The Pursuit (Capitol Love Series Book 2) Read online

  The Pursuit

  by

  Samantha Powers

  The Capitol Love Series

  Book 2

  Copyright © 2016 Samantha Powers

  Cover art copyright © 2016 Tim Ford

  ISBN: 978-0986182259

  Published and distributed

  by Possibilities Publishing Company

  www.possibilitiespublishingcompany.com

  All rights reserved. No parts of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the prior written permission of the author.

  This is a work of fiction.

  For Jeannie, who never shied away from adventure.

  Chapter 1

  It was a sticky, sweaty August morning in Washington, D.C., and as Rayne Michael got ready for work, she felt the city’s lethargy seeping in. Everything seemed to be moving slowly, if it was moving at all. Nothing much happened in the doldrums of late August, and she had no reason to think today would be any different. If anything was looming on her horizon, she hoped it was a thunderstorm that would break through this heat.

  She took a cool shower then put on a vintage flowered sundress, sandals, and sunglasses and headed out the door carrying a plastic to-go cup full of iced tea with lots of lemon and sugar. Despite the heat, there was a soft breeze so she decided to walk from her house in the Eastern Market neighborhood to her office near Stanton Park. It was less than a mile, and she could use the exercise. Besides, this time of year, the subway was a mad crush of tourists and cranky office workers, and she always seemed to end up in the one car whose air conditioning was on the fritz. She’d much rather breathe fresh air even if it was a bit swampy.

  As she reached the corner, an elderly woman waved to her from the front porch of her house.

  “Good morning, Ms. Rayne,” the woman called. Then she pointed with her cane at the streetlight. “It’s working!”

  “Oh, that’s wonderful, Miss Ada!” Rayne stopped at the iron gate in front of the woman’s house and looked up to admire the now-functioning streetlight. She had called various city departments to complain and finally contacted the local city council member a week ago, arguing that having a broken streetlight made Ada feel less safe in her own home and affected the whole block. Now she could see that not only had the bulb and glass globe been replaced but the city had put a metal cage over it to keep mischievous kids—or worse—from breaking it again.

  Ada walked down the porch steps leaning heavily on her cane and came to meet Rayne at the gate.

  “I was hoping I’d catch you this morning,” Ada said. “I made blueberry muffins.” She handed Rayne a bundle wrapped up in a paper towel. “I know you youngsters don’t always take time for a proper breakfast.”

  “You are too sweet!” Rayne said. “And you’re right, I forgot all about breakfast.”

  The woman smiled at her, then held a tissue to her mouth as she coughed for a long minute. Rayne studied her face with concern.

  “Are you feeling any better?” she asked.

  “It’s this heat,” Ada said in a choked voice. “I’ll be fine once it cools off.”

  “That could be weeks from now!” Rayne said. “Maybe you should have your son take you to the doctor.”

  Ada waved a hand in gentle dismissal of Rayne’s suggestion. “He’s got better things to do. Now you have yourself a nice day at work, Ms. Rayne.”

  Rayne leaned over the gate and kissed the woman on the cheek. “I will, and you be sure to let me know if you need anything else.”

  She continued on her way at a slow, steady pace, careful not to break into a sweat. She passed the Library of Congress and the Supreme Court, where tourists were already lining up to get inside. The sun was hot on her arms, and she longed for cooler weather. Late summer in D.C. always seemed to have her craving a change of scenery, though fortunately she could easily satisfy it with a trek to the National Mall or Rock Creek Park.

  When she was growing up, she and her parents had moved often, experimenting with communes and a series of loosely knit collections of like-minded people who wanted to live off the grid—even if that meant living in a school bus—and grow their own food and leave the rest of the world behind. She had happy memories of many of the places, but she wished they’d stayed someplace—anyplace—long enough for her to put down roots, maybe worm her way into a clique, or even run for secretary of her class.

  Now she was happy to have settled in D.C., and she loved her job as media relations manager at the Center for Action on Climate Change. Life was good and predictable, and that was just the way she wanted it.

  When she got near Union Station, she veered east, away from the tourist zone and into the Stanton Park neighborhood. A couple blocks later, she turned off the sidewalk onto the brick pathway that led to her office. It was in a historic house that had been built in the 1800s for a merchant who made a small fortune in the import/export business. But she preferred to think of him as a sea captain and often pictured him like Ahab, wooden leg and all, standing at the upstairs bay window, gazing toward the Chesapeake Bay and the ocean beyond, and longing to be back at sea.

  In truth, he was more likely surveying the city or maybe the port of Alexandria to the southwest and tallying up receipts in his head.

  She stepped inside and glanced into the small parlor/office on the left to say hello to Sheila, CACC’s executive assistant, but she wasn’t at her desk. Jeremy, the president, worked in a study behind the parlor, but that door was closed. Rayne was about to head up the stairs to her office when Sheila burst out of Jeremy’s office. Rayne immediately knew something was amiss. Despite only being in her mid-thirties, Sheila had the sort of graceful efficiency of a bygone era of secretarial pools and cashmere twinsets. Jeremy couldn’t function without her. But now Sheila was racing across the room toward Rayne, who couldn’t remember her ever moving that fast.

