Chapter 1
She supposed today was as good as any other day to die. Her only regret was that she hadn’t experienced that one great love. Keeping too focused on her political career and listening to her mother’s advice over the years had made it impossible for her to maintain any relationship for more than a year or two, much less gain a lifetime commitment.
Regret would soon be over, or the shelter she’d insisted on at her mother’s house would keep them safe. Nothing much Sandra could do now.
The spunky Hispanic woman, Jimena, had left the safety of the panic room. No matter how impressed Governor Sandra Murphy was with the young woman, she was under no illusion that either of the formidable women guarding her would save the day. She had seen the regret and concern in the taller woman’s commanding eyes. Nevertheless, she had begun barking orders the second she walked into her mother’s house. Although the war heroine wasn’t giving up, it looked dire. There was a connection beyond work association between Jimena and the war heroine. Sandra had caught the flicker of emotion. Then Jimena left the shelter to join the other woman, taking away any chance of her survival.
The explosion was a lot quieter than she’d anticipated. She supposed the twelve inches of solid steel that formed a barrier between everyone in the shelter and whatever had occurred in the rest of the house had done its job. Sandra opened her eyes and immediately found her mother’s panicked face.
Finally, the man the FBI had sent to protect them spoke.
“Wait here while I check things out,” the large man ordered.
Sandra wasn’t in any hurry to leave the safety of the reinforced steel room, considering it had done a bang-up job of keeping them safe. She simply nodded her acknowledgment of the directive.
After the man opened the door to the panic room, dust seeped into the small space. Her mother coughed first. He pushed against the heavy steel door, and more dust encroached on the small area, finally causing Sandra to cough. With her trembling hands, she pulled her shirt over her nose and mouth to keep from inhaling the noxious material floating in the air.
Curiosity got the best of Sandra, and she decided to follow the man assigned to her security detail. Her mother accompanied them. As the three gingerly made their way inside the once opulent home, Sandra gasped at the destruction. The only thing remaining was the panic room Sandra had, thankfully, built at least a year ago when she’d started receiving threats to herself and her family.
Sandra stepped over the debris, continuing to put a barrier between the dust and her nose and mouth. She had the ridiculous thought that she was wearing the wrong shoes for this jaunt across the demolished house. Then, hearing faint sirens, she looked to the east and found a flurry of activity surrounding the two women who she had assumed had died in the explosion.
Sandra began to make her way to the women, but the man assigned to her security detail held her back. He quickly shuffled her mother and herself into a waiting SUV. Sandra sighed in frustration. She wanted to at least thank the two women but wasn’t afforded that opportunity.
†
“Governor Murphy, Governor Murphy,” the cacophony of press voices called out. The press was going to have a field day with today’s events.
Sandra kept her hand securely plastered to her side, not wanting to use it to pinch the bridge of her nose. That would not play well on live TV. She looked up as one voice rose above the din—a pleasant alto voice she quickly recognized in any room full of eager reporters. This woman had been at previous press conferences, and although she worked for a network that Sandra despised, the woman knew how to dig out a story. Sandra didn’t always enjoy answering her questions. Still, she respected the woman for doing a thorough job, even if the way she worded each question was slightly aggressive and sometimes accusatory.
“Governor Murphy, when did you learn about the plot to kill you and your mother?” The woman continued with her second and third questions without taking a breath. “How are Jimena Aguilar and Emma Schmidt involved? Did you authorize the lies told to the press about Jimena Aguilar’s death?
Sandra forced a smile on her face and attempted to answer each question. “I’d need to be a rich woman to react to every threat against my family and me. As it turns out, this one was credible. Jimena Aguilar and Emma Schmidt are both heroines. The FBI is a vast organization that does not need nor is required to seek permission from me on their choice of tactics and strategies to make our nation safe, Ms.—”
“Wynter. Wynter Holmes,” the reporter offered before barreling into her most pointed question. “So does that philosophy also apply to what you choose to do when ignoring Ordinance Number 10014 Section 91.1.105 requiring a permit for any improvements made to a home, such as the panic room in your mother’s house?”
