by B. J Daniels
But she also couldn’t let him quit the race because if she did, The Prophecy would go after their daughters. She looked into his handsome face and felt a little piece of her heart break and fall away like a stone. He sounded so determined. He even looked a little relieved when he’d first said the words.
But now, the finality of it seemed to be sinking in. She could see disappointment in his eyes. Buck wanted the presidency. He’d worked hard for years for it. That he would give it up for her—
“You can’t quit,” she said, seeing how it would destroy him. And ultimately, destroy them. Even if The Prophecy had never existed, she couldn’t let him quit. She would always be the reason that he backed out of the race. She thought of her father-in-law, Senator JD Hamilton, and how the women in his life had destroyed not just his career, but his life. A part of him was already dead before his vehicle went off the road that night.
“I wish I’d never said I would run,” Buck said, sounding defeated already.
Her emotions fought each other. If he became president, could she stop The Prophecy from whatever was planned? If he didn’t stay in the race, could she stop the group from going after her family?
“You did run, you won the primaries, you’re going to be our next president. I won’t let you pull out of the race,” she said adamantly as she stood to face him.
He smiled sadly up at her. “Nor can you stop me.”
“Buck—”
“No,” he said, standing up to take her shoulders in his big hands. She was small next to him. Of course he wouldn’t suspect that she could be a danger to him. “I don’t want to talk about this anymore. We still have champagne left. I’m going to have another glass and celebrate our engagement.”
She wanted to argue, but she could see she wouldn’t get anywhere with him tonight. “I’ll get our glasses.”
“Nope, you just sit right here and let me.” He kissed her, his gaze locking with hers. “I love you, Sarah. You’ll see. Everything is going to be all right.”
* * *
BUCKMASTER TOOK THE bottle of chilled champagne into the kitchen of the house where Sarah had been staying since his second wife’s death. He’d wanted to move Sarah into the main house right away, but he couldn’t because of the media. They would have destroyed him in the press.
So he’d waited. Now months after Angelina’s death, he couldn’t wait any longer to make Sarah his wife again. He felt good about the engagement. He’d even felt relieved when he’d said he’d quit. At least for a few moments.
Now, though, in the old farmhouse kitchen, he felt both relief and defeat. For so long his goal had been the presidency that he felt a little lost at the thought of pulling out so late in the race. The Republican party committee would be furious with him. He was their best hope of winning against the top Democratic candidate.
He found the drinking glasses he’d used earlier and thought of all the beautiful crystal at the main house. Angelina had liked pretty expensive things. If Sarah wanted to, she could get rid of it at a garage sale for all he cared. Just as long as she was happy.
Working the cork out of the champagne, he started to pour when he noticed a tie balled up in the corner of the kitchen counter. He didn’t remember leaving a tie here.
Putting down the bottle, he picked up the end of the tie. It unfurled like a snake coming out of a den. He held it with two fingers, staring at the design, knowing it wasn’t his from the moment he’d spotted it.
So whose tie was it? Not Sarah’s former fiancé, Russell Murdock. Murdock was a rancher. He doubted the man even owned a tie.
Bringing the cloth to his nose, he sniffed it and quickly held it away from him. Spearmint. He tossed the tie back into the corner as if it really was a snake he wished he hadn’t bothered.
Ask Sarah about it.
And ruin the evening?
He shook his head as he went back to the champagne bottle and finished pouring. She would have a good explanation for it, he told himself, even though he couldn’t for the life of him think of one.
It doesn’t matter. Sarah was going to be his wife. He wasn’t going to have any misgivings about her past, not even a recent one. He was going to trust her and...
Swearing under his breath, he picked up the two glasses and walked back into the bedroom. She was sitting where he’d left her. She looked up as she heard him approach, but he’d seen her expression seconds before that.
She’d been frowning and now quickly pocketed her cell phone. Had she texted someone? Or had someone texted her?
“Champagne,” he said with more cheer than he felt. He handed her a glass and touched his glass to hers with a clink. “To us.”
CHAPTER TEN
TOM DURAND CURSED into the burner cell phone. “Did he say he was pulling out of the race?”
“Not yet, but I can tell he’s definitely leaning that way,” Buck’s campaign manager, Jerrod Williston, said. “I sent him home to Montana. I hope you’re right about Sarah being able to convince him not to. He seems to think that the reason she is holding him at arm’s length is because she doesn’t want to be a First Lady.”
Damn Sarah. He feared they couldn’t depend on Sarah, no matter what Dr. Venable said. If anything, he feared she would try to get the senator to quit the race, thinking she could foil the plan. No wonder Joe had ordered Cassidy Hamilton’s abduction. He didn’t have any faith in Dr. Venable or Sarah either.
But what would Joe do when he heard that Cassidy had slipped the net—and Tom’s own son was behind it? His stomach roiled. He reached into his pocket for his antacids.
Once he had Cassidy... His son had screwed up things, but he still had faith that Ed would find both the girl and Jack. But if Ed and his boys didn’t find her soon, they could always grab one of the other sisters. Cassidy had been the obvious choice because she was the most vulnerable. He’d had someone tracking her for a while now. Being single and way too trusting and gallivanting all over the globe made her an easy mark.