  “Jeremy needs to see you,” Sheila said. “Right away.”

  “What’s up?” Rayne asked, feeling alarmed.

  “It’s better if he explains it.” Sheila took her by the hand and led her into Jeremy’s office.

  He was standing with his back to the door, staring out the ceiling-to-floor window. His dark hair looked like he’d raked his hands through it one time too many, but under any condition, he was one of the handsomest men Rayne had ever known. She’d had a crush on him since the moment she’d stepped into that office two years ago to interview for the job, but she was content to keep it to herself. It was one of those things that made her look forward to going to work but not something she ever felt the need to act on.

  He turned away from the window and smiled at her, but it was a regretful sort of smile. At least, that’s what Rayne thought. She looked at Sheila questioningly, but Sheila shook her head, walked out, and closed the door behind her.

  “Is something wrong?” Rayne asked.

  Jeremy sat down at his desk—an old, majestic thing made of oak that had belonged to the sea captain himself. Rayne sat down in the leather armchair across from him and set her iced tea on the carpeted floor rather than risk marring the desk.

  “Remember how I told you that our ten-year lease is up next month,” Jeremy said, “and I was afraid Vincent might raise the rent on us?”

  “Yes,” Rayne said. The landlord had given them a deal that was well below the market rate. He cla
imed at the time that he genuinely cared about climate change, but they all suspected it was really because he wanted the tax write-off.

  “Well, he didn’t raise the rent,” Jeremy said.

  “That’s good—”

  “He cancelled the lease altogether.”

  “What? Why?”

  Jeremy placed his hands on the edge of the desk. “He says he wants to carve the house up into condos because, to use his words, ‘These hipster millennials will pay anything to say they live in a converted historic building.’”

  Rayne felt as though the wind had been knocked right out of her. The thought that this charming house, which had stood for well over a hundred years, could be converted into more overpriced condos was heartbreaking.

  “Even if we could find a comparable property in the District,” Jeremy said, “we can’t afford to pay full rent.” He studied her for a moment, and the look on his face made her feel a sudden queasy flush of heat.

  “The truth is,” Jeremy said, “we’re barely staying afloat as it is.”

  The organization had never been extravagant, and all the employees tended to be judicious about office supplies and expense reports, but she’d always thought it was part of the conservation ethic.

  “What do you mean?” she asked.

  He looked away from her. “I mean we’ll have to fold.”

  She was stunned. “Fold? It can’t be as bad as all that.”

  He stood and walked over to the window again, and Rayne couldn’t shake the image of the old sea captain.

  “In the ten years since I started this organization,” he said, “we’ve built up some street cred and a group of very devoted donors, and that’s been enough to keep us going but only if we don’t have any unexpected expenses. And full rent in the District is a doozy of an unexpected expense.”

  “Couldn’t we find another place like this one, with a landlord who’s willing to give us a break?” she asked, but as soon as she said it, she realized how unlikely it was given the hot real estate market in the District.

  Jeremy shook his head. “I’m going to sit down with Larry,” he said, referring to their CFO, “and go over our finances and options, but I’m trying to be realistic. And I wanted you to know right away in case anyone in the media gets wind of this and comes calling.”

  Rayne was silent for a moment. “And what do you want me to say if they do?”

  “Tell them that we are looking into various options but that our hope is the landlord will reconsider and at the very least, keep this local treasure intact,” Jeremy said. “Put your spin on it, of course. Oh, and keep this to yourself for the time being. I don’t want to alert the whole staff until I have more information.”

  “Of course,” she said and stood up to go. She grabbed her bag and iced tea from the floor and glanced over to see him watching her thoughtfully.

  He smiled. “I had more experienced applicants when I hired you, but there was something in your eyes. I knew you felt the same passion I did about the mission. I knew you would fight the good fight with me. And you have.”

  Rayne felt tears beginning to build behind her eyes. This sounded like goodbye. “I’m not done fighting yet,” she said.

  She walked slowly up the stairs to her office, which was in a former bedroom. Later owners had added a bathroom fifty years ago, and she kept it stocked with handmade soaps and pretty towels so that many of the other employees preferred to traipse through her office rather than use the more utilitarian bathroom on the first floor. She didn’t mind because it meant she got to talk to just about all her co-workers in the course of the day.

  But now she did something she rarely ever did: She shut her office door. She didn’t want to have to lie if anyone came by and asked why she looked so glum.

