Текст книги "Convicted"

Автор книги: Aleatha Romig

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Текущая страница: 14 (всего у книги 35 страниц)

In addition to personal counseling sessions, he was required to attend sexual harassment seminars. Apparently, if Claire Nichols were so inclined, she could press charges against Harry. In actuality, six months ago, he’d jeopardized the case and sullied the bureau. Now, by showing Rawlings the picture of Claire and him holding hands, Harry had done it again.

He’d located and lost both of his assignments—Claire Nichols and Anthony Rawlings were missing in action. If Harry ignored the FBI’s text messages any longer, they would consider him MIA!

Pacing around his hotel room, Harry contemplated the case. He didn’t want to be taken off of it again. He knew he shouldn’t have shown Rawlings the picture of him holding Claire’s hand—he knew that before he did it. It was unprofessional. Harry could argue that his intentions were honorable. He’d hoped that by creating a rouse—making Rawlings believe that he and Claire were together—it would keep Rawlings away from her. The bureau would never approve of his actions or even his motivation. They’d remind Harry that Claire never pressed charges against Rawlings—in fact, she explicitly said that Rawlings wasn’t the one she feared.

It wasn’t just the connection with Claire. Harry didn’t want to be relieved of the case because even before he’d been officially assigned, he’d been researching it. With each passing day and new nugget of evidence, Harry knew that Rawlings was exactly the person Claire Nichols should fear. It was his goal to make the powers that be realize that Anthony Rawlings was connected—not only to the death of Agent Nichols—but multiple others. Some of the deaths, like Claire’s parents and Simon Johnson’s, had been classified accidents—car crashes—airplane crashes...

That didn’t matter. Claire had told Harry about Rawlings and accidents—Harry had a gut feeling that there was more to this case. He was on the hunt for hard evidence, but in the meantime, he had his gut feeling. To an FBI agent, that was significant. At one time, even Claire had told Harry that she believed Tony may have been involved with these accidents. Harry figured that if he could prove to her that her previous suspicions were correct—then maybe she’d see the light.

Not only had Harry messed up the case, he’d messed up any possible reconciliation with Claire as well. No longer could he or the bureau rely on her feelings of familiarity with him for insight. In Harry’s opinion, the only feelings Claire currently had for Harry were anger and betrayal. The way Harry saw it—he hadn’t betrayed Claire. In fact, the truth was the exact opposite. He’d been placed with her to protect her and learn from her. Without a doubt, in Harry’s mind, the protecting was paramount. Besides, he reasoned that if Claire could forgive Rawlings for his plethora of recognized sins, once she learned the whole truth of Rawlings’ doings, then Harry’s considerably shorter list of transgressions could also be forgiven.

Above all, Agent Baldwin didn’t want Claire Nichols in danger. Even if she refused to believe it, Harry knew Rawlings jeopardized her safety. Closing his eyes, he remembered the look on Rawlings’ face when he showed him the picture of him and Claire. Reading people was part of Baldwin’s training. The wrath he saw in Rawlings’ eyes was palpable. It didn’t frighten Baldwin—as a matter of fact—he would’ve loved for the man to attempt an assault. The rage Harry saw in the man’s eyes made Harry’s blood boil. Claire’s stories came rushing to the forefront of his mind. More than anything, at that moment—in that pub in Geneva—Harry wanted to give Rawlings some of what Rawlings had given to Claire years before. In his mind, Rawlings was a ticking time bomb, and he didn’t want him exploding around Claire or her child.

Harry’s motivation that evening in Geneva was to keep the two of them apart. He believed he could accomplish that personal goal as well as the FBI directives. Harrison figured he could keep Rawlings in Italy, disinterested in pursuing Claire while locating Claire and keeping her safe. It was a great plan. Unfortunately, the results didn’t provide the intended consequence.

Agent Baldwin’s phone vibrated again. This time, it wasn’t a text, it was a direct call. When he read the screen, Harry expected to see SAC Williams’ direct line. His heartbeat accelerated as he read the name: Deputy Director. Straightening his stance, Agent Baldwin knew that ignoring this call wasn’t an option.

Clearing his throat, he hit the RECEIVE button and said, “Agent Baldwin here.”

“Baldwin—we need to talk.”

The use of his name without the title wasn’t a good sign.