Getting her to Houston had been child’s play. Like right now, she was no doubt trusting his son. Tom swore at the thought, but assured himself it would all be sorted out soon. Hopefully, soon enough.
“I just don’t want him going to the press before we can stop him,” the campaign manager said.
That was Tom’s fear. Buckmaster had been wavering according to inside sources for some time. That was why Joe had ordered the abduction. But then Ed had blown it. No, he thought with another curse, his son had decided to play hero. How, though, had Jack even gotten involved?
He scrubbed a hand over his face and then let out a curse. The cemetery! Why the hell had he picked it for a meeting with Ed? It was private with no video surveillance, isolated with lots of trees and if anyone saw him, he’d have the perfect cover since his wife was buried there.
Jack must have seen him. Must have witnessed the money exchange. He cursed his bad luck. What was Jack doing there anyway? He was supposed to be at the ranch.
“You just do your part on your end,” he told Jerrod now, anxious to get off the phone. “Don’t let him announce anything for forty-eight hours. Tell Joe that I’ll make sure the senator stays in the race.” He disconnected and put away the phone.
Pulling out his usual cell phone, he called his son. The phone rang only once before going to voice mail. “We need to talk,” he said through gritted teeth. “Call me.” He disconnected before he said more than he had intended.
He tried to imagine what Jack would do now as he poured himself a stiff drink and wandered to the window of his penthouse suite in his high-rise condo that overlooked downtown Houston. Jack hadn’t gone to the police, or Tom would have known about it by now.
So where was Jack, he wondered as he sat down to enjoy the view he’d paid a fortune for. The booze would play hell with his stomach, but he d
idn’t care. He needed a drink desperately.
Where was Cassidy Hamilton? He had no clue. Unfortunately, Jack had taken after his mother. Tom had never understood his son, so it was hard now to conceive of what he would do next.
What had Jack thought of the contents of the box he’d taken from the locked desk drawer? Given what was inside, he imagined that his son had been righteously appalled. Jack had never had any idea what his father was capable of, but he did now. So what would Jack do?
The realization came out of nowhere like a bullet. Spilling his drink, he shot to his feet with a curse. The safe-deposit box! Jack had the key.
* * *
ED URDAHL’S PHONE vibrated in his pocket. He’d been staking out the ranch, waiting for Jack to return. In the perfect scenario, Jack would return, the girl with him and this would be over quickly.
But so far all Ed had done was swat mosquitoes and sweat in the summer heat. At some point he’d fallen asleep, only to wake to the sun shining in his car window.
“What?” he asked petulantly into the phone without checking to see who was calling.
“That’s what I’d like to know,” Tom Durand snapped, making him sit up straighter.
“Sorry, it’s hot out here and the damned mosquitoes—”
“If you hadn’t blown it in the first place, you would be home in bed,” his boss interrupted. “Where are you?”
“At the ranch. He didn’t come home.”
“He’s not stupid.”
Ed wanted to say he hadn’t been able to think of any other place Jack might have gone last night after the break-in at the office, but Durand didn’t give him a chance.
“I need you back in the city. I think Jack is headed for my bank, if he isn’t there already.” He rattled off the name of the bank. “Don’t try to apprehend them there. Follow them and wait for a less public place. I assume you know what to do once that happens.”
Picking up the gun from the opposite seat, Ed said, “I can handle it. But what if your son—”
“Do whatever you have to do to get the girl.”
“Even if it means killing Jack?” He was no bleeding heart. His ex-wife told him he lacked compassion for other people. But he still wouldn’t tell someone to kill a son of his—even if he didn’t like the kid.
“Just get the girl,” Durand snapped again. “Let me know when you have her. I’ll deal with Jack.”
With that, the line went dead, leaving Ed shaking his head. “What is wrong with this world anymore?” he muttered to himself as he disconnected, started his car and headed for downtown Houston.
* * *
EVEN AFTER JACK had released Cassidy’s arm, he’d been half-afraid she would try to run. He could see in her eyes that she was now wary of him. He couldn’t blame her. He’d lied to her. If he’d been in her shoes, he would have wanted to get as far away from him as he could.
While she’d finally agreed to go with him, he knew she could take off at any point. He glanced over at her now as he drove. She had her head turned facing out the side window. He caught glimpses of her reflection and tried to read her expression. Was she having second thoughts? Was she planning to jump out once they reached a more hospitable part of the city? Or was she, like him, trying to make sense of all this?
“Our parents knew each other,” she said, turning to look at him.
“So it seems.” He recalled one of the photos. Sarah Hamilton had appeared to be with the man on the other side of her from Jack’s father. But how well had his father known her? Had they been in touch all these years? Was Cassidy’s mother in on this abduction?
“Do you think they’re behind this now?” she asked, as if her thoughts had taken the same path as his.
He shrugged. “I’m hoping whatever is in the safe-deposit box will give us a clue. All I know is that apparently my father changed his name to Tom Durand and kept his other life a secret all these years.”
