Marriage: Classified. Linda O. Johnston

you will be fine. If not, you will be executed prematurely, like your father.”

      Sara felt herself stiffen but tried to stay absolutely still—except that she could not prevent her breaths from coming too fast. Something…something niggled at the back of her mind. She had been in this position before. Why? It hadn’t frightened her—then.

      “Do you understand?” asked the voice. She heard a few drops of rain softly strike the person’s clothing. “Nod or shake your head.”

      Sara made herself give an abrupt nod. She suddenly felt terribly alone. Jordan wasn’t coming. He would save her if he knew, but he was inside the church, talking and eating and laughing. He would feel awful when he found her body. But she was on her own.

      “Good. Now, tell me—did you see who killed your father?”

      That was a question she couldn’t actually answer with a yes or no. She didn’t know. But what she was certain of was that she didn’t remember.

      She took the safest course and shook her head in the negative.

      “You’re lying, Sara Shepard.” The knee in her back dug in harder, making her gasp in pain. Through her agony, she thought she heard a small sound, like keys jingling—or was it merely the unfamiliar rasp of her own terrified breathing?

      Something else teased at the corners of her mind, then disappeared.

      “Or should I say Sara Shepard Dawes?” the voice asked with a sarcastic laugh.

      She nodded vehemently to that, although it probably was not a question her attacker expected her to answer. But the thought once more of Jordan in the church gave her sudden courage. He would have noticed her absence by now and come looking for her.

      Wouldn’t he?

      The voice stormed, “Have you really lost your memory?”

      Again she nodded with no hesitation, for it was the truth.

      That knee in her back. This position on the ground—She had taken self-defense courses! Of course she had. Even as a police dispatcher, she had been required to learn the rudiments.

      The response came back to her now. Whether it was what she had been taught, or her own take on it, she didn’t really know.

      “Are you lying, Sara?”

      She shook her head carefully, as if too abrupt a movement now would cause her to forget the little bit she had, with so much difficulty, brought back to mind.

      She moaned, made her body tremble, and then went limp.

      “Sara?” The voice remained disguised, though it sounded a little alarmed.

      She didn’t move. She just waited, listening to the increasingly heavy rain, listening to her attacker’s raspy breathing. Her clothes were damp enough now to stick to her, but she could do nothing about it.

      Her assailant remained on her back, though the pressure eased a little. “Sara?” The tone went up a little more.

      And then she made her move. Quickly she arched her back, then rolled. It worked! She heard the thud on the dampened earth as the person fell off her.

      She pulled herself up into a crouch, prepared to do hand-to-hand combat if necessary. But it wasn’t. All she saw of the person was the back of a long, black raincoat, hood raised, as it disappeared behind a tall gravestone.