A Change of Pace Read online

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental and beyond the intent of either the author or the publisher.

  A Change of Pace

  TOP SHELF

  An imprint of Torquere Press Publishers

  PO Box 2545

  Round Rock, TX 78680

  Copyright Ó 2011 by JM Cartwright

  Cover illustration by Alessia Brio

  Published with permission

  ISBN: 978-1-61040-283-5

  www.torquerepress.com

  All rights reserved, which includes the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form whatsoever except as provided by the U.S. Copyright Law. For information address Torquere Press. Inc., PO Box 2545, Round Rock, TX 78680.

  First Torquere Press Printing: August 2011

  Printed in the USA

  A Change of Pace

  By JM Cartwright

  To Jase -- who made sure that Ridge had a real personality, not a split personality.

  Author’s note: I have taken the liberty of giving a lake view to Chicago’s City Hall. Well, I guess I took a few more liberties than that with Chicago politics. You’ll see...

  Prologue

  “Mr. Mayor! Mr. Mayor! What are you doing about the Sego contract? Was the bidding process subverted?” Those questions and more were shouted at the mayor from all sides. “Have you investigated your aide?” This last one was said very snidely.

  The reporters followed Charles Stratton as the mayor moved from the black Lincoln Town Car to the elevator at city hall. From his spot inside the mayor’s office, watching the verbal assault live on television, the aide in question, Drew Cunningham, swore softly to himself.

  Those blood-sucking bottom-feeders make me want to puke. Although he did have to admit, the mayor was doing a nice job of ignoring the horde.

  The press corps were acting like the vultures they truly were, surrounding Chicago’s mayor and bombarding him with vicious allegations disguised as questions, hoping to trip him into an admission of something -- anything -- that they could feed on. The election campaign was heating up, and conservative Charles Stratton was not a favorite of the media.

  A businessman with a sterling reputation, Stratton had been elected, along with several other fiscally conservative candidates, after many officials throughout the state had been indicted for fraud and corruption almost four years before. Though he had served the people of Chicago well since taking office, the opposition was willing to do anything to unseat him. A conservative mayor in this town was unheard of and most certainly had to be ousted as quickly as possible, with whatever bloodthirsty, malicious character assassination was required to get the job done.

  The Chicago Way. And it seemed that today, Andrew Cunningham was the tool the opposition was going to use.

  Just then, Mayor Stratton strode into his office, slamming the door behind him. He stopped short as he spotted Drew standing in front of the television screen in the corner. Exhaling in disgust, Stratton stalked to his desk and slammed his leather portfolio down onto the glossy wood surface. “Where do they come up with this crap? Who gave them that information?” He dropped into his chair and spun around to face the large window.

  The view of Lake Michigan and the city’s downtown was incredible, Drew noted absently. “You and I both know that Sego deserved that contract.” His words were soft. He was just as angry and was containing it. “Sego is the only company that can get the job done the right way, in the shortest time.” The contract was to repair the seawall along Navy Pier, one of the biggest tourist attractions in the city. It was in danger of collapsing, due to the preference during previous administrations for deferring maintenance.

  Stratton stared at him, his eyes unwavering. “Yes, I know that. You made the right decision.”

  The mayor got to his feet and placed his hands flat on the desk, facing Drew. “But I’m not sure that’s going to matter now. The press need an issue to focus on to defeat me, and they’ve grabbed this one. Given what we’ve done for a living for the last twenty years and more, they’re bound and determined to prove that we’ve played favorites with an old friend on this contract.”

  Standing upright and moving to the window, he sighed deeply. Looking over his shoulder, brows arched sardonically, he gave Drew a knowing look. “It doesn’t help things that you’ve never played the game with them.” At Drew’s automatic protest, he turned, holding up his hand. “I know -- I know! -- you don’t have to tell me. I hate the political bullshit we have to go through just to get the job done. It just makes it easier if we don’t tell the press to fuck off, in so many words.”

  Drew knew the mayor was referring to occasions when Drew had lost his patience -- always in short supply -- and stalked away from interviews, leaving the reporters standing with their mikes held out, waiting for an answer that would never come.

  Drew, who had worked for ten years with Charles Stratton at Stratton Engineering and Design, was the mayor’s top aide. He had been drafted to follow Stratton to the mayor’s office, willing to do what was needed to help Stratton clean up city politics, to actually force the city to run as a business instead of a spendthrift organization with absolutely no oversight of the taxpayer’s money.

  Drew and Stratton both held the belief that it was possible, not easy but possible, to solve the city’s problems with the help of the right people and workable plans and strategies. They’d faced down the unions and special interest groups -- and a bureaucratic morass the likes of which they’d never dreamed they’d find.

  Now it appeared that, despite all the long hours, the late-night brainstorming sessions, the seven-days-a-week working conditions, and the absolute absorption of their personal lives into their work, their efforts might be spiraling down the drain due to just the appearance of impropriety, and the distortions the press were creating.

  Drew knew two things without a doubt. First, Charles Stratton was not a pushover. Second, he had made his money the old-fashioned way: hard work, a lot of sweat and effort, and years devoted to building his business. Stratton had brought his work ethic to the mayor’s office, and along with it a belief in the ultimate wisdom of an informed electorate. Right now, though, the people were hearing that he was running a crooked administration, just like the one that had preceded his.