  She set her iced tea on the desk and turned on her computer. It was a little old and a little slow, so while it booted up, she nibbled on Ada’s blueberry muffin as she went over her to-do list for the day, but she was having a hard time focusing. When her computer was finally ready to go, she opened a new document and monkeyed with the wording of the response she would give any reporter who called for a comment on the organization’s situation. But nothing she wrote made sense. So she tinkered with a press release about a new research report one of the organization’s analysts had just written, called the council member’s office to thank her for Ada’s streetlight, and spent some time updating the contact info for her media list just because it was mindless work.

  But all the while she felt her neat, settled little world slipping away.

  Lunch time came and went, but she didn’t have the energy or the appetite to go out and get anything. In mid-afternoon, she went downstairs to the kitchen for some water and saw Larry leaving Jeremy’s office with a stack of folders and a grim expression.

  Later, she caught herself sitting at her desk just staring into space. It was only 4:00, but she was thinking about leaving a little early when her cell phone beeped. She pulled it out to see a message from her best friend and housemate Savannah, which brought the first smile to her face in hours.

  Happy hour @Zipped?? Savannah asked.

  Rayne immediately typed back, Yes! That’s just what I need. What time?

  I’m already here, Savannah texted back, followed by a blushing smiley emoji.

  On my way!

  Rayne tucked her phone away, powered down her computer, and grabbed her bag. As she headed down the stairs, she wondered what drink Savannah’s boyfriend Colin would fix for her. He was the bartender—and owner—of Zipped and the wine bar Balance&Bite, and he had an uncanny gift for knowing the perfect drink a person needed in any situation.

  Whatever he chose, she hoped he’d make it a double. And she felt a glimmer of excitement at the thought that his sexy brother Chase might also be there. Tall, muscular Chase with the soulful blue eyes, shaggy brown hair, and a smile that melted hearts all over town. He had a reputation for being a player, but that did little to dampen her spirits. She needed something fun to look forward to.

  Chapter 2

  Chase stuffed his laptop into a shoulder bag and left the apartment. He could have easily done what he needed to do at home, but he was craving a change of scenery so he started walking to Sweet Happens Café.

  He’d been in D.C. for most of the summer with only a couple short jaunts on photography assignments out West, and he was starting to get restless. For nearly ten years now, he’d been picking up freelance gigs from newspapers and organizations all over the world. He never turned down anything that meant travel and adventure. He specialized in exotic locales, endangered animals, and environmental catastrophes—with the occasional war zone thrown in just to spice things up.

  It was a fun, satisfying lifestyle. Or it had been, but lately something felt different. As he jogged across the street in the last second of the walk signal, he wondered if it had to do with his brother’s changing life. He shared an apartment with Colin when he was in town, but now that Colin was serious about Savannah, Chase didn’t feel as free to show up unannounced. He didn’t begrudge his brother his happiness, but all that cooing and canoodling made it tough to flop down on the couch with a beer and mindlessly watch Ice Road Truckers or Swamp People.

  He missed hanging out with his brother. And now he was wondering if he should start knocking on his own apartment door before entering ever since he’d caught Colin and Savannah in a compromising position on the living room floor. He’d been trying to erase the image from his brain ever since.

  He turned the corner and saw Sweet Happens up ahead, but his mind was somewhere else and he almost forgot why he was there. Thinking about Colin and Savannah inevitably led him to Rayne. And her mesmerizing gray eyes, her sweet face framed by waves of chocolate-brown hair, and the slender curves that suited the slightly hippie clothes she wore. T
here was a goodness about her but a worldliness, too, and Chase found the whole package nearly irresistible.

  He would have asked her out long ago, but his brother had told Chase to steer clear of her. Colin said Rayne wanted someone who was stable and predictable, and Chase was neither of those things. He couldn’t argue with that or with Colin’s obvious desire to keep their circle of friends on good terms, and yet he couldn’t fully let go of the attraction. But whenever he thought about asking her out anyway, something stopped him. And it wasn’t just because of all the concerns Colin had raised. It was an odd sort of shyness he hadn’t felt around women in years.

  As he pushed open the door to Sweet Happens, the owner, Crystal, looked up from behind the counter with a big smile on her face. Chase smiled back. It was late afternoon, and there were a smattering of stay-at-home moms with kids in strollers and a couple of young black-clad Goths trying to look suitably alienated while they ate cupcakes with pink frosting.

  “Chocolate-filled croissant?” Crystal asked, handing him a coffee mug.

  “Sure,” Chase said and then suddenly wondered whether his ordering pattern qualified him as predictable enough to ask Rayne out. He filled the mug with hazelnut coffee from the self-serve station by the counter while Crystal put the croissant on a plate. He starting digging in his pocket for money, but she shook her head.

  “On the house,” she said.

  “Thanks!” He thought about taking his laptop outside, but it was too damn hot. He swore the jungles of Vietnam had nothing on D.C. in August. “You have free Wi-Fi, right?”

  Crystal shook her head. “Sorry, I can’t afford that.”

  “Damn. I need to send some emails. I suppose I could use my cell phone.”