Renovations (By Design Book 6)

by J. A. Armstrong

  Candace laughed. “That must have been dreadful.”

  “He’s a worse bed hog than you.”

  “I do not hog the bed,” Candace argued.

  “Yeah, you do.”

  “Really?”

  “Mm-hm.”

  “Well, perhaps I should go sleep on the couch,” Candace suggested indignantly. She moved to pull herself off the bed and found herself swiftly pulled on top of Jameson.

  “Who said anything about sleep?” Jameson asked. “I said you hog the bed. I didn’t say when.”

  Candace raised her eyebrow. “What exactly are you referring to?” she challenged Jameson.

  Jameson flipped Candace to lie beneath her in one swift motion. “I think it might be best to show you.”

  “Oh?”

  “Mm-hum. I saw your fortune cookie, you know,” Jameson said.

  “Did you?”

  “I did. It said Marriage means you can annoy one special person for the rest of your life…In bed.”

  Candace started laughing. “It did not say that.”

  Jameson smirked and shrugged. “Could be fun, though.”

  “Is that your goal? To annoy me?” Candace asked lightly.

  In an instant, Jameson’s mood shifted from playfulness to emotional. The sparkle in Candace’s eyes as they looked into Jameson’s, the mirthful smile that curled Candace’s lips, stole the air from Jameson’s lungs.

  “No,” Jameson said softly.

  Jameson leaned in and tenderly brushed her lips against Candace’s. She watched as Candace’s eyes closed and listened to the small sigh that escaped Candace’s lips.

  “No, I want to love you,” Jameson said.

  “Jameson,” Candace spoke her wife’s name breathlessly.

  Jameson could render Candace speechless, even soundless with nothing more than the simple brush of her fingertips at times. Candace understood that she held the same power over Jameson. It was one of the realities that made their lovemaking intoxicating. It had always been that way. Candace would never have denied that making love with Jameson overwhelmed her emotionally and physically. Desire was sparked by something far deeper than lust between the pair. Desire, for Candace, was ignited by a profound connection and a desperate need to be closer to Jameson. She was certain it was the same for her wife. It had not paled, not faded, not slipped even the slightest in their three years together. Candace doubted that it ever would. No matter what issues, arguments, fears or upheavals they faced, eventually they came to this place—the place where not even air seemed to separate them.

  “Oh, God,” Candace held onto Jameson’s back as Jameson’s kisses fell over her throat. “I missed you.”

  Jameson moved and captured Candace’s lips again. Candace’s hands found Jameson’s face and held it tenderly as Jameson’s lips moved on hers. The faint taste of white wine lingered on Jameson’s lips, soft, inviting and sweet, and so gentle that Candace could scarcely breathe. Less than two weeks apart had seemed like an eternity. Candace’s fingers caressed the softness of Jameson’s cheeks. When Jameson pulled back to look into Candace’s eyes, Candace began to cry.

  Jameson smiled compassionately at her wife. She wiped away a falling tear from Candace’s cheek and kissed Candace’s forehead tenderly. “It’s okay,” Jameson whispered.

  Candace’s eyes fell shut. She searched her mind for some adequate words to explain what she felt coursing through her. Coming home to find Jameson on the floor unbuckling Spencer’s boots had almost been Candace’s emotional undoing. She’d spent the afternoon at a shelter for women and children and it had taken its toll on the governor’s heart. She had not expected Jameson’s revelations about wanting to spend more time with Spencer and Maddie. Now, under the power of Jameson’s gentle caress, wrapped in the safety of her arms, Candace’s composure cracked.

  “Hey,” Jameson pulled back again and looked down at her wife. “What is this all about?” Jameson asked.

  Jameson had sensed that something was weighing on Candace all evening. It was obvious that Candace was glad to be home, but Jameson had learned to read Candace’s body language. She could detect the stress in the sometimes labored breathing of her wife. And, as much as Jameson knew that Candace had missed Spencer, it was unusual for Candace to keep him as physically close as she had all evening. Many times over the last several months, Jameson would walk into Spencer’s room to find Candace sitting beside him, playing gently with the curls of his hair or rubbing his back in small circles. Spencer’s father, Rick had been like a son to Candace—not like a son, to Candace he was her son. Candace had remained in control of her emotions in front of everyone else regarding Rick’s death. With Jameson, Candace’s walls often crumbled.