  Drew couldn’t allow that to continue. He knew what had to be done. He breathed in deeply. “Dad, I’m turning in my resignation.”

  Chapter 1

  We’ll do our best, and caulk the rest.

  Ridge Huntington

  In the end, Charles Stratton had not had a choice.

  Reflecting on the whole debacle a month later, Drew steered his black Navigator eastbound on Interstate 40. He kept a close eye on overpasses and lay-bys, watching for state troopers. His habit of driving twenty miles over the highway speed limit could get expensive.

  Periodically, there were signs noting the boundaries of the national forest. “I’ve never seen so many fricking trees.”

  He’d been talking to himself for the last few hundred miles. The Blue Ridge Mountains were pretty amazing; maybe not as imposing as the Rockies, but still impressive. Sighing, he watched a hawk head for one of the huge trees off to the right. Drew hadn’t done any traveling to speak of since his father had been inaugurated and, before that, his time off had been spent at a condo he’d rented up in Lake Geneva, a couple hours north of Chicago. “So maybe I won’t be living in a dump,” he muttered sourly.

  Charles had been forced to accept Drew’s resignation and swallow the bitter pill of seeing him defame
d as a corrupt man. The story had been a nine-days’ wonder in the third-largest metro area in the country. Drew’s name and face were well known by now, thanks to the twenty-four hour news cycle on cable television. He was the man who had awarded a three-hundred-million dollar contract and almost brought down the administration that had sworn to uphold the law and clean house in Chicago.

  That was why he’d had to quit, Drew reminded himself, eyeballing the different types of vegetation his truck flew past. He couldn’t jeopardize the re-election of Charles Stratton. There was too much important work still to be done. Giuliani had cleared the streets of New York of crime; Charles Stratton was well on his way to cleaning up the corruption in Chicago. The man needed another term in office.

  Drew was forced out to help ensure that happened. It might not have been fair, but it was the way things worked in politics.

  He consoled himself somewhat with the knowledge that his departure was in contrast to happenings in previous administrations. As was the accepted way in many political offices, someone took a bullet for the elected official and was just shuffled off to another job. No one ever really went away; the faces and names might change, but the malfeasance went on.

  Situation normal -- all fucked up. He hadn’t been in the military, but he’d borrowed a phrase or two. SNAFU just fit sometimes.

  Now, cursing rawly at the fates that had conspired to bring him to this point, Drew punched the map button on the GPS, confirming the exit he was to take. His new life was waiting for him, he thought gloomily. He blew out a disgusted breath.

  Yippee.

  He didn’t exactly see himself living in this smaller city. He needed the excitement and challenge of living in Chicago, fighting to succeed, whether it was with Stratton Engineering or the Stratton mayoral administration. How could this small city in the mountains of North Carolina hold any allure for him? Sure, he’d needed to get out of Chicago and stay out for a while. But he also needed to make a living while he was away.

  “Here’s where Daddy jumps in.” Okay, that was a little unfair. It was just that he’d been beyond asking his dad for help since college.

  Charles Stratton had a college friend who’d moved to the Blue Ridge two decades before. Tony Lopez had founded a small development company back then to build affordable housing in western North Carolina. Charles had kept in touch with his old roommate, and when Drew had needed a job away from Chicago, the mayor had rung up his old friend.

  Drew recalled his last conversation with his father. “Are you kidding me? You want me to move to the back of beyond to build little houses?” His voice was scathing.

  The mayor had been resolute. “Drew, you and I both know that if this is going to work, you need to get out of the limelight. If you stay around here, it will never go away.” Charles moved around his desk and sat back in his chair, sadness showing for a moment on his face. “Goddamn it, I don’t want to do this any more than you do, Drew. Don’t you know how painful this is for me and your mother?”

  “Yes.” Drew’s voice was low.

  “I resent the whole need to do this. I resent you throwing yourself under the bus to save my political ass.” Charles thrust his fingers through his thick silver hair, his anger chasing away the sadness of moments before. “I knew I was going to have to give up a lot for this job, but goddamn it, I didn’t think that meant giving up my son.”

  He stood up and walked to stand in front of Drew, tipping his head back to look at the son who, at six feet one, topped him by a smidge. His voice was a little husky as he spoke. “I can’t help remembering back when we found you, twenty-three years ago.”

  Charles’ eyes blinked determinedly, and Drew noticed they were suspiciously shiny. He swallowed to clear his own throat, looking away until his father spoke again.

  “If you want to have any hope for a normal life, Drew, you’ve got to get away from this city. Away from these reporters, away from this scandal... away from me,” Charles finished hoarsely. “If they blast your personal life all over the front page, God knows what will happen.”

  Drew swallowed hard, solemnly meeting his father’s gaze, acknowledging the truth of that statement. “Okay, Dad. I’ll go to North Carolina.”

