Total pages in book: 97
Estimated words: 89840 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 449(@200wpm)___ 359(@250wpm)___ 299(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 89840 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 449(@200wpm)___ 359(@250wpm)___ 299(@300wpm)
For Jolene “Jo” Baker, the least she can do for her adoring husband, Dominic, is give unwavering support for his North Carolina gubernatorial run. He is not only the love of her life, he's also helping her prove that she's far more than just a pampered trophy wife. With huge crowds showing up at Dominic’s speeches and the polls consistently in his favor, she's never been happier to stand proudly by his side . . .
Until she and Dominic start seeing the same, strangely ominous woman turning up all along the campaign trail. Until their tour starts becoming a nightmare of botched events, crucial missed information, and increasingly dangerous “accidents.” Suddenly Jo can't get any answers from Dominic—or understand why he is acting so paranoid and terrified . . .
What Jo can do is start digging into his past—one she's never really questioned beyond his perfect image and dazzling accomplishments. What results is an alarming series of events that leave her Good friends turn into enemies, truths are revealed to be lies, and all clues lead back to one secret, shattering weekend that changes Jo’s entire life. With her world splintering into pieces, can Jo risk trying to set things right? Or will hiding the bitter truth by any means necessary destroy her as well?
*************FULL BOOK START HERE*************
PROLOGUE
He stood in front of the cabin, drawing in a breath as he dug his nails into his palm. His backpack was heavy on his back, loaded with several textbooks and twelve dollars he’d gotten for helping Chris Moran with an essay. He licked his lips, then swallowed. All he wanted was to go into the cabin, fill a cup up with ice water, and guzzle it all down, but something was making him wary.
Pointing his gaze down, he focused on the black and white Chucks on his feet. They were dirty, and there was a hole on the side of them. Fortunately, everyone at school thought it was cool and were making it a trend. The truth is, there was a hole because they were the only pair of shoes he had left. His mom hadn’t bought him any in months, though he’d been begging her to.
His mom wasn’t the same person anymore. She’d changed, even more so when she was released from the detention center. His uncle kept telling him to stick it out, to be there for her, that she would get better, but he was absolutely positive she was getting worse.
The branch of a tree above the cabin croaked and he shifted on his feet. He spotted the faded burgundy Buick parked to the left. She was home. It was now or never. He moved ahead and didn’t stop until he was at the front door. When he twisted the doorknob, it was locked, as expected, so he pulled out the key from his pocket, unlocked it, and walked right in.
As he shut the door behind him, he noticed how eerily quietly the cabin was. He was used to quiet, but this was a different type of quiet. It was too still. The faucet in the kitchen, which usually dripped at a steady pace no matter how hard you twisted the knobs to shut it off, wasn’t dripping. The house didn’t creak either, not until he slid the straps of his backpack off and it thudded on the ground. He was tempted to call for his mother, but instead went to the kitchen and filled a cup with water. When it was at the brim, he gulped it down in four swallows then set the cup on the counter.
A creaking noise came from the back of the house, and he made his way toward the hallway. The hallway light was on, but the two bedroom doors were closed. He checked his room first, because sometimes she liked to curl up in his closet with a bat. She didn’t like being in her closet because that’s where all the personal items were, the important documents and information, and his mom didn’t want the “people” looking for her to find them and steal her identity. When he saw the closet was empty, he ventured across the hallway.
A slow breath slipped between his parted lips as he gripped the doorknob. “Momma?” he called. He swallowed, waiting for a response. The only response was the heavy creaking coming from her room. He peered down the hallway, where he could see the plaid furniture. Maybe I should just go study, or take a nap, he thought to himself. His mom would come out sooner or later. Sometimes she acted like nothing was wrong, and she’d cook dinner and ask him to set the table. But during the other times . . . oh. The other times were bad. He didn’t want this to lead to the bad times. But studying and napping wouldn’t lead to the good.