The Bear’s Curvy Mate

Chapter 1

Chapter One

“Ms. Christie? The Governor will see you now.”

Sierra Christie took a moment to put on her most nonthreatening smile. She’d spent two hours getting dressed for the interview this morning, rejecting one outfit after the next, before finally settling on a pale gray pencil skirt that nicely accentuated her waist and a flowery blouse showcasing no small amount of cleavage. She topped the look off with a double dose of mascara and baby pink lipstick and left her hair down in a tumble of blond curls. The look said, girly, innocent, and maybe even easy. It said, I’m here for a meaningless fluff piece on your charity work, Governor Basnight. Certainly not to question you about a scandal that could end your career and land me my next promotion. You don’t have a thing to worry about.

Smile plastered in place, Sierra pushed open the imposing oak door and stepped into the governor’s office.

The room within was not quite what she expected. No crystal decanters of overpriced liquor on the sideboard. The walls were devoid of the usual array of commendations and smiling photos of himself shaking hands with people more important than him. Instead, most of one wall was taken up by a massive dry erase board. Tacky, yes, but clearly practical. It was covered in barely legible notes on upcoming meetings, proposals, and bills. It was not unlike the one Sierra herself kept in her apartment, currently covered in color-coded notes on the man sitting in front of her.

The rest of the walls in this office were devoted to a few nice photographs of the woods, a calendar, and, of course, the large windows showcasing a panoramic view of Olympia below. The desk, far from the usual neat and commanding status symbol most politicians have, was a mess of papers and post-it notes. This, Sierra decided, was an office that was actually used. Governor Basnight did not use his position just to have a few drinks and knock off early to play golf.

Before she could let herself be too impressed, she reminded herself he was also, in all likelihood, using his position to embezzle great sums of money.

The reality check was warranted, because if the office hadn’t already disarmed her, the man behind the desk would have done it.

He was staggeringly handsome. Of course, he always looked that way in photographs and TV appearances, but somehow she had still expected him to show some fault lines up close. But Joe Basnight had none of those flaws expected of a man of 46. His button-down shirt barely concealed his obviously muscular frame. Sierra briefly wondered where he bought dress shirts big enough for that barrel-sized chest (no doubt he had them custom made with his ill-gotten gold). His almost black hair fell across his face, threatening to obscure his similarly dark eyes. He had a deep golden tan that could have only come from a lot of time outdoors or cooking in a tanning bed. Sierra was 5’9 and currently teetering on 3” heals, and yet when he stood, he must have loomed over her by at least a foot.

He gave her his best politician smile and held out his hand.

“You must be Ms. Christie from The Post. So nice to meet you.”

His hands were rough.

“Please,” she implored him, “Call me Sierra.”

He quickly rearranged the stacks of papers to clear a space on the desk in front of her as she sat down.

“Sierra.” He repeated with another campaign winning smile. “Like the Sierra Nevada Mountains?”

“You’d have to ask my mother.”

“Well Sierra, you can call me Joe.”

First name basis already, but it didn’t surprise her. Joe won his election on his everyman demeanor. With a smile, a warm handshake, and a plain-clothes look, he had waded in streams with fishermen, picked grapes at vineyards, and tromped through the woods with local hunters. People loved Governor Joe for his approachability and blue-collar quality.

“Joe.” She repeated. “It is great to meet you in person.”

“So you’re here to discuss the Camp Basnight program?”

“That’s right,” she lied easily. “Why don’t you tell me more about it?”

She had her iPad at the ready to feign taking notes as he regaled her with his latest charity project. Half summer camp, half preparatory school, Camp Basnight was a free four-week summer program available to underprivileged children with promising grades and good standardized test scores.

“Kids today spend so much time with their eyes glued to those things.” He waved vaguely at her iPad. “I want to give them a chance to have fun without the screen time. Play outdoors. Fish, hike, rock climb. No television, no computers. These kids will play in the dirt. And get an education too. We’re hiring the best in astronomy, botany, marine biology, and entomology. ”

“Sounds impressive. It also sounds expensive.”

“It is,” he agreed. “But not a dime in tax payer money, I can assure you. All contributions for the project are coming from myself and private donors.”

Careful now, Sierra cautioned herself.

“I hear your charity auction was quite the successful fundraiser.”

“Better than we could have hoped.--We raised over 85% of our goal.”

“Yes,” she said, glancing down at her notes. “The project’s budgeted at ten million dollars.”

