by B. J Daniels
She locked eyes with the woman in the mirror. Everything she’d learned about herself since Dr. Venable had been restoring her memory indicated that she’d been strong, determined, capable. So why didn’t she feel that way now?
The answer was as clear as her face. Since her return almost two years ago, she’d been just letting things happen, waiting for the other shoe to drop. She’d depended too much on Russell. Now she had to take things into her own hands—no matter the consequences.
Turning from the mirror, she dug her phone out of her pocket, and hesitating only a moment, she called Martin Wagner’s number, the secret number she’d gotten from him when his son and her daughter were in trouble.
She had met Martin Wagner her freshman year in college when the two of them were members of the anarchist group The Prophecy. He now went by Tom Durand, a successful businessman and, by all appearances, had put that part of his life behind him.
But she knew he was still involved up to his neck with The Prophecy. She suspected he provided the money that kept the anarchist group going.
Sarah was surprised when Martin took her call.
“Do you have any idea what time it is in Houston? Why are you calling me?” he snapped when he picked up.
“How can I find Joe?” she asked without preamble. It had been Joe who’d brought her into the group with his passion, his charm and his good looks. She’d been young, naive and ripe for the picking.
“I have to stop him.”
Martin chuckled, and she heard the clink of ice against crystal. He hadn’t been able to sleep either. “You try to stop him and he’ll find you.”
Fear paralyzed her at the thought of coming face-to-face with the man who was once her lover as well as her coconspirator. But that wasn’t what terrified her the most. She wasn’t just playing Russian roulette with her own life; there were her daughters and her husband to think about.
“Change your mind?” Martin asked with a chuckle. The ice cubes clinked, and she heard fatigue in his voice when he spoke again. “He won’t hesitate to kill anyone who gets in his way. You should know that by now.”
“That’s why he can’t know I’m coming until it’s too late.” She knew the risk she was taking, but she wanted to feel anything but helpless right now.
“You have no idea what you’re suggesting.”
“I do,” she interrupted. “He’ll kill us if he finds out, but isn’t that better than continuing to go along with this?” When he didn’t answer she said, “I need to know what he has planned.”
“You’re talking to the wrong person.”
“Doc says he doesn’t know either. I’m assuming that you’ve provided the money for whatever Joe has been doing all these years. Doc was with me in Brazil. So, what did you fund during the years I was...gone?”
She heard bitterness in his voice when he spoke. “A bombing somewhere in the world, an assassination, a group overthrown, another group armed.”
“The Prophecy has been that active?” She wanted to believe that the group no longer had any power. That hope was now gone. If Joe really had managed all of those things, then The Prophecy was alive and well. If Joe was telling Martin the truth. “Then, why has it been years since anyone has even heard of The Prophecy?”
Martin sighed. She heard a chair creak as he relaxed into it. “I think he’s waiting to make one big show, and then he will take credit for the rest of it. But that’s just a theory.”
Sarah thought about what she’d learned so far. “That big show has something to do with my husband and the election, doesn’t it?” When Martin said nothing, she knew she was right. “How can we stop him?”
“No one can stop him. The election is only days away.”
“What happens then?” Silence. “Martin, you have to help me stop Joe.”
He sighed. “I already told you nothing can stop him. Don’t you get it? None of this is like it was in 1979. We were kids playing at rebellion back then. Today’s counterrevolutionaries are trained with the most modern weapons and explosives. They can do so much more damage than we ever dreamed possible.”
“That’s why he has to be stopped. We were idealists, no matter how misguided we were. Whoever Joe has working with him, they’re terrorists.”
Martin fell silent. Was she getting through to him?
“You don’t want this any more than I do.”
“Maybe, but I’m not going to help you. What you’re asking is suicide. If Joe found out that we were even talking like this— I have to go. Sarah, I don’t know what he has planned, but it’s too late. There is no stopping it.”
“There has to be a way. This big event Joe has planned? Have you already sent funding for it?” No answer. “I can understand why you started funding our original cause, but not anymore.” Still nothing. If she hadn’t heard him breathing, she might have thought he’d hung up.
“Joe needs money to send to these...recruits,” she continued, having given this some thought. “Without the money, they can’t buy vehicles, weapons, explosives or fund the plan. Are you the only one who has been funding The Prophecy movement all these years?”
“No. That’s why your plan won’t work. A while back, Joe was bragging about how he had money coming in from places that no one would suspect.”
Sarah felt deflated. Maybe he was right, and there was no stopping Joe and what he had planned. But she couldn’t give up. “What kind of places?”
“He mentioned that he was getting money from lots of sources—drugs, money laundering, offshore enterprises, even a video production company.”
That caught her attention. Ainsley was working for a company making a commercial. “Did he mention the name of the company?”
“Right. Joe and I are that close that he tells me everything. I got the impression it is just some small, fly-by-night company that made its real money on something other than commercials.”
