by B. J Daniels
“Until? Are you planning to make some changes in your life that I don’t know about?”
He dropped his arm and looked at her. “You know I spend most of my time in Washington as it is, and now with this damned campaign...” He rubbed a hand over his face. “I hate not knowing where you are, what’s happening with you or if you need...anything.” He took a breath and let it out slowly. “This is just so damned confusing.”
“It seems pretty simple to me. You’re married to another woman. Angelina is your concern now. Not me.”
Buck swore. “You know it’s not that damned simple.” His eyes filled with sadness. “I worry about you.”
“You just don’t like me being around Russell.”
He seemed to chew at the inside of his cheek for a moment. She almost smiled because she did know this man. He was fighting to keep from saying anything derogatory about Russell Murdock. When he had before, she’d defended Russell, which only angered Buck more.
“Hell, I’ve always liked the man,” he said now. “Until he became involved with my wife.”
“Russell and I are not involved. And I’m not your wife.”
“You know what I mean,” Buck said, studying her openly as if trying to decide for himself how involved she was with Russell. Wouldn’t he have a fit if he knew that Russell had mentioned marriage? Well, what was good for the goose was good for the gander, she thought, surprised that she was angry at Buck for remarrying.
She knew that wasn’t fair. She’d left Buck—not the other way around.
“I’ll feel better if I know you at least have a cell phone of your own and a weapon, should you need one,” he said.
She looked down at the .22, knowing what it would mean to him if she took it. He’d feel he’d done something, and Buck couldn’t stand feeling otherwise.
The small gun was nothing more than a peashooter. She wanted to laugh. But she also wanted to cry as she picked up the small, useless thing. It felt light and ridiculous in her hand. She felt an aching longing for something heavy and powerful as she quickly put it back down and hugged herself against the memory of a much more powerful weapon in her hands.
“Sarah—”
“So you think I need a gun? That’s why you had to see me.” She couldn’t help feeling disappointed. What had she hoped he would say when he got here? “You’re assuming I know what to do with a weapon?”
“I know you never showed an interest in guns.”
She shook her head, wondering why he didn’t remember that she’d wanted nothing to do with any kind of weapon. She hadn’t even wanted them in the house, not with six small children.
“I thought you might have learned to shoot sometime since...” He let that thought fall away, but his gaze searched hers. He was wondering again about those years she’d been missing. Everyone wanted to know where she’d been and what she’d being doing. Herself included.
Buck suggested they go outside and do a little target practice. He found some rusted cans and set them up on the fence. Then he patiently walked her through how to use the weapon. As he droned on, she let her mind wander. When he finally handed her the .22 pistol, she turned out to be an excellent shot. The only person surprised was Buck.
* * *
DEPUTY BENTLEY JAMISON, a former New York City homicide detective, studied the scrap of paper before looking up at his boss. “Sometimes a tattoo is just a tattoo.”
“Not this time,” Frank said as he sat back in his chair. He’d called Jamison in because the man had seen more tattoos than any of his other deputies. He’d hoped that Jamison might have recognized it. “It isn’t like any tattoo I’ve ever seen. Is it possible it’s a jailhouse tattoo?”
“If it’s as crudely done as this drawing, it’s possible. I’d have to see it to tell you.”
“Seeing it could be a problem. Who gets their butt cheek tattooed?”
The deputy laughed. “More than you might think.”
“I should have added, a woman fifty-some years old?” Frank said.
“She could have had that tattoo since she was a teenager. Have you asked her about it? Or Buckmaster. He’d know if she had it before she disappeared.”
He hadn’t. “I might ask the senator. He’s in town right now. He’s going to wonder why I want to know, though.”
“You haven’t told him about the way his first wife returned from the grave?”
“That she parachuted down from a low-flying plane wearing a paratrooper’s chute as if the whole thing had been some kind of special ops undercover operation? No. He never asked. He’s probably like everyone else who thought she’d been dropped beside the road after maybe hitchhiking back here. But maybe it’s time I did tell the senator,” the sheriff said with a sigh as he rose from his chair. “He needs to know that Sarah might not be the woman he married anymore. Also, I want to see his face when I tell him in case he knows more about this than I do. I’ll question him about the tattoo, as well.”
“Are you going to share your suspicions?” Jamison asked.
“I would think he’d have his own suspicions when he hears what I have to tell him, wouldn’t you? Meanwhile, I’ve talked to search and rescue. They’re going to do a flyover tomorrow and see if they can find Bo Hamilton. Given what I know about why she left when she did, I’m not as concerned that something has happened to her. I think she might not want to be found.”
* * *
THE BRIGHT SUN was blinding. It speared down through the trees to pierce Bo with an intensity that made her head ache. A thin trail of smoke rose from the fire pit, the smell irritating her throat and eyes.
She blinked as she fought to get her wits about her. Now that breakfast was over, they would be traveling farther north into the mountains. All her instincts told her that she had to find a way to escape.
It was dangerous to even try. Just the thought made her pulse pound in her ears and her body go weak with fear. He wanted her to like him. Every time she met his gaze, she saw a hopefulness that would have broken her heart under any other circumstances.