In the shadow of the vegetation intertwined through the trellis, Claire rested on the lanai, reading her iPad. The scent of the fragrant flowers and soft breeze from the sea combined to bring her peace. While listening to the waves, Claire read the news from around the world. According to her window to the world, she and Anthony Rawlings were still missing. Rawlings Industries was floundering as temporary CEO Timothy Benson reached out to the stock holders, asking them to have faith in their founder as well as the companies he brought under the Rawlings’ umbrella. Claire wondered about Sue and worried how Tim’s stress would affect his family.

Every such thought directed Claire back to Catherine. Ripples of vengeance continued to expand in all directions. It was like throwing a rock into Claire’s lake. The resulting circles of water went out and out until they faded away. Momentarily closing her eyes, Claire relished the thought of Catherine fading away. Never could she remember feeling such vengeance for one person. When she hated Tony, it was for what he’d done to her. This was different. Catherine’s ripples were reaching people who never deserved this vendetta.

Claire knew Catherine wouldn’t be stopped until she told the FBI the truth. She looked at the table and read Harry’s card for the millionth time—he was her contact—he was Tony’s contact. In the three days since Tony arrived, neither of them had bothered to connect their contact. Before she made a decision one way or the other about her impending call, Phil’s voice refocused her thoughts.

“Claire, do you have a few minutes?”

She grinned. “Well, you know, I’m super busy.” He pulled out a chair at the umbrella table beside her. Although it was still morning, the intense sun warranted shade whenever possible. Phil’s shorts and shirt amused Claire. It was a much more casual look than he normally wore. “I thought you were going into town with Tony and Francis?” she asked.

“I changed my mind. I’d like to talk to you privately for a minute.”

Immediately, she bristled. She and Tony hadn’t breeched major topics in the last few days—no specifics; however, they had talked about trust—giving and receiving it. “Phil, I won’t lie to Tony.”

“I’m not asking you to. I want to discuss something with you alone. I’ve no doubt he’ll give his opinion, but nevertheless, I’d like yours first.”

Claire pulled herself up and sat taller as her legs remained outstretched on the soft chaise lounge. “What do you want to discuss?”

“You know I have a few different phones?”

Claire nodded.

“By using a remote server with multiple redirections”—Phil paused, as if knowing Claire didn’t need the technical reasons—“never mind the how—anyway, I’m positive the phones aren’t traceable, nor are the ones you and Rawlings have. Earlier today, I turned on my old phone.”

Claire wasn’t sure if it was his voice or his tentative cadence, but something about Phil’s speech brought concern to her consciousness. “I don’t know if you’re trying to or not, but you’re making me nervous. Please just say whatever it is. Do you want to leave?”

“Do I want to? Not really. Security on this island isn’t a bad gig. Many would agree that I have the ideal job. The thing is that, when I turned on my phone, I had multiple messages from Ms. London.”

Claire’s heart stopped, and she felt the blood drain from her face. “Why did you want to talk to me privately about this?”

“I’m assuming that I still work for you?”

The way he emphasized the last word, Claire knew he wasn’t referring to her as part of a couple. “Theoretically, yes, you work for me.”

He cleared his throat. “In my previous experience, it’s usually the person with the bankroll who tells me what I should be doing. Like when I was trailing you, Rawlings told me what he wanted. I don’t mind watching the sky for planes or the horizon for boats, but I think I could be more useful to you—to both of you—back in Iowa.”

“Why?” Claire asked with increased volume and pitch coming through her one word.

“None of her messages asked specifically about you. She asked if I’d completed my job. If so, she has another one for me. If I go, I could keep an eye on her and report back to you.”

Claire knew it was selfish to want Phil to stay on the island; however, she couldn’t help it. She never would have predicted that having both Tony and Phil nearby would give her such an overwhelming sense of comfort. After the last few months, she didn’t know she’d ever experience this sense of peace again; she didn’t want to lose it so soon. Claire responded, “I don’t know what to think. I think we should discuss it with Tony.” Claire saw Phil’s grin and imagined his green eyes with golden flecks smirking behind the dark glasses. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

“Three days—don’t you dare let the woman I spent a month with in Europe disappear in three days.”

She looked down at her lap and exhaled. “I haven’t disappeared.” Looking back up, she went on, “It’s called team work. Part of that is refraining from making unilateral decisions.”

Phil nodded. “All right, I’ll buy that. Now, how about that instinct we talked about? What’s your instinct saying about this idea?”