Sarah told herself there was little chance that the company was the same one that Ainsley was working on, and yet it would be just like Joe to see that Ainsley got hired on his video production company. Another way for him to control her family.
“He laughed and asked me the strangest thing. He said, ‘When was the last time you went on a carnival ride, Martin?’”
“What does that mean?”
“I have no idea. Maybe it was just his way of telling me to keep my nose out of his financial business or I could find myself on some unfortunate Ferris wheel accident.”
Which was why she had to stop Joe. None of them were safe, not to mention the rest of the world, as long as Joe was The Prophecy. “How did you send him the money?” she asked. “If we can track it...”
“Sarah, use your head. The moment he finds out what you’re doing—”
“That’s why I have to move fast and pray that he’s busy with his big plan and won’t notice until it is too late. Have you already sent the money?”
“I have another shipment scheduled. Sarah, if he doesn’t get that money—”
“What if it is all a lie? What if he is putting that money away for himself and his escape? But if he’s planning on the money you’re supposed to send and it doesn’t come, then it might make a difference.”
“Stop! I’m sorry, but you really don’t realize who you’re dealing with, Sarah.”
“Have you forgotten? Joe was my lover.”
“What is it they say about a lover spurned? Trust me, he isn’t the same man you used to know. I can’t help you.”
“You mean you won’t.”
“Good night, Sarah. Please. Don’t call me again. Whatever Joe is planning, you can’t stop it. None of us can.”
* * *
BEFORE ANYONE ELSE got to the office the next morning, Sheriff Frank Curry finished typing up his resignation letter, double-checked i
t for any typos and then printed it. As he waited, he ran his thumb and forefinger down the length of his gunfighter mustache. This morning in the mirror, he’d noticed how gray it had become. Just like his thick head of hair, there was more gray than blond anymore.
It seemed to have happened overnight. He wondered sometimes how he’d gotten this old. The printer stopped. Getting up, he walked over to it, took the letter and reread it. The letter was short and to the point. He was done.
The thought gave him a start. He’d loved this job, worked hard at it for so many years... But it was time to move on. Swallowing the lump that had formed in his throat, he walked back to the table and carefully folded the letter and tucked it into the envelope.
Sealing it, he placed it in his drawer. The letter was postdated for the day after the election. Hell, if what he feared came true, he would be dead, and there would be no need for the letter.
But he’d promised himself that he’d see it through until then. In his heart, he feared the day after Buckmaster Hamilton was elected would be a dark one. But unless he could stop what he suspected from happening...
Either way, he wouldn’t be sheriff after election night.
* * *
IN THE LIGHT of day, Sawyer was even more worried about Ainsley, given the note he’d found on his door last night.
Leave Ainsley alone. She deserves better than some two-bit cowboy. You ruin her, and I will take care of you—and her.
This morning all he could think about was finding Lance and ending this. But so far, he hadn’t been able to locate the man.
Lance’s quick exit from the café parking lot the night before made Sawyer all the more convinced that he was Ainsley’s stalker. He wasn’t sure exactly what he planned to do when he met up with the security guard. He could always threaten him with arrest since it wouldn’t take much to match Lance’s handwriting to the notes—if not his fingerprints.
He also wanted to see Ainsley, but hadn’t been able to find her either. What had happened last night—and hadn’t happened—had been on his mind all day. He’d berated himself for handling it so badly. But he’d been so surprised—and yet, in retrospect, not surprised. Hadn’t she said that she’d missed out on a lot, given that she’d always been the good girl?
But hearing her say it had stopped him, no doubt about it. Mostly, it had brought him to his senses. He’d come here to help her, not... On top of that, he was lying to the woman by omission. Worse, what had happened between them had rocked his world in a way he hadn’t expected. He’d made it to thirty-eight without getting attached because he hadn’t met anyone who even tempted him to ask her to move in—let alone propose. Then last night—
As he passed the kitchen, he decided to stop for breakfast in the hopes that Roderick would show up. Or Ainsley.
“We really have to quit meeting like this,” Kitzie joked when she joined him at the table. “We need to talk,” she said under her breath.
“Yes, we do,” he said and gave her his sweetest smile. He still wanted to strangle her for the red-dress incident.
She ate in silence for a few minutes, as if realizing she wasn’t the only one upset today. “How was dinner last night?” So like Kitzie to address the elephant in the room.
“Actually, it was wonderful.”
“So, you liked the dress,” she said, without looking at him.
“Actually, I hate the dress.”
She seemed to flinch at his words. It had been a cruel trick, and she knew it. “Bad memories?”
He didn’t bother to answer as he got up to take his plate to the back of the kitchen where her two teenagers were working. Kitzie followed him, and the two left the hotel.
“We should go to my cabin,” she said.
He shook his head. “I want to walk.” He turned toward the carnival rides. They looked even more dilapidated in the morning light.
“If you think I’m going to thank you for butting in last night,” she said as they walked, “I happened to be waiting for LeRoy.”