“That’s right.”

“Budgets can be tricky, though. It looks like you’ve already purchased the land for the project and hired a contractor to begin construction. Yet, you’ve already spent eight million dollars. May I ask what the rest of the money went towards?”

Just for a moment, his smile slipped.

“You must be mistaken,” he said. “Our budget is right on course.”

“Not according to this.” She showed him the bank statement copy on her iPad. “Most of the money has already been withdrawn. Where did it go?”

His smile vanished as he read over the bank statement.

“Where did you get this?”

“From a friend.” She said simply. If you can call the broke teller she had bribed with almost a week’s pay, a friend.

“Where did the money go, Joe?”

Joe tried his best to smile again, but this time it didn’t quite meet his dark eyes.

“You should recheck your sources, Ms. Christie. This is obviously a fake statement.”

“My sources are-”

“I’m afraid that’s all the time I can spare for you. I have another appointment.”

“You don’t have another appointment, Joe. Your secretary has you scheduled for this interview for half an hour. It’s only been ten minutes.”

He paused, dropping all pretenses now.

“You read my schedule.”

“It was on your secretary’s desk. I just happened to glance at it.”

“No. It’s on my secretary’s computer.”

There was a cold fury behind his eyes now that Sierra didn’t like at all. But far be it from her to let this man intimidate her. She leaned back in her chair casually.

“You should encourage her to lock her computer screen when she goes to the bathroom. There’s no telling what someone might find on there. I wonder what else you’re hiding.”

Joe took a deep breath, regaining his composure, and stood up.

“Ms. Christie-”

“Please, Joe, call me Sierra.”

“Sierra, it’s time for you to go now. I’ll have security see you out.”

She stood and smiled at him.

“Do you really think I require an escort, Joe?”

“Yes.” He dialed security, giving her a look of annoyance mixed with grudging respect. “Apparently, you do.”

Sierra let herself into her apartment. It was a modest two bedroom decorated with a few photographs and a plant her mother gave her as a housewarming gift which she never seemed to remember to water. The mostly unused kitchen led into a spacious living area with an overstuffed sofa and a few bookshelves. Thanks to her artist roommate, Molly, almost everything had flecks of paint on it here and there. Sierra had learned long ago to keep anything precious in her room.

Merlot in one hand, paintbrush in the other, Molly was standing barefoot over a half-finished painting of a wildly colored tree. She had moved the canvas from the nearby easel and laid it on the ground. Her frizzy red hair was tied up with a pair of chopsticks.

“Hey.” she greeted her, without looking up. “How was your thrilling expose interview?”

Sierra stepped carefully around the prone painting and helped herself to the open wine bottle on the kitchen counter as she kicked off her high heels.

“I had two security guards walk me to my car.”

“Seriously?” Molly asked, grinning.

Sierra poured her wine into a chipped glass.

“They didn’t even validate my parking.”

“Those bastards!”

Sierra moved over to stand next to Molly and stared down at the half-finished purple and teal tree.

“Why is the painting on the ground?” she asked.

Molly swayed slightly as she stared down, sloshing her wine.

“I think it speaks to me this way.”

“I think the wine is speaking to you, sweetie, “Sierra said, taking the wine glass out of Molly’s hand.

“That’s a possibility”, Molly said. She gave the painting a light kick, sending it sliding across the apartment floor in a manner Sierra was certain would horrify Molly’s publicist. It came to a stop at the foot of Sierra’s white message board. Molly tucked the paintbrush behind one freckled ear and flopped onto the couch. Sierra sat down next to her and sipped her Merlot.

“So,” Molly inquired, “Other than that, how’d it go?”

Sierra preceded to regale her with the morning’s disastrous events.

“But you haven’t told me the most important part,” Molly interjected.

“Which is?”

Molly grinned.

“Is he as hot in person as he is on TV?”

Sierra scowled.

“What he is, is arrogant. And cagey.”

Molly just stared in anticipation.

“Yes!” Sierra exclaimed in exasperation. “He’s gorgeous! If you’re into slimy politicians.”

“I knew it!” Molly said gleefully, snatching up her wine again. “I bet he’s got really thick curly hair on his chest that just makes you want to run your fingers though it and pull till he begs for mercy.”

“Molly, sweetie, you really should cut back on your wine consumption.”

Molly shrugged. “Sobriety brings only crappy, over-analyzed art. And awkward social interactions.”