He wanted so desperately to trust her—and yet he didn’t. She had seen him wavering, had felt that knife edge of control over his rage and violence, and knew that if she failed, he would kill her. Eventually. Her instincts told her that he would make her pay in the worst possible ways until then.
She pushed that thought out of her mind, because if she didn’t get away from him, it was inevitable that he would attack her. She could hold him off for only so long. Eventually he would realize that this idea of his of the two of them living up here together was just a stupid dream on his part. That alone would burn him and make him furious. That alone could get her killed.
After he’d taped her wrists together, he pulled her to her feet by one arm. She saw that he’d saddled her horse this morning before she’d woken up. Her heart began to pound so hard she thought it would bruise her ribs as he led her over to her horse.
Her mind raced as she ordered her limbs not to shake. She held her head high and desperately tried to keep her expression neutral. She could feel him watching her. The man was no fool. He had to know that once she was on the horse, she would try to get away. It was her only chance.
A plan had been stirring in her brain. It wasn’t a great one because it depended on Ray giving her the opportunity she needed. Since her wrists were bound, she would have to kick him. Ideally, he would step far enough away that she could put a boot to his head. Her only other choice was to kick him hard enough in the chest or stomach to at least knock the air out of him and give her those precious seconds she needed to get away.
Would the kick be enough of a surprise that he would drop the reins? It had to be. She must make the kick count. Then if she could spur her horse and get away quickly enough, he wouldn’t be able to catch her. But riding hard through these trees wou
ldn’t be easy. She reminded herself again at how big he was. How determined. How strong he was. He would come after her.
For a moment, she questioned whether she could do this. Whether she should. Maybe if she waited for a better opportunity...
She couldn’t chance that he could wait. Nor that he would give her another opportunity. She’d caught him staring at her more and more, the hunger in his eyes growing. He’d said he’d been up here for weeks, alone, and now he had her.
Ray dragged her over to her horse, and she realized he wouldn’t have to help her into the saddle. Even with her wrists bound together, she could pull herself up. Maybe she should kick back at him when she was already in motion. But wouldn’t he expect that?
As he untied the reins from the tree limb, he let go of her. She started to reach for the saddle horn when she saw him pick up the rope. He dropped a loop of the sisal over her head and, tightening it around her neck like a noose, he jerked her back against him, his arm coming across her chest, crushing her breasts.
He leaned down next to her ear. She felt his hot breath on her neck just above the spot where the rope was cutting off her air. “Yer mine. Ya accept that and I’ll treat ya right. But if ya don’t, I’ll do things to ya to make ya wish ya were dead.”
* * *
BUCKMASTER WAS TRYING to keep his mind off Bo as he watched the clock. The sheriff had said he would see about sending a search and rescue plane out. Shouldn’t he have heard something by now?
He reflected on his visit with Sarah. He’d been surprised when she’d told him where she was staying and allowed him to come up to the cabin. He knew it was only because Russell Murdock wasn’t around. Which meant that he was right about Russell trying to control her. Control all of them, he thought, remembering his call a few days ago.
When he’d called, Russell had answered Sarah’s cell phone.
“It’s ridiculous that I don’t even know where my own wife is,” Buckmaster had snapped. “And now you’re answering her phone?”
“Sarah isn’t your wife.”
“Just let me talk to her.”
“She isn’t here right now. Do you want to leave a message?”
“If this is your attempt to keep her from me—”
“If you knew where she was staying, you’d just harass and bully her like you do everyone,” Russell had said with a calm that had made Buckmaster grit his teeth.
“Fine.” But it had been far from fine. “Sarah doesn’t need protecting from me.”
Russell had answered with an insulting silence.
“Damn it, Murdock.”
“You should thank me for making sure she is safe,” Russell had said.
But is she safe from you? Buckmaster had wanted to ask, but he had held his tongue. “I have something for her.”
“I can pick it up later.”
“I want to give it to her myself.” He hadn’t wanted Russell knowing about the cell phone—let alone the gun.
“I’ll have to get back to you.”
Buckmaster had hung up. Then unexpectedly today, Sarah had called and given him the directions to where she was staying. He wondered where Russell had been, what he was up to. There was no doubt in his mind that the man was after his wife...after Sarah, he corrected himself and swore.
This was so damned confusing, having two wives. In his mind and heart, Sarah was still his. Now that he was back at the ranch, he felt guilty as if he was cheating on Angelina. He hadn’t told her about the money he’d given Sarah, the account he’d set up for her or the gun and cell phone he’d bought her. He knew she would make too much out of it. Especially since he had gone to see Sarah today, sneaking off to avoid an argument.
Angelina would have known he brought Sarah the gun only as an excuse so he could see her. He told himself that he shouldn’t have to make excuses to see his wife. His first wife, he corrected himself.
That was the problem. He didn’t know what his and Sarah’s relationship was supposed to be. She’d been dead to him for the past twenty-two years. Now that he knew she was alive...was she as confused by all this as he was? Angelina wanted him to forget all about Sarah. Russell Murdock seemed to want the same thing.
