Into Dust

* * *

JACK TRIED NOT to down his entire second drink. Cassidy was the daughter of the future president? What the hell was his father doing trying to abduct her? His father could be stubborn, worked too much, put too much value in making money and was a hard-nosed businessman. But to do something like this? It boggled his mind.

Worse, what was he going to do now? After seeing that wad of money his old man gave Ed and knowing how his father was about employees who didn’t do their jobs to suit him, Jack knew his father wouldn’t stop.

Nor would Ed. He’d be more careful next time. He’d be more prepared. But like Jack had learned, you didn’t let Tom Durand down or there would be hell to pay.

So how could he walk away now? Cassidy would be a sitting duck. And he didn’t want to think about what his father would do when he found out that Jack was involved in fouling his plans.

“Look,” he said to Cassidy. “You have no reason to trust me.” On the surface, he looked like an urban cowboy today instead of the former rodeo cowboy who’d grown up on a huge ranch outside of Houston. His father had bought the ranch as a tax deduction and given it to him lock, stock and barrel when he turned twenty-one. But the deal had always been that he would take over his father’s import/export business at some point.

Once he told his father he had no interest in doing that, that’s when it seemed Tom Durand had changed. Now he wondered if he’d ever known his father at all.

Clearly, the last thing he could do was tell Cassidy who he really was or that he thought he knew who was behind her attack—at least until he had proof.

So he stretched the truth. “But if you’ll let me, I’ll try to keep you safe until we can find out who is behind this and why.”

She took a drink of her second glass of wine. He could see from the shine in her eyes that she was feeling the alcohol. His plan hadn’t been to get her tipsy, let alone drunk. He’d just needed a drink to calm his nerves and a place where they were safe so he could think what to do next.

“What do you have in mind?” she asked.

He wasn’t that surprised that she was willing to trust him. She’d already proved she was too trusting given that she’d trust the acquaintance and boyfriend. But what did he have in mind? His thoughts raced as he considered how he could keep her safe—and yet find out the truth about his father’s involvement.

“We’re going to have to hide you out somewhere until I can get to the bottom of this. For starters, who knew you were in Houston besides this so-called friend and her boyfriend?”

“No one.”

That surprised him. “Not even your family?”

She shook her head. “They think I’m still in New York with a Frenchman I met while studying abroad.”

A Frenchman. Great. “So not even the Frenchman knows?”

Again she shook her head.

“Okay.” He studied her. “Also, you’re too cute and too blonde and too easy to recognize.”

She grinned, taking it as a compliment. “How about if I was a redhead?”

“I’m thinking brunette. I don’t know how you feel about cutting your hair...”

Cassidy shrugged. “I’ve been thinking about cutting it,” she said as she pulled a long lank of her blond hair around to consider it. “A brunette, huh? So a disguise?” The idea seemed to appeal to her. He wondered if it would have before her last glass of wine.

Even with the changes he was suggesting, she’d still be adorable, there was no getting around that. She had one of those classic faces, huge blue eyes, a button nose and bow-shaped mouth. She looked so damned innocent that he felt a stab of guilt. He wasn’t much better than her pretend friends she’d been staying with. Except that he wouldn’t sell her out.

He recalled hearing his father talking about the election and the Hamilton family. Cassidy’s mother, Sarah Johnson Hamilton, had returned from the dead about a year ago. Apparently, she’d tried to kill herself more than twenty-three years before by driving into the Yellowstone River. Her body was never found.

Then one day she just showed up—with no memory of the years she’d been gone. He remembered his father saying that her six daughters were now adults. He frowned as he recalled that the two youngest, twin girls, had only been a few months old when they’d lost their mother.

Going by age, that would have been Cassidy, he realized with a start. There was another one like her? He wondered where she was and if she was safe. His father had remarked that he couldn’t believe how much that family had been through. Hadn’t their stepmother died last year in a car wreck?

“You’re sure you don’t want to change your mind and go to the police?” he asked, feeling he had to give it one more shot since it was the smart thing to do—even if it would involve him and force him to lie. Whatever differences he and his father had, he wasn’t throwing him under a bus until he knew the truth.

“If I go to the police, my name will be in every newspaper and so will my father’s. And what is it you think the police can do to protect me? My father would insist I come home so he could hire guards. Or maybe I would get agents watching me 24/7. I wouldn’t be able to leave the ranch. And for how long? Until after the election? Or until he was no longer president? No, thanks.”

He’d forgotten for a moment that Buckmaster Hamilton was a Montana rancher, a former senator and now Republican candidate for president. Cassidy was one of six sisters. Was that another reason she didn’t tell people who she was? He’d thought living under his father’s domineering thumb was hard. Imagine what being one of Buckmaster Hamilton’s daughters would be like if he was as protective as she said.