“Right.” Sierra replied. “Because listening to you rhapsodize about Governor Joe’s hypothetical chest hair is not at all awkward.”

“He really is up to no good, huh?”

“He is definitely up to no good.” Sierra assured her. “I just don’t know how, or why, or have any definitive proof yet.”

“So how are you gonna get him?” Molly asked.

Sierra slumped on the couch.

“I don’t know.” She confessed. “I don’t have a next move yet.”

“Well,” Molly said as she poured herself and Sierra some more wine, “If you spend any more money on bribes you won’t be able to afford your half of the rent. And then I’ll have to cover you, and then I won’t have any money left to buy wine and over-priced brushes. And no one wants that.”

“Heaven forbid.”

“I think that leaves you with either s****l favors or stalking.”

Molly grinned at her mischievously.

“What else did you read on his calendar?”

“Molly! Wake up!”

Molly opened one eye and glared up at Sierra.

“It’s still dark. What’s wrong with you?” she grumbled and as she rolled over and shut her eyes again.

“Please wake up. Look! I made you breakfast.” Sierra said in the most appealing tone she could manage.

Molly snorted.

“You made breakfast?”

“Okay, I went down the street for cinnamon rolls.”

“Do those cinnamon rolls have cream cheese icing?”

“Of course.”

“No raisins?”

“No raisins.”

“There better be coffee.”

“Triple white chocolate macchiato, extra foam.”

Molly opened her eyes.

“Alright. You have my attention. What are we doing?”

Sierra smiled.

“Like you said. Stalking.”

An hour and three shots of espresso later, Sierra pulled her blue Prius to a stop a block away from the Governor’s mansion. The sun was just barely starting to illuminate the street.

“So what’s he doing today?” Molly asked.

“Nothing.” Sierra replied with a smile.

“Oh.” Molly said. “I thought the point of stealing his schedule was to know where he will be. I must have gotten confused somewhere.”

“It’s too obvious.” Sierra replied. “His schedule is full of innocuous appointments and meetings. Except today. Today is a Tuesday and his schedule is entirely blank.”

“I don’t suppose he’s just on a Netflix binge?”

“No.” Sierra said as she continued to stare intently through the windshield. “Today he’s doing something he doesn’t even want his secretary to know about.”

By the second hour Molly was snoring softly, but Sierra couldn’t have been more awake. Her mind buzzed with possibilities and visions of wiping that plastic smile off of Joe’s face.

Sierra had done alright for herself at The Post. Getting hired by a major newspaper at the age of 22 had been no small accomplishment. But three years later she couldn’t help but feel her career had gone stagnant. Her bosses were happy with her work. She was making enough money to get by. But the serious journalism work still eluded her. Sierra could not bring herself to write one more word on the latest Marvel blockbuster or who Jennifer Lawrence was dating. There was no excitement, and no challenge in any of that.

She was bored.

On her weekly phone calls from back home in Visalia, Sierra’s mother always insisted that what was missing in her life was a man. Molly, being much more comfortable with the notion of being married to her work, insisted that what Sierra needed was a good lay.

Sierra smiled to herself. Well, if all went according to plan, she could tell her mother that there was a man in her life. She could tell Molly that she had found someone to screw, or at least screw over.

What Sierra needed was a good story. And if Governor Joe was hiding even half as much as she thought he was, she was about to be anything but bored.

The gates outside the mansion wheeled open and the Governor’s black Range Rover pulled out of the driveway. Sierra was still fumbling to start her car the when the Range Rover slipped around the corner. Cursing loud enough to startle Molly awake, the engine finally kicked over and she shot off after him.

As she rounded the corner she was flooded with relief that his car was still in sight. She tried her best to stay a few cars behind him, hoping that he didn’t notice her. This was Olympia. There must have been at least three other Prius models on the road at any given moment, so that helped. She let herself slip just a little further behind as he pulled onto the highway.

“You’re going to lose him!” Molly protested.

“No I won’t.”

And she felt confident about that. Adrenaline coursing through her veins, she was not only sure she could follow him successfully, but that she was following him somewhere important. Every instinct told her he was going somewhere he didn’t want anyone to know about.

But as they kept driving, she lost all theories on where, or what, that destination could possibly be. The further they drove, the less populated the area became. They left the city, then the suburbs, then wound their way onto a back road with nothing but dense trees on either side. It was the kind of road where the tree branches on either side touched, creating a canopy filled with dark green filtered light. Time lost meaning, the shadows giving the perception of night.