  Jameson coaxed Candace to open her eyes. “Talk to me.”

  Candace reached up again and held Jameson’s face in her hands. “Sometimes, Jameson…Sometimes, I just want to quit everything but you and our family.”

  “You don’t mean that,” Jameson said with a smile. She moved gently to sit against the headboard and pulled Candace to sit between her legs. Jameson wrapped her arms around Candace’s waist and kissed her on the head. “Come on, talk to me.”

  “I’m sorry,” Candace shook her head.

  Jameson chuckled, knowing that the apology was for interrupting what had begun as a passionate lovemaking session with an unexpected emotional overload.

  “Is that funny?” Candace asked pointedly.

  Jameson kissed Candace’s head again softly. “No. Why are you apologizing?”

  “We haven’t seen each other in almost two weeks, and it’s been even longer since…”

  “Do you know what I miss most when you are gone?” Jameson asked.

  “What?”

  “This.”

  “What’s that? Me breaking down when you are trying to make love to me? I’m sure that’s every wife’s dream.”

  Jameson held Candace more tightly. Occasionally, Candace could be her own worst enemy. Candace put a tremendous amount of pressure on herself. She was, without question, the strongest woman Jameson had ever known. Her strength was not rooted in impassivity. To the contrary, Candace Reid’s tenacity was founded in her compassion. Candace cared deeply for people. It’s what made her a formidable opponent in any election. It’s what drove her to seek office. While Jameson valued Candace’s intellect, humor, charm, and her courage, it was Candace’s compassionate heart that had completely captivated Jameson Reid. It was the vulnerability that few people took the time to see in the commanding woman now resting against Jameson’s chest.

  “I love you,” Jameson told Candace.

  “I’m sorry, Jameson.”

  “There’s nothing to be sorry for. Candace, if all I ever did was hold you, just like this, that would be okay. Don’t get me wrong, I love making love to you. What I miss the most when you are gone is this. Just being with you—alone,” Jameson said.

  “I know,” Candace confessed. “I didn’t mean to snap. Today was…”

  “What happened?”

  Candace ran her fingers up and down Jameson’s arms as they held her. “We made a stop today in Poughkeepsie.”

  “Go on.”

  “Women’s shelter,” Candace explained. “Jameson, it was heartbreaking. I just don’t understand this world some days. I don’t have the answers. What am I supposed to tell those women? Those kids?” Candace’s frustrated sigh prompted Jameson to close her eyes.

  “What did you tell them?” Jameson asked.

  “Mostly, I listened,” Candace said. “What can I say?” she asked. “We just do not provide the right resources. A shelter? A woman ends up in a shelter with children Spencer’s age because she has to fear her husband? And, the courts still give him rights? I don’t know, Jameson. I believe there has to be a justice system. Sometimes I fail to see the justice in it.”

  Jameson considered her reply for a moment. “Maybe, sometimes justice can’t be found in a system,” she observed. Candace groaned. “I�
��m not saying the system doesn’t matter,” Jameson said. “I’m just saying that it’s always going to be flawed because it’s run by people, and people are flawed.”

  Candace chuckled. “You sure you don’t have political aspirations?”

  “Never,” Jameson answered bluntly.

  “I just don’t know where to begin some days.”

  “Maybe you begin with exactly what you said you did,” Jameson replied.

  “What did I say I did?”

  “Listen.”

  “I wish that were enough.”

  “Maybe, sometimes it is,” Jameson said. “The problem sometimes is that you don’t know that you’ve made a difference. You do, Candace. Trust me, you do. It might not always be the way you would like, but you do—not just in your job either.”

  Candace turned in Jameson’s arms and placed a tender kiss on Jameson’s lips. “Tell you a secret?”

  “I love your secrets,” Jameson flirted.

  “Sometimes seeing you with Spencer makes me wish I was twenty years younger.”