Well shit. Sandra had hoped this would not come up, but it wasn’t like she wasn’t prepared for the question. She’d talked with her mother and other advisors in great detail about how to answer the probe.
“No, Ms. Holmes. If you are asking, do I believe anyone is exempt from the law? Of course, I do not. This is not an excuse for failing to obtain the correct permit before completing the project, merely an explanation. When the threats extended to my family and not only myself, I chose the most expedient route to ensure my mother’s safety should one of these terrorists make good on their threats. While I don’t believe I should face zero consequences for my choice, I do not regret making it. Had I waited for the permit, neither myself, my mother, nor the agent assigned to protective detail would be alive today. I will readily accept the consequences of that choice and admit that I set a deplorable example. I am not a perfect human being, and this was a valuable lesson.”
“Because you got caught?” Wynter asked.
“No, because I ignored an established ordinance that is on the books for a good reason. And I believe this is an opportunity to look at the long process for obtaining permits, including how we can expedite those permits in emergency situations or ones that risk the safety of California residents. Most people have a mother or loved ones they wish to protect, Ms. Holmes, not just me.”
Wynter nodded, and the corners of her mouth lifted in what Sandra could only surmise was a grudging demonstration of respect for the answer. Then, with great effort, Sandra wrenched her focus away from those amazing crystal blue eyes that were nearly opaque. The blue was so vibrant. It reminded Sandra of those pictures of the glaciers in Alaska, sometimes with just a hint of blue within the massive ice structures, yet often that brilliant color that awed tourists around the world.
Sandra thanked the universe that Wynter had not pursued a different line of questions. Namely, why she had decided not to use the security detail typically assigned to the governor’s office. She didn’t want to tarnish their good name simply because she’d had that one bad experience.
She pointed to a reporter from Wynter’s rival network which offered a kinder and less antagonistic platform for her policies and liberal political leanings. “Mr. Stone.”
“Thank you for taking my question, Governor Murphy,” the man responded.
When Sandra heard a muffled ass kisser, she momentarily lost her concentration, glancing briefly at Wynter Holmes, who smirked when their eyes met. Thankfully, she tuned back in time to hear David Stone’s question.
“The FBI has released the name and photo of the suspect who happens to be Emma Schmidt’s brother. Are you sure she is a heroine and not part of the plot?” David Stone asked.
“While I am not at liberty to discuss the specifics of the case, one thing that is clear is that Emma Schmidt is not involved in the terror cell.”
“Was she working undercover?” he pressed.
Irritation threatened to bubble from deep inside, but Sandra knew she had to keep her emotions in check. Control was what had made her so effective against her right-wing opponents. Sending her trademark smile in David Stone’s direction, she calmly answered, “I’m sorry, Mr. Stone, all other details on the case are not available to share at this time. You’ll be the first to know when I have more information to provide to the press. Thank you for your time, ladies and gentlemen. I’m afraid I have another engagement I’m late for.”
As she turned to leave, she heard the cacophony of calls for her to answer just one more question, however, Sandra was a practiced politician. Blocking out those calls was child’s play. She knew when to end what essentially amounted to a live press release. One that would not hurt her rising star in the Democratic Party. Although many said there was no such thing as bad press, Sandra Murphy disagreed with that advice as she always chose her words carefully. Unfortunately, twisting her words was what the right-wing media did best, something she worked very hard at not allowing, including from the attractive viper, Wynter Holmes.
†
Ever since the people of the great state of California had elected Sandra as their governor, she had avoided going to her favorite bar, which happened to be owned by one of her closest friends. It had been a point of contention between them. Geri insisted that the crowd in her upscale lesbian bar, Lavender Lips, would never make a scene or even acknowledge the governor’s presence. Tonight Sandra wanted a good drink, a relaxing time, and a chat with her good friend. She decided nothing was keeping her from stopping by after work for a drink.