  Charles and Yvonne Stratton had become Drew’s parents when he was fourteen, and he’d heard many takes on the story innumerable times since then. Unable to have children of their own, the Strattons had made the decision to adopt. After two years in the approval process, they’d been waiting to meet with a social worker about babies when they’d heard the woman talking on the phone about one of her cases. The call concerned a ward of the state who had been badly beaten and couldn’t be left with the other children at the institution where he was living.

  Drew still marveled that Charles and Yvonne hadn’t hesitated to ask to meet him when they’d heard that.

  After a very slow and shaky start, Drew and the Strattons had decided to become a family. They’d gradually built a relationship that was now rock-solid. And there wasn’t anything that Drew wouldn’t do to help save his father.

  Even move to Nowhere, USA, and build rinky-dink houses, he thought with a grimace.

  Just ahead he saw the sign for the Asheville exits approaching. He watched for the one Tony had mentioned. When it came up, he exited the highway and headed toward the inn where he had a reservation.

  Once again, he checked the instructions Tony had emailed to him. Following the directions, twenty minutes later he turned his Navigator onto a leafy lane that led him back to a rambling, old, two-story farmhouse. The small sign in the center of the curving drive said “Huntington Place.”

  Drew pulled his truck off to the side and got out, looking around as he shut the door. He did have to acknowledge that, so far, North Carolina in July was beautiful. He wasn’t used to being surrounded by so many green things, and the flowers. He was kind of tempted to sneeze at all the fresh air.

  Although, that fresh air was certainly cooler than what he’d left at home. As he’d gotten onto Lake Shore Drive yesterday, it had been ninety-eight and humid as all get-out.

  His condo back home was on the lakefront, with an incredible view of Lake Michigan, one that had cost him a pretty penny. Chicago’s lakefront was world-class, and he’d loved having his own little piece of that view. But even he had to admit, looking around now at the lush vegetation and the classic architecture of the inn, that the rural beauty around him was almost beyond description.

  He moved to the back of the truck, opening the liftgate. “Come on, girl. Let’s go see where we’re staying.” An extremely large German shepherd stuck her head out, sniffing daintily before stepping to the edge and dropping lightly to the gravel drive.

  Drew shut the door, snapping on a leash just in case there were other dogs around. He headed for the front entrance, eyeing the long, deep veranda that surrounded what he could see of the inn. Dark wicker furniture was set around in groupings, inviting visitors to relax and unwind.

  As soon as he checked in, he planned to see about getting a beer and sitting out there.

  Isn’t that what folks do out here in Deliverance Country?

  He was tired from driving. He’d gotten a late start yesterday, so he’d covered most of the seven hundred miles today. Even though he’d been sitting most of the day, he wanted to put his feet up, sip on something cold, and simmer some more over his changed circumstances.

  Music came softly through the open windows of the inn. Drew frowned as he listened. Was that Forties music? Huh? Was this place run by the blue-hairs?

  Snorting to himself, he shrugged. It should be quiet here, then, and he was going to stay just until he found a place to live anyway. He could put up with retro music until then.

  Grabbing his leather laptop bag, he headed for the stairs. The inn was a sprawling wood and masonry structure, and his engineer’s eye noted the rough-edged limestone cladding at the first floor and the cedar shake siding on the upper level. The building looked to be about fifty to sixty y
ears old, and the long-ago architect had certainly done a great job matching both the style of the building and the rustic stone and cedar with the feel of the forested land around it.

  Drew walked inside the elegant lobby, his eyes on the extensive woodwork. He’d renovated his vintage condo back in Chicago and had spent a great deal of time on the woodwork in the unit, bringing it painstakingly back to life. Despite the profound irritation he was feeling at his current life circumstances, Drew could still appreciate the amount of work that had gone into the rooms around him.

  Looking past the lobby into a dining room, then in the other direction, he spotted a sunroom that opened off the reception area, the polished woodwork gleaming. Everywhere he looked, he found more evidence of an expert’s tender touch.

  Suddenly, Elsa’s head came up with a snap, and she looked toward the rear of the house. Drew’s eyes followed hers, widening when he spotted a shepherd every bit as large as Elsa coming toward them. The dog’s ears were up and the long tail was wagging, Drew was glad to see. The male walked up to Elsa, and the two dogs sniffed and whined and barked at each other, moving around and generally tangling Elsa’s leash.

  He had his hand down to introduce himself to the new dog when he heard steps coming toward them. He raised his head to see a young woman hurrying forward, an apologetic look on her pretty face. She was flushed, her blonde hair in a ponytail and her cotton, short-sleeved shirt and jeans dusted with flour.

  “Oh, I’m so sorry about Henry. He has the run of the house.” She grabbed Henry’s collar, trying to pull him away from Elsa.

  Drew smiled slightly, still watching the two dogs to make sure they weren’t going to have a rodeo. “So far, so good.” Squatting down next to Henry, he rubbed the large head. “He’s gorgeous. How old is he?” Drew looked up as he spoke.

  With a huffed breath, the young woman gave up trying to pull the huge dog when he obviously had no intention of moving. “I think he’s about two?” She lifted a shoulder uncertainly. “He belongs to my brother. I’m glad to see that he and your dog are getting along,” she said with relief, holding out her hand. “I’m Rae Huntington. Are you Mr. Cunningham?”