  “Maternal urges kicking up, Nana?” Jameson asked. Candace looked longingly into Jameson’s eyes. Jameson understood the silent message. “I understand. I feel it too.”

  Candace closed her eyes and shook her head. “There was a little boy there today, Jameson. The social worker told me he’s headed into foster care soon if his mother can’t get it together. Four-years-old, Jameson. His mother’s battling addiction. The father? Who knows? Jesus,” Candace whispered painfully. Jameson brushed the hair out of Candace’s eyes. “He’s four, Jameson. God. He reminded me of Spencer. Who’s going to make a snowman with him?” Candace asked.

  “Do you have any idea how much I love you?” Jameson asked. Candace met Jameson’s eyes with a puzzled expression. “Do you?” Jameson repeated. “I do. I also know how lucky I am to have you. How lucky the kids are—all of them.”

  “They are lucky to have you too, you know?”

  Jameson reclined and pulled Candace into her arms. “One thing I do know.”

  “What’s that?” Candace wondered.

  “You’ll never quit. Even if you lost an election or left office, you’d still need to try and make a difference, and you would.”

  “You have more faith in me than I do some days.”

  “I have every faith in you.”

  “I can’t get his face out of my mind,” Candace confessed.

  “I think I understand.”

  “Hold me?” Candace asked.

  “Always,” Jameson promised.

  ***

  Jameson heard Candace’s phone ringing on the night stand. She moved to lift herself from the bed and smiled. At some point, Spencer had made his way into their bed. He was tucked into Candace’s arm, his small head resting under her chin. He looked a bit like his Nana. Jameson shook her head affectionately at the sleeping pair. She lifted the phone and felt her heart sink.

  “This can’t be good,” Jameson muttered as she accepted the call. “Bill,” Jameson greeted Candace’s Chief of Staff.

  “J.D., sorry for the late hour. Is she there?”

  “I take it this cannot wait.”

  “Not this one, sorry,” Bill DeGrasso apologized.

  Candace sighed at the hushed conversation inches away and extricated herself from Spencer’s grasp. She rose from the bed and looked at Jameson apologetically.

  “Bill?” Candace accepted the call.

  “Governor.”

  “Oh, this cannot be good,” Candace observed from her Chief of Staff’s formality.

  “I’m afraid not.”

  “What is it?” Candace asked.

  “Let’s hope it doesn’t become anything,” he began. “There was an incident in the city tonight.”

  Candace braced herself. City meant New York City. There were two words she had hoped she would never hear in the same sentence, incident, and the city. “Define incident.”

  Chapter Two

  Candace blew through the doors of The Governor’s Mansion like a small tornado. Dana met her just inside. “Dana,” Candace greeted her friend.

  “Governor.”

  Candace continued moving through the house toward her office. “Where’s Bill?”

  “Waiting for you in your office,” Dana said.

  “Good. Is…”

  “Coffee is on its way.”

  “Better,” Candace said. “Although, I wager a bottle of scotch might be better suited.”

  Candace walked into her office, shoulders squared and ready for battle. Bill DeGrasso and Kevin Samuel, her Chief Counsel stood immediately.

  “Sit down,” she instructed them as she moved behind her desk. “What do we know?” Before either could formulate the hint of a sound, Candace continued. “And, I do not mean what the press is saying or asking. I want facts as you know them in detail. Understood?”

  “Yes, Ma’am,” Bill replied respectfully. This was no time for playfulness or casual conversation. “At about 10:15 last evening an incident occurred…”

  “A fifteen-year-old boy dead in the street is not an incident, Bill.”

  DeGrasso sighed. “The teen exited a small convenience store with two friends. Officer Jeremy Marks observed them enter. He suspected the threesome was looking to attempt to rob the store.”

  “And, what may I ask peeked that suspicion?” Candace wanted to know.

  “He had arrested one of the boys previously.”

  “Go on,” Candace said.

  “The older boy, the one Officer Marks was watching caught sight of the officer and his partner.”

  “And?”

  “He began to flee with the other two boys following.”

  “Tell me this—and, be every specific. Is there any reason to believe that these young men stole anything?” she asked.