Although it was early evening before the sun had finally set, the dimly lit interior of the lounge differed vastly from the outside. Sandra adjusted to the darkened bar that tried to create a relaxed, intimate atmosphere for the patrons who preferred a low-key visibility for a gathering place instead of the blinding strobe lights and loud thumping music geared toward a younger crowd. Geri barked orders at one of the bartenders before looking up, tilting her head, and letting that roguish half-smile fill her face. Sandra’s eyes briefly strayed to the bar stool where the back of a woman with shoulder-length auburn hair sat. There was something vaguely familiar about the woman, but since Sandra could not see her face, she shoved aside her discomfort. It was a very nice backside. Not that she was here to meet anyone, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t appreciate the view. Waving Sandra over, Geri greeted her old friend as she stood in front of the woman sitting at the bar.
“Well, I guess hell has frozen over after all.” Geri chuckled. “What brings you to my little slice of heaven? I thought you said you didn’t want to give the press anything to wag their tongues about.”
“I got thirsty, and this place always had the best lemon drop martinis in the state of California,” Sandra answered.
“Of all the gin joints…”
Sandra knew that voice. She put the pieces together while berating herself for the decision to stop at Lavender Lips for a quick drink and to commiserate with Geri at the same time. The woman turned slowly, and Sandra lost her carefully engineered poker face for a second. She risked direct eye contact.
“Governor Murphy, are you following me?” There was that smoky voice. The voice which had not so long ago asked that pointed question. However, regardless of how upscale and discreet Lavender Lips was, Sandra couldn’t figure out why Wynter would be in a lesbian bar.
“You two know each other?” Geri asked, while grinning and winking at Sandra.
“Not like that,” Sandra corrected and immediately regretted that response. “We’ve crossed paths before. Ms. Holmes is a member of the press. She works for TRU.”
Geri had the good sense to cringe. “Oh, that’s right. I almost forgot you were a reporter for that propaganda machine and a major thorn in Sandra’s side.”
Wynter shrugged and glibly replied, “Good thing it’s irrelevant to my desire for a good microbrew, and you’ve never held that against me. Sit, Governor Murphy. I promise I won’t bite. At least not in this safe space. I presume Lavender Lips is a safe space for you? What will you have? I’ll buy. It’s the least I can do for always giving you fits at your press conferences.”
“Thanks, but I’d prefer to purchase my own drink. Unfortunately, I can’t have the press misinterpreting your generous offer. Next thing I know, I’ll be part of a trumped-up scandal exploited by your network.”
Wynter grabbed her shirt and feigned an expression of hurt. “I may ask tough questions, Governor, but I have never reported or repeated any falsehood. So don’t lump me in with some of my colleagues who are entertainers, not reporters. There is a difference in the programming.”
Sandra scoffed. “Perhaps, but you work for a network that gleefully sidesteps the ethics of reporting without bias. While entertaining to some, opinion pieces are a real danger to others. You’re an intelligent woman, Ms. Holmes, so frankly, I believe that network is beneath you and your talents. But what I’d really like to know is why you are here. I haven’t been to this bar in years. Were you hoping to glean a salacious tidbit about me by sidling up to one of my closest friends? You do your research. I’ll give you that.”
“Hm, so much to unpack in your series of statements peppered with, dare I say, insulting questions.” Wynter grinned. “Why does anyone frequent a lesbian bar, Governor? I’m not at all afraid of my queerness. Avoiding queer venues is your schtick.”
So Wynter was queer. Now that was an interesting piece of information. Sandra opened her mouth to defend her decision to avoid public places that generated gossip and innuendo, especially within the right-wing media. At the last minute, she stopped, not wanting to come across as defensive.