“New theory.” Molly piped in after some time. “He knows we’re following him, and he’s leading us into the woods to bludgeon us to death and feed our bodies to the bears.”

“We are not going to be bear food,” Sierra insisted, but privately, she was getting nervous about the surroundings. There were no cars on the road anymore besides hers and the Governor’s. Though she was trying to stay as far back as she could, surely he must have noticed her by now.

“I am not dying for your story, Sierra.” Molly said adamantly. “I’m not allowed to die until I have a painting at The Met. We can go chase shady politicians through the woods after that.”

“I have my gun.” Sierra offered.

“You have a pea shooter.” Molly objected. “I’d feel better if you’d brought a shotgun.”

The Range Rover was at least 200 feet ahead of them, as far as Sierra dared to let it get without it slipping out of her sight. It went over the crest of a hill and disappeared from view. Sierra went up after him.

.

The Range Rover was gone.

“s**t!” Sierra exclaimed, looking around wildly. “Where did he go?”

She slammed on her brakes and turned the car around. The Prius pivoted easily on the narrow, two lane road. Slowly, she backtracked, trying to see where he could have gone. Then she spotted it. Just over the side of the hill a single-lane dirt road cut through the trees. Sierra stopped in front of it.

“Well,” Molly reasoned, “Maybe tomorrow you could come back with a rental truck.”

Sierra just kept staring at the road.

“No.” Molly said, sensing her determination. “You are not even thinking about this. This is a hybrid.” She emphasized every syllable of the word, as if Sierra needed reminding. “I’m fairly certain if you popped the hood you’d find a hamster on a wheel powering this thing. It doesn’t go off road.”

“That’s a road.” Sierra reasoned.

“No, that’s a mud bog.”

Sierra tried, and failed, to listen to reason. Visions of her byline on the front page flashed before her eyes.

“I’m not letting him get away.” she said firmly, as she turned onto the road in pursuit.

“s**t,” Molly sighed with ominous resignation. She grabbed on to the Jesus bar as the car lurched.

Sierra bounced in her seat and pumped the gas pedal, hearing the familiar electronic whir of the engine as it tried to keep up. Tree branches whipped past them, no doubt scratching up the glitter finish paint job. The road wound around several corners and foliage so dense Sierra flipped on the headlights. A blind corner lead into an enormous puddle. With an almighty lurch and a terrible bang the Prius sunk into the mud and stopped.

“No, no, no!” Sierra protested. Molly groaned dramatically and leaned back in her seat. Sierra frantically gunned the engine. The tires spun, splattering mud out around them and the car remained obstinately fixed in place. Sierra stared out the windshield in frustration. He was out there, just out of her reach.

She climbed out of the car, sinking one high-heeled foot into the mud. When she lifted her foot again the shoe did not come with it, vanishing completely into the murky soil. Cursing, she pressed on, to the back of the car, wearing only one shoe and feeling the mud squish between her toes.

Molly hopped out of the passenger side, her usual sneakers holding up to the hybrid-eating mud much better than Sierra’s heels had.

Sierra tried in vain to push on the back of the car.

“You killed the hamster. And now we’re going to be bear food.” Molly announced.

“That is not helpful.” Sierra said. She pulled out her cell phone. No service. Perfect.

Molly sighed as Sierra continued to push.

“Ok,” Molly said, “Give me your gun.”

“Why?”

“Because I, with the practical shoes, am going to walk that way,” she pointed back towards the only somewhat distant paved road, “until I find some cell phone coverage. You can go dig in the mud for your heels, and if the bears show up, lock yourself in the car.”

Conceding that this was a good plan, Sierra watched Molly hike away down the dirt road.

She trudged her way back to the open driver’s side door and bent over the puddle. With some reservation, she reached her manicured hand in and felt around wildly for her vanished shoe. Her fingers seized on it, but the mud held it in a vice grip almost as tight as it held the Prius. Reaching in with both hands now, she tugged on the shoe as hard as she could. The shoe ripped suddenly free, throwing her off balance as she teetered on one heel. She fell backwards into the mud puddle, landing on her ass with a splash, still grasping the shoe. Now covered in muck, thoroughly disappointed, and cold, she started trying to get up.

That was when deep voiced laughter greeted her ears. She looked up.

Governor Joe was standing in front of her.