Claire considered and replied, “It’s saying this is a good idea. If we don’t have someone back there keeping us informed, we’ll have no idea what she’s doing.” Before Phil could respond, Claire added, “That’s my instinct. My heart is telling me, not to let you leave. Everyone is safe here. If I could, I’d give you a list of people and tell you to have them all brought here. I’d even authorize kidnapping—I know from experience that it’s an effective means of relocation.”

Phil lowered his voice. “Speaking of which, is that the only reason you don’t want me to leave?”—he hesitated—“Are you and Rawlings...all right? I mean, if I leave, are you safe?”

Claire’s shoulders relaxed. She hadn’t been sure where he was going with his question. “Yes, Phil, we’re good. I’ll be fine. I worry about you out there—especially with her.”

“I’ve handled worse adversaries.”

“I’m curious to know what she wants.”

“So am I,” Phil admitted. “She wanted you gone from Iowa. She wanted you to get the money and disappear. I accomplished both of her goals. Maybe I’ve proven myself worthy. If that’s the case, I could possibly learn more valuable information.”

Claire smiled. “You’ve proven yourself very worthy. If you go, will you do one thing?”

“I don’t know.”

“Will you stay working for me? I don’t care if she’s paying you too. I want to know you have our best interest at heart.”

“Claire, it doesn’t take a financial obligation to verify that commitment.”

She reached over and squeezed his hand. “Thank you...I don’t say that enough.”

“You say it too much. Now, how are we bringing this up to Rawlings?”

Laying back with her hands on her midsection, Claire sighed. “I’ll do it. I’ll tell him that you told me about the messages and that my instincts tell me that you should go to Iowa and infiltrate the wicked witch’s castle”—Removing her sunglasses, Claire peered at Phil—“Just promise me that you’ll watch out for those flying monkeys! They’ve always given me the creeps.”

Later that day, after lunch, Claire and Tony were alone in the living room when Claire approached the subject of Phil’s departure.

“Whose idea was this?”

Claire stood taller. “It was his, but I like it.”

“You like it? Claire, you don’t seem to understand how this employer/employee relationship works.”

She didn’t like his tone. “Excuse me?”

“I’m not sure I trust him”—Tony’s dark eyes drank her in—“If you think you’re going to retain control of my money and the staff that my money bought, you need to start acting like the employer—not like a friend who sits to listen to everyone’s ideas.”

“Why? I personally think it’s working for me.”

His volume rose. “It isn’t working for you. Don’t you see how easily you can be manipulated?”

“I’m not being manipulated.”

Tony turned toward the open doors; she watched as the muscles in his neck flexed. Finally, his words came out louder than before, “Everyone can be manipulated. It’s most successful by people who’re closest to you. Claire, you let everyone get too close!”

Claire tried to reign in the fire she felt growing in her eyes. “Tony, I trust Phil explicitly. I trusted him with my life and our child’s life.” She exhaled, softened her tone, and stepped toward her ex-husband. Taking his hands in hers, she said, “He brought you to me. I didn’t ask for that. It was his idea to go get you. Personally, I’m glad he has his own initiative.”

“Initiative is fine. What about agenda?”

“What would you like to know about my agenda?”

They both turned to the sound of Phil’s voice. Tony’s neck straightened as his business tone emerged. “Excuse us; we’re having a private discussion.”

Phil shrugged. “There are only five people on this island. I can guarantee all five could hear your discussion. I’d say—all things considered—it wasn’t private.”

In the heat of the moment, Claire wasn’t sure if she wanted to laugh or hide. Most members of a staff would be smart enough, or respectful enough, to feign ignorance. Whether it was not hearing discussions or not noticing bruises, Tony was more accustom to a different type of employee. It was at that moment that Claire realized the difference. This staff wasn’t his—they were hers.

Her mind went back to San Diego. Just now, when Phil entered the room, he did so, to do what he’d done that night at the hotel with his note—he’d entered to verify Claire’s safety. She knew Tony wasn’t accustomed to this behavior. She chuckled, thinking, poor Tony—his world is upside down, and said, “Despite the volume, we are having a discussion. Since it’s about you, I’d like you to join us.”

Though Tony didn’t respond or rebuff her statement, she felt his stare penetrate before he said through clenched jaws, “Yes, please, since privacy doesn’t seem to be an issue, join us. I was just asking about your agenda regarding this job offer in Iowa.”

“My agenda is to learn Ms. London’s plans.”

“And to what means are you willing to go?”