“If you’d bothered to take a breath rather than jump to conclusions, you would have learned that I’ve been coming to Lavender Lips for a very long time,” Wynter continued. “I found this bar about a month after moving to the area and have been a regular ever since. Geri is one of the few individuals I would call a genuine friend, especially in the overly pretentious southern California crowd. How about if we declare Lavender Lips a safe space? I promise I won’t use anything I learn about you in this bar in any segment I choose to write. You have my word.” Wynter stuck out her hand.
Sandra tentatively accepted Wynter’s hand and shook. Glancing at her friend, who had watched the exchange with apparent interest, ending with a single arched eyebrow, Sandra said, “I’ll take one of your famous lemon drops, Geri. You can put Ms. Holmes’ beer on my tab.”
Wynter chuckled. “Ah, now who is trying to bribe whom? Hoping that my future questions will be softballs like the ones you receive from the network that shall not be named? If I admit the network I work for leans right, you must acknowledge our competition practically falls all over itself to ensure they don’t tarnish your golden image.”
“Perhaps,” Sandra agreed. “But at least they don’t tell outright lies. I would think the rampant homophobia would have sent you packing long ago.” Sandra shook her head. “I just don’t get it.”
Wynter shrugged. “I’m merely invested in the truth, Governor. Unfortunately, your favorite place to give interviews already had a token lesbian. Since they weren’t interested in hiring me, I went to their competition. TRU gave me a chance, and they treated me well. I don’t have to agree with all my colleagues to do my job. How about if we pivot to another topic? What took you so long to come out? Strictly off the record,” she added.
Sandra schooled her expression lest she appear irritated. It wasn’t the first time, nor would it be the last that she’d gotten this question. Smiling, she gave her pat answer. “Although this question has been asked and answered many times, I’ll humor you. Because, Ms. Holmes, how I identify is irrelevant to my qualifications to do my job.”
“I beg to differ. Besides, if that were the case, why reveal that about yourself at all? You didn’t answer my question about why it took you so long. It isn’t like you have a partner or wife who might be irritated that you don’t love them enough to make your relationship public. Or do you?” Wynter grinned.
“No, I don’t have a special person in my life. But I am extremely curious about your first statement. Why do you believe it is relevant information?”
“We have our first black woman as a supreme court justice and vice president. That milestone gives hope to all those little black girls who now know it is possible to reach those heights. Don’t you think it would be nice for all those little queer girls to know this is achievable? Rumor has it you will be the Democratic nominee for president. If you win, you’ll be an important role model. But if there is any hesitancy, such as keeping your queerness secret for so long, how do you think that will land? All those little queer girls will believe that how they identify is something to be ashamed of. Just because we can hide our queerness, unlike persons of color, doesn’t mean we should.”
Wynter wasn’t wrong about that. Sandra briefly entertained telling the young reporter the real reason, but she didn’t trust her, settling on the next best answer. “You make very valid points, Ms. Holmes. Can I perhaps get away with ‘better late than never’?” Sandra nodded her thanks to Geri, who had slipped the lemon drop in front of her without interrupting their conversation.
Wynter smiled and answered, “Only if you stop calling me Ms. Holmes. I honestly don’t want to be enemies with the first lesbian president of the United States. Contrary to what you might believe about me, we are not on opposite sides of most issues. Truce?”
A genuine smile erupted from Sandra’s mouth. “Of course. One thing I am quite sure of is that every vote counts. Who am I to offend a potential voter?” Sandra lifted her drink, and Wynter followed as the two women clinked their glasses together. “To fresh starts.”
“To amelioration.” Wynter tipped her glass and took a generous sip of her drink. “I’m not sure I want to give up on our sparring. You make a worthy opponent, but I am amenable to making things better, or at least tolerable for you. I’ll continue to seek the truth, but I suppose I could alter my tone and act less aggressively when digging through the political muck. It probably won’t make my bosses happy, but that was never my primary concern.”
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