But without the cops or the feds, the two of them were on their own. And Jack had no idea what they were up against. All he knew was that he now had the assumed future president’s daughter’s life in his hands.

CHAPTER THREE (#ulink_3d17e53b-6556-5a3d-8aa8-9fca0b1bf65d)

“SARAH, I DON’T UNDERSTAND.” Republican presidential hopeful Buckmaster Hamilton paced the floor, his phone to his ear, his impatience wearing a path in the carpet. “I love you. I thought you were moving into the main house on the ranch. No more hiding, no more lying about how we feel about each other.”

“Buck, can’t we talk about this when you get home?”

“No, four months ago you went to your house to pack and the next thing I know you tell me you can’t move in until after the primaries. Well, the primaries are over. I need you. I can’t keep—” He heard the door open behind him. “I have to go.” He disconnected and turned to face his campaign manager, who’d come in with a stack of papers, no doubt the latest polls.

“Sarah? Is that who you were talking to?” Jerrod Williston asked in an impatient tone. “Buck—”

“Don’t start,” he said, holding up both hands. “I’m trying to put my family back together. I know I’ve been a little distracted.”

“You’ve been more than a little distracted. On top of that, all the media wants to know now is how your love life is going instead of talking about your platform. You’re the Republican presidential candidate. If you hope to stand a chance in hell of winning this election, you have to start acting like a president instead of a lovesick fool.”

“Tell me how you really feel.” He waved a hand through the air, afraid Jerrod would only go off again. More and more he was having his doubts about this run for president. Was this his dream anymore? Or was he trying to do this for his father, JD Hamilton? JD had withdrawn from the race because of a woman. Wasn’t Jerrod’s fear that Buck would do the same thing?

He’d had so much trouble with his family since he’d thrown his hat into the ring last year. But last year there had been no chance of having Sarah. He was still married to Angelina. He had been ready to throw away everything he’d worked for and divorce Angelina before she’d been killed in a car wreck.

Buckmaster felt a wave of guilt. Angelina’s death had worked in his favor, but he hated like hell how it happened. Now the only thing keeping him and Sarah apart was this damned election. That was why Sarah was dragging her feet, wasn’t it? Unlike Angelina, she’d never wanted to live in the White House.

So he couldn’t help questioning if bowing out now wasn’t the best thing for them. He needed Sarah. Maybe if he quit he could pull his family back together again. Then his daughters might come around and get closer to their mother.

Sarah was disappointed that the girls never called her. Harper was making an effort, but Cassidy had barely said two words to any of them. Buck had no idea what was going on with his youngest. He hadn’t heard from her either.

“You’re tired. This campaign has been taxing. You’ve had a lot on your mind,” Jerrod said. “You just need some rest and then we’ll—”

“I need my wife, I need my family.”

Jerrod let out an impatient breath as if he’d heard this too many times. “Sarah isn’t your wife. A wedding right now is the last thing you need. Win this election, then you can throw yourself a wedding on the White House lawn with all your daughters as attendants.”

Buck raked a hand through his hair. He’d noticed this morning in the mirror that he was getting grayer. It was no wonder given what he’d gone through in the past year. If it hadn’t been his first wife, Sarah, it had been his second wife, Angelina, or one of his six daughters. He was trying to keep his family together and run for president. He’d always felt that he owed it to his party, to his country. But right now he felt as if he had nothing left to give.

Jerrod came over to the desk in the room and put down the stack of papers he’d been holding. “You’re doing well in the polls. You have this. Try to have a little patience. Even the voting public is on your side. So don’t do anything to screw it up. Sarah isn’t going anywhere.”

He wasn’t so sure about that, recalling how Sarah had been ready to marry Russell Murdock not that long ago. Murdock had almost run her over when she’d come stumbling out of the woods last year. Until that moment, she’d had no memory of the hours before—or the past twenty-two years. She knew only that she had jumped from a plane and parachuted into those Montanan woods. After landing in a tree, she’d managed to climb down and walk some distance to the dirt road where Murdock had almost hit her. He’d been her protector and probably still was. Buck didn’t blame Sarah for agreeing to marry the man. Russell was apparently nice enough and at the time, Buck had been married to Angelina.

With Angelina dead for almost a year now, there was no reason he and Sarah couldn’t be together. Even the media had taken it easy on him when he’d admitted to a woman on the plane—who’d turned out to be a reporter—that he was still in love with his first wife. He’d thought her dead for twenty-two years, so no one could blame him for remarrying. Angelina had supported his political ambition. She’d been determined to put him in the White House. But she hadn’t lived to see that happen.

Now there was nothing standing in the way of him and Sarah being together. Nothing but this damned election.