“You don’t think your mother knew?”
“No.” He let out a laugh. “Trust me, my mother would have never stayed with him if she’d known.” He drove aimlessly around Houston, waiting for the bank to open, his thoughts a maze with no way out.
“There is no way my father knows either.” Cassidy turned her face away again. He could tell she was scared. He knew the feeling.
His father’s bank was a large branch in downtown Houston. He was hoping that meant that Tom Durand wasn’t that well-known there. It would make it easier for them to get into the safe-deposit box.
Moments before it opened, he parked in the lot behind the bank and got out. Cassidy followed just as quickly. He could tell she wanted to get this over with. Then what? Jack suspected she planned to split on him and swore softly under his breath at the thought. Now that he knew how deceitful his father could be, he wouldn’t put anything past him. Who knew what resources Tom Durand had through the anarchist group or what he would do now to stop his son—and Cassidy.
“Just act nonchalant once we get in here, okay?” he said, seeing how nervous Cassidy looked.
She nodded, lifted her chin and let out a breath. When she turned to face him, she looked cool and calm. He envied her ability to do that. But then again, she was Senator Buckmaster Hamilton’s daughter. It wasn’t her first rodeo being in the limelight and having to play a role.
They found the clerk who handled the safe-deposit boxes. “I’d like to get into my box, please,” he said to her, brandishing the key and holding his breath. If she knew his father—
But she hardly looked at him as she shoved a ledger toward him. “Sign here.”
In high school, he’d been adept at forging his father’s signature on everything from report cards to absence notes. He picked up the pen and glanced at his father’s signature from the last time he’d been here. Jack signed, noting the date. His father had opened the box a little over a year ago—the same month Cassidy’s mother had returned from the dead, he realized with a start.
The clerk glanced at his signature before retrieving a second key and leading them back into a large room full of shiny security deposit boxes. She found the one she was looking for, a large one, inserted the key and reached for his key.
Jack watched as she inserted his key, turned it and, after pulling out the box, handed both the container and his key to him.
“There is a room over there if you want privacy. Replace the box when you’re finished. It will automatically lock.” With that she left.
“Privacy,” Cassidy whispered after the woman had gone. Jack nodded and led her into the room and closed the door. Her gaze went to the ceiling. “No cameras. You don’t think they can hear us, do you?”
“I don’t think so.” She was as paranoid as he felt. He put the box down. It was heavier than he’d anticipated. Apparently, whatever his father had hidden in here wasn’t snapshots and old newspaper clippings.
After a glance at Cassidy, he opened the lid and heard her gasp.
* * *
JERROD WILLISTON GOT the call he’d been fearing not long after he’d hung up with Tom Durand.
“I need to talk to the Republican campaign committee. I’m going to pull out of the race,” Senator Buckmaster Hamilton said.
“You can’t do that.” It was the first words that came to his lips.
“Of course I can. We’ll announce that I’m withdrawing for personal reasons.”
“Sarah.” Jerrod swore.
“We’re getting married. She has no interest in being First Lady and she’s been through enough. I’m doing this for my family.”
“What happened to your need to help your country?”
“I will still help my country any way I can, but I need to take care of my family first,” Buck said irritably. “I don’t expect you to understand.”
Jerrod understood t
oo well. “All right,” he conceded. “But give me a couple of days before we make the announcement. Can you do that?”
“If this is merely a stall tactic on your part—”
“It’s not. There are things that have to be done. People on your campaign are now going to be out of work.”
“Yourself included.”
He held back a retort. “Don’t worry about me. I’ll be fine.”
“I’m sure you will. Forty-eight hours. That’s all you get.” Buck hung up.
Jerrod stared at the phone a moment before he disconnected. He’d been expecting this and yet it still made him weak with worry. Joe would be furious.
He quickly made the call. “Buck’s bailing just as I feared. He said he’d wait forty-eight hours but I wouldn’t bet on that. He sounds way too determined to get it over with. I need to call Joe.”
“No.” Durand let out a string of curses before he calmed down and said, “I have it under control. The senator will not be leaving the race.”
* * *
“ARE THOSE THOUSAND dollar bills?” Cassidy asked in a whisper.
There appeared to be stacks of them. Jack stared down at the contents of his father’s security deposit box. He picked up a rubber-banded pile of papers that had shifted to one side of the bills. There were a half-dozen bank books with offshore accounts, the balances astounding. No way had his father’s business made this kind of profit.
Jack felt a tremor move through him. What had the man calling himself Tom Durand being doing all these years to accumulate this kind of wealth?
In the stack of papers, he also found a half-dozen passports. He flipped several of them open. Each had a photograph of his father, each had a different name.
“What do we do now?” Cassidy asked, still in a whisper.
It seemed clear enough. “Apparently, my father thinks he might have to leave the country,” Jack said as he looked through the rest of the passports. And soon. All of the passports were up-to-date—all issued a little over a year ago. Again about the same time that Cassidy’s mother had returned to Montana after everyone thought she’d been dead for twenty-two years.
