Cain slowly sat up in bed, forcing himself awake. Lucus Stone never called him at home unless it was urgent. His thoughts scrambled for organization. “Good morning, Mr. Stone. What can I do for you?”
“It’s afternoon,” Lucus corrected tersely. “Did you see today’s paper?” he asked, demanding to know but also realizing that this miscreant hadn’t even gotten out of bed for the day.
“Uh, no.” David rubbed the last of the sleep out of his light brown eyes.
“Well, get it and read it. Meet me at my office in an hour. I have a job for you.” Lucus broke the connection.
David stared at the receiver. What could be so important that Stone would want to see him at his office on a Saturday? He tossed the twisted sheets off his muscular body and got out of bed. Knowing Stone, he’d better have every line of the newspaper committed to memory by the time they met. He stalked across the lush bedroom and into the adjacent bath.
David turned on the faucets full blast. He’d worked for Stone before on a variety of projects over the years. Everything ranging from local deliveries to intimate investigations of very influential people. Lucus Stone had over the years compiled a dossier on anyone of importance in government office. He was the modern-day J. Edgar Hoover. He was feared but respected. However, Stone’s methods for combating his opponents remained questionable in Cain’s mind. Little did Stone know that Cain, too, had been compiling a dossier—just for insurance, of course. That secret knowledge caused a slow smile to lift the corner of Cain’s wide mouth.
The steaming water rushed over the mass of rippling bronze muscles as Cain flexed and contemplated what his latest project would be.
Sheila Hamilton sat opposite her husband at the white wicker table that had been placed on the balcony. A lush spring breeze blew caressingly over her supple caramel skin, rustled the blooming greenery, and gently stirred the grass. The air was filled with anticipation as the new season primed itself to burst forth. But instead of the sense of expectation that Sheila normally felt at this time of year, she was filled with a sense of foreboding.
“Elliott,” she said softly, distracting him from a case review that lay open in front of him.
Determined not to show his annoyance at the interruption, he slowly removed his glasses from the bridge of his nose and counted, silently, to ten, placing the bifocals on the table. “Yes, dear?” he said evenly, pleased with himself for maintaining control. Control was important, he reminded himself daily. Control dictated every facet of his life—or else there would be chaos, he reasoned. He looked across at his wife.
She hated it when he stared at her like that. It made her feel as if she were under a microscope, a curiosity to be examined. Sheila adjusted herself in her seat and took a deep breath. “Elliott,” she began again, “I have a very bad feeling about this entire…campaign thing,” she expelled, shaking her head with concern. Her smooth brow creased as she continued. She leaned forward. “We’ve been lucky these past years, Elliott,” she said in a hushed but steady voice. “You know that. There’s no way that someone, somewhere, isn’t going to dig up the dirt. This isn’t some local assembly position, Elliott. This is a congressional seat. She’ll be up against an incumbent who hasn’t been defeated in nearly a dozen years! Lucus Stone is ruthless when it comes to opposition. And now, Vaughn will be that opposition.” Her anxiety over her daughter’s future filtered through her voice and registered in a web of tension on her face.
Elliott stood up. His wide jaw clenched. His ebony skin seemed to darken further with unspent outrage. He squinted his eyes into two warning slits.
“I will discuss this one last time, Sheila. I have paved the way for Vaughn all her life,” he said, with a shake of his balding head for emphasis. “Everything has been taken care of for years. There’s nothing anyone can do to her or to us. I won’t allow it. Do you think for one minute that I haven’t foreseen this day and planned for it? Nothing will stop Vaughn from reaching my goals. Nothing!” he said with finality. He straightened and adjusted his pants over the slightly protruding paunch. Then, in a soothing voice, “Everything will be fine, dear. There’s no point in you worrying. Haven’t I always taken care of everything?” He gave her a benevolent smile, patted her hand absently, and got up and strolled into the house.
Sheila Hamilton watched her husband leave, and her heart sank. When had things changed? It seemed only moments ago the young Elliott Hamilton, full of dreams, ambition, and himself, had burst into her life. From the first moment they’d met, Sheila had known that Elliott was destined for great things. He’d caught her up in his dreams. He’d made her a part of his plans. He’d promised her a life of influence, happiness, and luxury. He’d delivered all that he’d promised, and more. And she believed he could do anything he set his mind to do.
Sheila always knew that Elliott was a man driven, and with good reason. He came from a family that had virtually nothing. He was the first member of his family to have an education beyond the ninth grade. But Elliott had changed. He’d become consumed by his own dreams, to be fulfilled and exceeded by Vaughn. At any cost.
She shut her eyes and the old pain resurfaced and twisted her heart. She pressed her fist to her chest. She was afraid. This was the first time in her forty years of marriage that she didn’t believe her dynamic husband had the power to make the impossible a reality. What was more frightening was that she could not intervene. To do so would destroy her marriage and possibly ruin Elliott’s career, and she knew she would lose the greatest love of all…Vaughn’s.
Simone hadn’t told anyone about the money, not even Jean. She just had the irrational feeling that if she spoke about it, it would all somehow disappear. She knew that the notion was ridiculous, but that still didn’t stop her from checking the account every other day—just to be sure.
She sat down on her bed, staring blankly at the array of posters, class schedules, and activity notices tacked to her bulletin board. Somehow she believed that the money was either a clue to her past or a doorway to her future. It was up to her to decide which path to choose.
Her gaze drifted, then rested on a picture of her foster parents that sat on her dresser. She smiled wistfully. She picked up the picture and looked at it lovingly. She loved her foster parents. There was no doubt in her mind about that. Linda and Philip Clark were everything a child could want. They cared for her and loved her unquestionably, regardless of the origins of her birth. Yet deep in her soul remained the silent yearning to know from where she’d come. And why—why had she been abandoned? Why was she so unworthy of her natural parents’ love? That question had gnawed at her all of her nineteen years. At times it made her feel worthless, unlovable, and insecure. She hadn’t been wanted from birth. That was a heavy burden. Then there were those times she’d even had doubts about her foster parents’ love. Why had they never adopted her and given her their name? They had an explanation, a flimsy one, but an explanation nonetheless. One which worked well during her adolescence, but failed to hold up to teenage scrutiny. Eventually she’d stopped asking, but the underlying pain had always remained with her.
Over the years, Simone had valiantly shielded herself from her insecurities, forcing herself to excel. By eighteen, she’d amassed trophies in track and field, tennis and swimming. She’d skipped grades on three separate occasions, had always remained at the top of her classes, and now had the opportunity to graduate a semester early if she could secure an internship to satisfy the requirements for a political science major. Simone was an achiever, a planner and a stickler for being prepared. Which was what she had to be when she made her call.
Simone pushed herself up off the bed, deciding to take a jog around the track and try to organize her thoughts in preparation for her phone call to Justin Montgomery. When she returned