  “Other than Officer Mark’s observations, no.”

  Candace nodded. “Continue.”

  “The officer’s account claims that the suspect known to him turned and reached into his jacket pocket. The officer believed he was about to pull a weapon and fired.”

  Candace nodded. “And, was the boy armed?”

  “No.”

  “This boy is injured?”

  DeGrasso sighed. “He was shot in the leg and the arm—nothing life-threatening.”

  “Um-hum. So, let me ask this? If they had nothing to hide, why did the boys run?” she wanted to know.

  DeGrasso sighed again. Candace’s Chief Counsel Kevin Samuel took a step toward the desk and handed Candace a folder. Candace looked at him for a long moment, gauging the tautness of his jaw. She retrieved the pair of glasses she kept in her desk drawer, sat in her chair and opened the file. DeGrasso and Samuel watched as Candace’s eyes roamed slowly over the information she had been presented. She gave no indication of her opinion nor emotion regarding what she was reading.

  Candace took her time. She reviewed the reports and notes thoroughly, unconcerned about the nervous energy that was hovering in her office. Finally, she took a deep breath, closed the file, and released her breath slowly. She looked across the desk at her staff’s expectant gazes, removed her glasses, folded them, laid them on the table deliberately, crossed her hands and met their trouble gazes with an intensity that made both men instantly hold their breath.

  Candace nodded her head as if processing the words she was about to speak. “Six complaints. Not five. Not four. Six. Six complaints including one from a sixteen-year-old boy about harassment. A boy who had all charges dropped against him who is now lying in a hospital bed while his friend lies cold in a morgue. That’s what I am to understand. Four transfers. Not three. Not two. Not one. Four. A sixteen-year-old with a cell phone and a pack of gum. A fifteen-year-old with a chocolate bar and a phone. And, the lucky one who managed somehow not to get caught in the crossfire with a bottle of soda and some cupcakes. Is that right?”

  “It would appear so, yes,” Samuels replied.

  Candace nodded again. “And, the state
of the neighborhood now?”

  DeGrasso steadied himself. “So far, the police have been able to handle the backlash, but…”

  Candace raised a brow. “But?”

  Samuel’s answered. “Tyrone Jeffries death has not leaked yet. There is already talk of rioting.”

  Candace sat stone-faced and silent for what seemed to the room’s other occupants like an eternity. She pursed her lips, licked them and shook her head. She looked at DeGrasso directly. “You get Chief Stanton, Captain Fitzgerald and Mayor Massaro on the line and tell them that we will be on route to Police Headquarters later this morning.” Candace turned to Dana. “Coordinate with the press liaisons at NYPD and the mayor’s office. You take point, is that clear?” Candace instructed. Dana nodded. “And, Dana? I want to know ASAP where the press is at on this. How much time do we have?”

  “Done,” Dana promised.

  “Governor, I’m not sure that you should inject yourself,” DeGrasso began.

  Candace’s brow lifted measurably. “Inject myself? If I am right, unless we want to avoid making a call about the National Guard going on alert, I will need to inject myself, as you put it, squarely in the middle of this.”

  “Politically,” DeGrasso tried again.

  Candace stood swiftly. “Don’t,” she warned him sharply. “Don’t. There are not a lot of options here, Bill and you know it.”

  DeGrasso sighed. “What are you going to do?”

  “Nothing I am going to do is going to change what happened. The only thing there is to do is try to diffuse this before someone else gets hurt,” she said. “And, then to make sure it does not happen this way again.”

  “I understand, but…”

  “Who is Tyrone’s next of kin?” she asked.

  “His mother.”

  “Fine. Dana, contact the boy’s mother and tell her that I would like to pay my respects,” Candace said.

  “You want to go into the neighborhood?” DeGrasso nearly blared. “Candace!”

  “It’s not up for discussion. Make it happen.”

  “Candace,” DeGrasso tried again.

  “You know what needs to happen. I have calls to make,” Candace said just as her phone rang. She looked at the screen and closed her eyes with a frustrated groan. “And, calls to take it would seem.” Candace pointed to the door to indicate her staff should leave her and lifted her phone. “Mr. President…”