He pulled out his cell phone, thinking he would call Sarah and make sure she was all right. Maybe the gun had been a bad idea. But she’d been a natural shot. He’d been amazed since she’d said she hadn’t used a gun before.
At a sound behind him, he turned. Angelina stood in the doorway. He instantly felt guilty and swore under his breath.
“Trying to reach Sarah?” she asked, her tone flat.
“I need to call Ainsley and see if she’s heard from her sister.” Not a lie. But too close for his comfort.
“Not Sarah?” She was looking at him as if his guilt was written all over his face.
He’d prided himself on being honest. Or that had been the case before all this. “I saw her earlier. I took her a gun.”
Angelina raised one plucked eyebrow in surprise. “A gun? Whatever for? Are you hoping she’ll kill herself?”
“Why in the hell would you say something like that?” he demanded.
“She tried to kill herself once before—at least, that’s what she made it look like. But it is probably just my own wishful thinking. Sorry.”
“You’re talking about the mother of my children,” he said through clenched teeth. He didn’t want to be angry with her. He knew this was hard on her. But she stretched his patience to its limit.
“Some mother,” Angelina said under her breath.
He ignored it, not wanting to fight with her. “Russell Murdock has hidden her away from the press in a cabin up in the woods. I don’t like the idea of her being alone up there.” He thought about mentioning that he wanted to bring Sarah down to stay in the bunkhouse. But now didn’t seem the best time.
Also, Sarah had said only that she was considering it.
“So Russell is looking after her. That’s good, isn’t it?”
She knew damned well how much he hated Russell spending time with Sarah, but he didn’t need to admit it.
“I don’t want to fight with you,” he said. Angelina was a beautiful, desirable woman. He thought of the two of them in the kitchen earlier this morning. Without thinking, he stepped to her and brushed a kiss across her lips.
“What has gotten into you lately?” she asked, a laugh at the edge of her voice. She liked the attention. Had he been ignoring her with everything else that was going on? Angelina had never seemed to need his attention before, though.
He met her gaze. “Do you feel loved?”
She looked surprised by the question. “Loved? You and I have more than love.”
Was that how she saw their marriage? More than love? Or no need for love? “Like what?”
“What do you mean like what?” She frowned, looking flustered. “We have the same dreams, the same goals. We’re compatible, comfortable with who we are as a couple.”
Or were they just complacent? “The same goals? You mean the presidency.”
“Yes, that and whatever else you want.”
“What about you? Isn’t there something more you want out of life, out of this marriage?”
She stepped away from him, looking angry. “Why are you—”
“I’m not sure I’ve been a good husband to you.”
Her gaze narrowed. “I don’t understand all this introspection.” But her tone said she understood it only too well. “Sarah.” She shook her head, tears filling her eyes. “Is everything you do and say now going to be about Sarah?”
He shook his head angrily. “Earlier in the kitchen, that was just you and me, and you know it. But, Angelina, how can I not question what kind of husband I’ve been, given that my first wife tried to kill herself and then disappeared for twent
y-two years?”
“Did you ever consider that all of this might be Sarah’s problem and not yours? Public opinion certainly sees it that way.”
He let out a sigh. “She isn’t like people are painting her.”
Angelina let out a bark of a laugh. “You have no idea what Sarah is really like or you would know why she drove into the river twenty-two years ago. She’s not that sweet, innocent girl you think you married. I wonder if she ever was. If you knew Sarah, then you would also know where she’s been and why she’s back now. And you would be able to see through this ridiculous claim of hers that she has...amnesia.”
He started to argue that you could know someone well, but that didn’t mean you were a mind reader. She didn’t give him a chance, though.
“When I asked you about Sarah’s past, it quickly became clear that you really didn’t know anything about her. You took everything she’d told you at face value. I think it’s time you find out who she really is.”
“As I’ve told you, Sarah doesn’t have anything to hide or the press would have found it by now.”
She smiled smugly. “Oh, you can bet they’re looking, but they’re having the same problem I did when I tried to find out if anything she told you about herself was true. Her early years look as if they were perfect. Too perfect. Something is wrong, Buckmaster, and always has been. The Sarah Johnson you think you know? I’m telling you she doesn’t exist and never has.”
* * *
WHEN BO HEARD the buzzing, she thought it was bees at first. But as the sound grew louder, she realized with a start that it was a plane’s engine. She’d been staring at Ray’s back for several hours as he led her horse farther and farther into the mountains. The man seemed to have the stamina of a mountain bear.
He’d tied the noose around her neck so that if she tried to get away, the rope would tighten, pulling her off the horse. Then the horse would drag her by her neck. Had he stayed up all night figuring out how to do that? Or had someone once done it to him?
She thought of his scars. She’d read somewhere that psychopaths were often abused when they were younger. She’d also read that they were very intelligent and clever and could often create intricate, complex plans. They weren’t just smart, they were...sneaky smart, and sometimes capable of great feats of strength when “on.” She figured Ray was on now. He had a plan and he wasn’t going to let anything—or anyone—change it. Especially her.