard as she nearly dropped one. Get a grip, she commanded herself.
She poured the coffee and managed to deliver both cups to the table without incident. “Sugar? Cream?”
“Black is fine,” he replied.
She sank down onto the chair opposite him, wondering how it was possible that his mere presence diminished the size of her kitchen and sucked up the energy, making her feel slightly lightheaded, as if she was suffering from a lack of oxygen.
“What
