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response to the question, “Are you afraid to vote on Tuesday?”
    At last, exhausted from a fifteen-hour day, Sage climbed into bed. She struggled against sleep, while waiting to hear the results of the poll. Only after she heard that the news poll showed that 85 percent of callers planned to vote (a 15 percent increase from the poll taken a week earlier) did Sage give in to sleep’s magnetic pull.

Chapter Three
    Sage’s telephone rang at five o’clock. “Good morning, baby,” Ramion said when he heard Sage’s voice.
    “Good morning,” Sage said, her voice still raspy with sleep though she’d just showered. She wrapped a towel around her wet body and removed the shower cap.
    “You sound tired. If I had stayed the night, you’d be energized. Ready for victory.”
    “Right now I feel like crawling back under the covers and watching what happens on TV.”
    “You would go crazy. Seriously, no matter what happens today, you’ve done a hell of a job. Cameron wouldn’t have come this far without you. No matter who wins, be proud of yourself.”
    “Thank you,” Sage said, his words boosting her more than he knew.
    “Tell me what you have on.”
    “Nothing.”
    “Nothing? You slept in the nude?” He closed his eyes, and Sage’s body flashed in his mind—the deep curve of her waist, her fleshy brown areolae and her triangular thatch of hair.
    “I just got out of the shower.”
    “Oh, so you’re all wet.”
    “Wet and slippery,” Sage said in a suggestive voice.
    “I could be there in twenty minutes.”
    “Uh-huh, I got up early to get some work done,” Sage chided.
    “I want you, baby.”
    “I know, and after the election, I’m all yours.”
    “Can’t wait.”
    “Every part of me,” Sage teased before hanging up.
    * * * * *
    Sage arrived at Hudson’s campaign headquarters to a host of activities: phones ringing, television sets blaring, voices clamoring and printers, copiers and fax machines running. It was as frenetic and hectic as she had expected.
    “Good morning, Marika,” Sage greeted her assistant as she walked through the maze of activities. A long, shapeless black dress hid Marika’s thin body.
    “Hey, Sage,” Marika said. “I’m glad this day is finally here. I’m a nervous wreck. The anticipation is killing me, and it isn’t even ten o’clock.”
    “I know exactly what you mean. My stomach has been fluttering all morning, and my heart…”
    “Well, better tell your heart to calm down ’cause it’s about to go into hyperdrive.” She handed her boss a cup of hot cinnamon tea. “Sit down,” Marika said in a weary tone. She pushed her long braids back from her chestnut-brown face. Flecks of dark-brown freckles were scattered unevenly across her prominent cheekbones.
    Sage leveled her eyes to Marika’s anxious face. “Just tell me.”
    “Some of the vans have flat tires,” Marika said.
    “What?” Sage threw back her head with such force that her gold-and-ruby earrings swayed rhythmically.
    “Yep, all the vans that were delivered last night to Reverend Powell’s church have mysteriously turned up with flat tires,” Marika said.
    “How many?”
    “Fifteen.”
    “How did that happen?” Sage said angrily. She put her hands on her hips and squared her shoulders. “It doesn’t make sense. But the question isn’t why—it’s who. Who would do this?”
    “You got it.”
    “This isn’t the first time we’ve been sabotaged. This needs to be investigated. Did Reverend Powell call the police?”
    “I believe so.”
    Sage inhaled deeply, forcing herself to calm down. “Well, that’s not going to help us today. Are any of the vans drivable?”
    “Two tires on every van have to be replaced.”
    “I’ve been worried about Baker’s camp, but the enemy might be within.” She sat down at her desk, and opened her briefcase. The folder marked “Acceptance Speech” caught her attention.
    Marika raised one shoulder slightly as her lips turned down at the corners.