On that August primary election Tuesday, we’re in the same Tampa hotel where we always rent space to hold our election night parties. We haven’t rented the ballroom, but we took over a decent-sized banquet area and are watching the returns roll in with our campaign staff and volunteers. We only have a few paid campaign staffers right now besides Carter, but will be adding more as we gear up for the general election.
We’ve also rented a suite upstairs for ourselves for later, just like we have for every election night.
Our private celebration.
As the polls close at seven in most of the state—the western panhandle is in a different time zone and closes at eight Eastern time—I stand in front of the computer monitor where Carter’s deputy campaign manager, Draymond, sits at his laptop and refreshes the state election results page every few minutes. He hasn’t told Dray or Susa yet, just me, but Carter plans on tapping Dray to be Susa’s chief of staff if we win the general election.
While Carter is reasonably certain of our chances, he doesn’t want to jinx us, either.
By eleven o’clock, it’s obvious that come tomorrow morning, my polling numbers for this primary election will be shocking a lot of professional campaign wonks who weren’t paying close enough attention before. We also had heavier than normal turn-out for a primary. Provisional, absentee, military, and overseas ballots remain to be counted, but as it stands now, I drew in more votes than any single GOP candidate.
Farmore.
In fact, discounting the voters who voted for the other Independent and third-party candidates, I could very well have won last night if it was a general election.
The two GOP frontrunners will be locked in a recount, but their votes combined don’t equal what I pulled in. Since we’re a closed primary state, it’s impossible to know exactly how many people would have crossed party lines to vote for me in a general election. Looking back at my numbers when I ran for the state senate, we have reason to believe those numbers will be considerable.
Carter nods as he stares at the screen while people all around us are congratulating me. He and I had a private deal—if my numbers were grossly disappointing, I would drop out and make a run for state rep, then revisit a gubernatorial run at a later time.
Now…I can’t.
We’re too damn close.
Susa wears a beaming smile, full dimple, as she talks with her father.
That seals my fate.
We’re doing this.
We’rereallydoing this.
All I have to do is not fuck this up between now and November.
Chapter Forty-Two
As August bleeds into September and my two main opponents start taking aim at me as well as each other, my work load doubles. I’m trying to help ram a bill through committee to increase STEM program funding for our high schools, and my campaigning is two-fold—trying to put pressure on my fellow lawmakers via stoking support with parents and teachers, as well as trying to campaign for governor.
Late on a Friday morning, Senator Taylor has a scheduled televised appearance at a high school in Brandon. Gubernatorial Candidate Taylor will be holding a town hall immediately after just three blocks away, where we’ve invited teachers and parents and students to attend. It’s a magnificent bit of schedule juggling on Carter’s part, because it means we’ll be home, in Tampa, for the entire weekend. Susa will be joining us later tonight, when she drives in from Tallahassee.
We’ve just finished the first part of the school appearance, a Q&A session with students in the auditorium, and Carter and I duck into a bathroom on our way to the school’s office.
I need a minute to breathe.
It’s between classes and just before lunch, and the hallways are almost completely empty as we head to the office area where we’re supposed to meet up with the principal. The school is newer, and the office is situated across the large main entry hall from the lunchroom area. We’ve just stepped inside the glass-walled main office when I hear something I think is a firecracker go off nearby.
Next thing I know, I’m on the floor with Carter on top of me. He’s screaming for everyone to get down and literally drags me around the end of the desk and behind it as I hear more of the sounds and belatedly realize it’s not firecrackers.
It’s gunfire.
The office workers are screaming, and the school resource officer, an armed deputy, comes running out of an office down the hall behind the desk.
“What the hell’s going—”
I am not too ashamed to admit I am one of the ones screaming when another shot rings out and takes the back of the deputy’s head off. He slumps to the floor with a sickening, wet thud.
Carter climbs off me, checks the deputy’s carotid pulse, and then crawls to another woman writhing and moaning on the floor. He drags her completely behind the desk and rips her blouse open to expose a belly wound.
Carter looks around and points me at the hallway. “Go! Stay down! Get in an office.”
