the trash, then gave herself a quick glance in the bathroom mirror. The slim black pencil skirt she wore didn’t display a hint of her current condition but the red tailored button-up blouse only emphasized the paleness of her face, a paleness that the results of the tests had surely created.
Her light brown hair was already attempting to escape the twisted bun she’d trapped it in earlier, but she didn’t have time to fix it now.
She left the bathroom, deciding that she couldn’t, she wouldn’t think about her pregnancy right now. She had a little time to figure things out, but right now she had to get her brain in work mode.
She pulled on a black winter coat and grabbed her purse, then left her two-story townhouse and headed for her car parked at the curb. There was parking behind the townhouse, but she rarely used it, preferring the convenience of curbside parking instead.
The January air was bracing, hovering right around the freezing mark. Thankfully the sky was bright blue and she didn’t have to worry about snow or sleet.
The townhouse was located just off Glenwood Avenue in the uptown district of Raleigh, North Carolina. It was Debra’s pride and joy, bought two years ago after years of renting. She loved the area, loved the fact that she could paint walls and hang pictures without getting a landlord’s approval. It was cozy and filled with all the colors and textiles she loved.
Once inside the car she checked the clock. It was just after seven, but she still had to maneuver morning traffic to get to North Raleigh where the Winston Estate was located.
Every morning in the capital city of North Carolina the morning rush traffic was bad, but on this Wednesday morning it seemed particularly heavy.
Or, maybe it was the racing of her thoughts that made the ride feel longer and more difficult than usual. Even though it was unplanned and unexpected there was no doubt in her mind that she would keep the baby. For her, that decision was a no-brainer.
She would just need to keep the father’s identity to herself for the rest of her life. She would let the people close to her assume that the baby was Barry’s, the snake-in-the-grass boyfriend who had broken up with her on the night she’d been in that restaurant bar, the same night she’d done something completely out of character.
But, there was no question in her mind who the father was because she hadn’t been pregnant when she and Barry had broken up and she was pregnant now. There had only been that single night of utter madness to account for her current condition.
She steered her thoughts away from the pregnancy as she approached her workplace. The impressive Winston Estate was located on two acres of lush, meticulously manicured grounds.
Built in 1975, the six-bedroom, nine-bath white-and-red brick house also boasted a beautiful swimming pool, a backyard area around the pool big enough for entertaining and a small guest house where Kate’s security, a Secret Service detail, worked from.
The front entrance boasted a large black iron gate that was opened only when security and Kate allowed. The entire estate was fenced in except for a side entrance through which staff and service vehicles came and went.
Debra turned into the access entrance and waved to Jeff Benton, part of the security team that kept Kate and her family safe when the former vice president was in the house.
Debra pulled into a parking spot specifically for staff and hurriedly got out of the car. She entered the house through a side door that led into a large, empty mudroom and then into the huge kitchen where at the moment fresh coffee and cinnamon were the predominant scents.
None of the help was in the large, airy room that had the latest cooking equipment, but Sam Winston, Kate’s thirty-three-year-old middle son, sat at a small table next to a window with a cup of coffee before him.
“Good morning, Sam,” she said tentatively. Since Sam’s return from overseas where he’d served in Army Special Forces, he’d been distant, at times downright unpleasant, and she never knew exactly what to expect from him when they happened to run into each other.
He looked up from his coffee, his blue eyes dark and unreadable. “Morning,” he replied and then shifted his gaze back into the depths of his cup, obviously not encouraging any further conversation.
Debra passed through the kitchen and entered the main foyer. As always, her breath was half stolen from her by the beauty of the black-and-white marble floors and the exquisite winding wooden staircase that led up to the second level.
Beyond the foyer were Kate’s official office and a doorway right next to it that led to Debra’s much smaller office. She knew that Kate didn’t usually go into her office to begin her day until sometime after eight, but that didn’t mean Debra didn’t have things to do before Kate made her official appearance.
Debra’s office was small but efficient with a desk that held a computer, a multifunctional printer and memo pads. A wooden five-drawer file cabinet sat nearby on the right wall. The other wall was a white dry-erase area that took up the left side of the room, where she kept track of Kate’s ever-busy, ever-changing social calendar with dry-erase markers in a variety of colors.
She closed the door, took off her coat and hung it in the tiny closet that stored extra paper and printer supplies and then sat at the desk and powered up her computer.
There was only one personal item in the whole room. It was a framed picture that hung on the wall, a photo of Debra with a Parisian street vendor who sold hot croissants and coffee from a colorful cart just down the block from the U.S. Embassy in Paris.
Debra had lived in Paris for the two years that Kate had served as U.S. ambassador to France. It had been an amazing experience for Debra. She’d learned some of the language, wandered the streets on her time off and breathed in the local ambiance.
When Kate’s time in that position had ended and it was time to return to the states, Debra hadn’t wanted the usual souvenirs of a picture or a miniature statue of the famous Eiffel Tower.
She’d wanted a photo of herself and Pierre, the charming Frenchman who had begun her mornings with a bright smile, a hot croissant and a cup of steaming café au lait. A fellow staffer had taken the photo and Debra had brought it into a local craft store to have it enlarged and framed.
The time in France had been wonderful, but that was then and this was now. Pregnant. She was pregnant. She couldn’t quite wrap her mind around it yet, but she knew one thing for sure, once the baby was born her life would be irrevocably changed.
She shoved the thought away and instead focused on her morning work. It took twenty minutes to go through her emails, deleting spam that had managed to get through the filter, marking messages to forward to Kate and answering those that didn’t require her boss’s attention.
Once the email was finished, she moved to the file folder on her desk that held a stack of invitations for Kate. As a former U.S. ambassador and vice president, Kate was invited to hundreds of events each week.
As Debra looked at each one, she made a list of who, what and where for each event that required a response in the next week or so. The social calendar Debra kept on the wall was an ever-morphing, color-coded animal that required constant attention.
There were rumors that Kate was being groomed to run for president in the next election and she was already being courted by special-interest groups and powerful party movers and shakers.
So far she hadn’t mentioned her plans to anyone, but Debra suspected the idea of becoming the first female president of the United States was definitely appealing. Kate had a reputation as a loving mother, a family-oriented person, but Debra knew she was also a woman of great convictions about how the country should move forward in the coming years.
It was just after eight when a familiar soft knock sounded on Debra’s door. She grabbed her memo pad and left her desk. It was their routine; Kate knocked to let Debra know she was now in her office and it was time for a morning update.
At fifty-eight years old, Kathleen Adair Winston was an attractive woman with short, stylish light