they were out of hearing distance of the house, the sheriff had stopped and turned to him. “We only have a few more days. I’m just concerned about the venue—”
“Sarah isn’t going to do anything.” He’d wished that he’d sounded more convincing. The woman he’d married hadn’t come back. Instead, this different Sarah had returned. Not a bad different necessarily. But definitely an unsettling different.
She was...stronger in some ways. Maybe scarier because of it. Add to that what had been happening since her return from the dead. People had been dying around them and all because of an anarchist group from the 1970s called The Prophecy.
He thought of the pendulum tattoo on Sarah’s buttock. She swore she had no idea how it had gotten there or that she had nothing to do with the group—even though she’d known the members back in college. And it did appear that they had tried to implicate her—and failed.
So why was he so worried during those dark pre-dawn hours?
His campaign manager, Jerrod Williston, came into the room. A bright young man in his mid-thirties with blond hair and blue eyes, Jerrod had proven that he was the best at what he did.
He was on his cell, talking rapidly, but stopped when he saw Buck standing by the window.
“I’ll get back to you,” he said into the phone. Pocketing the cell, he asked, “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.” Buck tried to shake off the premonition of disaster. “Just a little tired.”
“It’s Sarah,” Jerrod said with a groan.
“Why do you say that every time?” Buck demanded, instantly annoyed. He’d spent the past two years defending Sarah to not just Jerrod, but also his daughters and everyone else, including the sheriff.
“Because every time it is Sarah. What has she done now? I thought all was well. Married, living in the main house on the ranch, none of the six daughters causing trouble. What could be wrong with Sarah now?” Jerrod sounded as testy as Buck felt.
“Nothing is wrong with her. I was just resting for a minute.” He’d never been a good liar. “Okay, maybe since the sheriff is worried about election night,” he sighed, “well, then, I guess maybe I should be, too.”
Jerrod shook his head. “Your sheriff has called in the National Guard as well as local law enforcement and Secret Service agents. The only way to make you safer is to move the venue. You want to do that?”
His campaign manager knew he didn’t. “No. Like I said, everything is fine.” He worked up a smile. “If anything, it’s the realization that this is almost over, and a whole other lifetime of dramas is about to begin.”
The younger man laughed. “That’s more like it, Mr. President.”
“Not yet. Don’t jinx it.”
Jerrod made a mocking face. “You got this one. It isn’t even going to be a close race. So relax. A few more days. You up to it?”
Buck straightened, fixed his tie and nodded as Jerrod began to go over his schedule for the last hours up until the election. He half listened, the rest of his mind back on Sarah.
The sheriff was convinced that something was going to happen election night. Buck tried to reassure himself. At least he didn’t have to wonder much longer if his wife would try to kill him.
* * *
SARAH JOHNSON HAMILTON found herself wandering around the huge rambling two-story house feeling empty. Her phone call to her daughter Ainsley had left her feeling a little better. But ultimately her children didn’t know her. She’d lost them, just as she’d lost those missing twenty-two years from her memory.
Since her return from the dead, she had wanted desperately to be back here in this home that she’d shared with Buck and her children. But it felt...strange after all the years she’d been gone. It also felt...temporary since after Buck won the election, they would be living in the White House.
But she knew that wasn’t the only reason she felt out of sorts. During the twenty-two years she’d been presumed dead, her children had all grown up. Now they were all busy with their own lives—lives that had little to do with her. She couldn’t blame them. The younger ones had no memory of her. Her six beautiful daughters had turned out fine without her. Probably better than if she had been here, she thought miserably.
Worse, her secret would be coming out soon—unless she did something. Exhausted and anxious after being on the campaign trail for months, she had begged off Buck’s one last swing through the worrisome states, and returned home.
Buck had been disappointed, but his campaign manager, Jerrod Williston, had said it was exactly what she should do.
“I think it would be smart for you to do some charity events back in Montana these last few weeks before the election,” Jerrod had said. “In fact, I’ve already scheduled one for you.”
She’d started to argue that she didn’t want to do any more of them right now since she knew they had nothing to do with Buck being elected. She suspected that Jerrod just wanted to keep her busy and out of trouble.
“Just one, I promise,” he said. “You need to rest up. Things will get crazy by election night.”
She had laughed at that, fearing how crazy it could get. That and her secret were what kept her awake in the wee hours of the morning. For so long she’d felt trapped, unable to change what she feared was coming until she got all of her memory back. She’d been waiting now for weeks to hear from the one man who could give her the final piece of her memory, Dr. Ralph Venable.
As she moved restlessly through the huge house, she was terrified. Terrified he wouldn’t call. Terrified he would. Dr. Venable had been experimenting with brain-wiping for years. Until recently, she wasn’t sure she believed he had wiped her mind of Buck and the kids all those years ago.
But then she’d seen what he could do. Now she lived in fear of the day he would show up and give her back the rest of her memories—including the one she didn’t want.
After disappearing for twenty-two years and not being able to remember any of it, she’d been petrified of what she’d done those missing years. But as it turned out, it wasn’t those years that she had to worry about. It was her college ones and what she’d done that had now come back to haunt her. How had she gotten involved with an anarchist group that thought they could change the world by bombing buildings and killing innocent people? The answer was love. Or was it lust?
A charismatic handsome young man named Joe Landon must have seen how vulnerable the bright-eyed, innocent Sarah Johnson had been. She’d fallen for him—and his cause, becoming a co-leader of the group for a while. Worse, she’d been told that she had been the true leader of the group, The Prophecy. Since then, though, Joe had taken back over, and, as her scorned former lover, he was determined to pull Sarah in again or die trying.
Sarah stopped in front of a mirror and stared at her reflection. Often she didn’t recognize herself. When you thought you were twenty-two years younger than you were, it messed with your mind.
In the mirror, a blonde, blue-eyed fifty-nine-year-old woman stared back at her. She was still in good shape, still felt no more than thirty-seven, still believed she could do