“I gathered that. But I don’t think you would have been as happy to see who was following LeRoy with a baseball bat.”
Her gaze shot to his. “Who?”
“I didn’t get a good look at him, but the way he was following LeRoy—along with the bat—I think you owe me a thank-you.”
She looked away. “Thanks.”
He said nothing as they left the hotel behind and wandered through the rusting carnival equipment. She was only making this harder for him. The worst part was that she seemed to be enjoying messing with Ainsley. Kitzie was also something else he was keeping from Ainsley, another reason last night couldn’t have happened until Ainsley knew everything.
He stopped next to the Tilt-A-Whirl.
Kitzie met his gaze. She looked regretful for a moment. “I’m sorry about the dress. But this is important. I think it’s time you knew what was going on.”
Sawyer didn’t want to know, but at the same time Kitzie was here undercover. He couldn’t leave another agent hung out to dry. If he could help with her assignment... Also the lawman in him was curious about LeRoy and the other man he’d seen last night.
“Not out here,” she said, glancing toward the east. He followed her gaze to see a lone figure sitting on one of the rides as if waiting for the crew to appear. Neither of them had noticed him before then. It was that damned delivery guy with his hat on backward. He rose as he saw some of the crew members come out of the hotel and head in his direction. There was a hopeful expression on his face as if he thought he was about to break into the movies via this ragtag group.
“If you’re afraid of what will happen if you come to my cabin—”
“Let’s just make this quick,” he said, turning back toward the cabins.
“Quick is good,” she said, letting the sexual innuendo hang in the air as if she just couldn’t help herself.
* * *
KITZIE OPENED HER cabin door, glancing back to see Sawyer following in long strides. The man moved like a mountain lion, all purpose, all predator. Her heart ached. She had the horrible feeling that she would never get over him, and she had only herself to blame for losing him.
Past him, she caught a glimpse of Ainsley Hamilton watching the two of them and smiled to herself. Sawyer stepped into the cabin behind her and closed the door.
She took a moment to catch her breath. Earlier she’d been so angry with Sawyer that she’d forgotten about the red dress. That had been dirty, she thought, and couldn’t help but smile. She’d wanted to ruin his evening by reminding him of her. She hadn’t wanted to remind him of their last fight, though.
Now she turned to face him. He was such a cowboy, such a man with his long legs clad in denim, his broad shoulders stretching the fabric of his Western shirt, his black Stetson cocked back to reveal a head of thick dark hair.
She just couldn’t win for losing when it came to Sawyer Nash, she thought, feeling her eyes burn with tears.
“Have you seen Lance Roderick this morning?” he asked without looking at her. But as his gaze took her in, he asked, alarmed, “What’s wrong?”
She turned away from him to wipe at the errant tears. “Allergies. Is Lance’s car still here?”
“It is.”
“He wasn’t at breakfast.” Kitzie could feel his gaze on her. She moved deeper into the cabin. “So, have you told her what’s really going on?” When he didn’t answer, she chuckled. “Should be interesting when she finds out.”
He was still studying her, making her nervous because of the intensity of his look. “I’m surprised you’ve kept my secret.”
“You have such high expectations where I’m concerned.” Before he could respond to that, she said, “But with good reason, given how I’ve acted. Why don’t we sit down? Don’t worry, I’m harmless.”
He laughed, buoying her spirits. “Harmless is the last word I would associate with you.”
He took the chair, even as she patted a spot next to her on the couch for him. She smiled sadly to herself. When was she going to accept the way things were between them?
That was the problem. She’d never been good at that. When she wanted something, she went after it. That’s how she’d gotten so far in her career. She just didn’t quit.
“Did you try Lance’s cabin?” she asked, not quite ready to tell him about her case.
“He didn’t answer. The door was locked. Maybe it’s his day off.”
“I can check when I go back. I heard you’re in another scene this afternoon. This could be a whole new career for you.”
He smiled at that but quickly got back to what was on his mind, Ainsley and her stalker. “Roderick followed us to the café last night. I saw him drive up and went out to confront him, but he quickly drove away.”
“So he’s your man,” she said, not really interested. Lance Roderick didn’t seem like much of a threat to precious Ainsley. “I’m here chasing jewelry thieves, but I have them in my sights.”
“Who?”
She shook her head. “I can’t say just yet, but you might find this interesting. The fence they contacted? None other than the great Harry Lester Brown.”
“Harry Lester? I thought he was dead,” Sawyer said, his interest piquing.
She smiled to herself. This is what she and Sawyer had in common. They both loved their work. That was the bond they had that Ainsley Hamilton could never share. “I have it narrowed down to who I believe is involved, but unless we can catch them making the sale to Harry Lester...”
“When do you think it’s going down?”
“Probably after the commercial wraps,” she said.
Sawyer shook his head. “I’ll be long gone by then. Once I take care of the Lance Roderick problem...” He seemed to sense her disappointment—and her surprise. “I’m on medical leave. I shouldn’t even be here.”