Phil shrugged. “I don’t have many limits.”

Tony stepped forward. “That’s my concern. What if she offers you more money than we’re paying you? Would you give up our location?”

Claire interjected, “I told you, Tony, I trust Phil. I believe he has our best interest at heart. I believe that where we’re concerned, there is a limit.” She looked to Phil.

He grinned. “When it comes to my current employer—I do have limits. Your location won’t be shared by me.”

Claire reached for Tony’s hand once again. “See, he wants to go—he wants to help us.”

Tony’s dark eyes went from Phil to Claire and back again. He exhaled. “I think of you as the man I hired to watch Claire. I have to keep reminding myself that you’re the reason she’s here and safe. Don’t disappoint me—us.”

Phil extended his hand, and the two men shook. “I wouldn’t.”

They discussed the plan, including how Phil would stay in touch. They also discussed contacting the FBI. Although Phil didn’t believe their calls from the island could be traced, he recommended that if Claire or Tony felt the need to contact Baldwin or anyone else, they keep the calls relatively short.

With time, they all agreed. The island was a safe retreat and the best place for Claire. She wanted Tony to be with her—so, he’d stay. Being safe wasn’t enough; they needed to know what was happening outside of their bubble. Phil would do his best to learn what they couldn’t.

Maybe all one can hope is to end up with the right regrets .

—Tom Miller

Claire didn’t feel the soft restraints keeping her body pinned to the moving gurney or hear the loud noises from the echoing machine. During another time, in another life, the solitude of the Diffusion Tensor Imaging machine (DTI) would have frightened her. Perhaps it would today, if she was aware—but she wasn’t.

Yes, her body lay prone in a cold room, covered with a blanket, but the soft cotton sheet wasn’t providing the pleasurable warmth radiating through her. No—Claire was somewhere else. The heat emanating through every fiber of her being came from a strong, yet gentle touch and circulated to places where that touch had yet to explore.

Closing her eyes, Claire enjoyed the basking rays of sunshine on her skin and the scent of surf in the humid air. Though her recently applied sunscreen filled her senses, the lingering aroma of cologne comforted her thoughts and lulled her away to a peaceful, dreamless state; then, without warning, the sensation of large hands caressing her ankles and moving toward her thighs reignited her world. Claire’s lips turned upward as goose bumps materialized. Often times, people associated those small bumps to cold—on the contrary, at that moment—Claire wasn’t cold.

Opening her resting eyes behind her sunglasses and focusing on the handsome face before her, Claire saw his devilish grin. It was a smirk of lust and pleasure, which with only a glance could melt not only her insides, but her world. With the intense tropical sun, his eyes were also covered by dark glass, yet as his smiling lips neared hers and her smile morphed to a willing pucker, she knew there was an unseen intensity waiting for her behind those dark glasses.

Reaching up, she lifted the dark barrier and saw what she expected to be present. Just because she anticipated it, didn’t mean the dark reality didn’t affect her. Claire’s insides quivered as he removed her sunglasses and their eyes met. There was a moment when she thought to speak, but it was short-lived. So much more could be said without words.

When she woke earlier that day, he was gone. Madeline had said he’d gone out early. Claire hadn’t worried, she knew he’d return, but after only a few hours apart, she now realized their reunion would be more than a simple, Hi, how are you today?

It was true, her body had been thoroughly fulfilled and used the night before; nevertheless, it now yearned for what was being silently offered. When his full, soft lips engaged hers, the passion of the night before returned with a vengeance. Only moments earlier, her lungs had inhaled without instruction, yet as acquiescing moans escaped her lips, breathing required thought. Maybe it wasn’t thought as much as it was timing. Inhaling needed to occur in unison. If it didn’t, his unrelenting approach would rob her body of the oxygen necessary to go on. As her bathing suit covered breasts ached for the friction of his chest, Claire decided breathing was overrated. She wanted what was slowly overtaking her—to be consumed by the fire smoldering in the dark penetrating eyes. If in the process she forgot to breathe—did it really matter?

With the open doors looking out to the crystal blue sea, their room was only slightly more private than the lanai; however, it was their room. Madeline and Francis respected their privacy. As Claire’s bathing suit fell to the floor, she realized they’d yet to speak, and still, they’d conversed more than some couples did in a lifetime. They’d greeted one another, discussed the pleasantries of the tropical morning, and assessed that each was doing well.

Laying on the soft comforter with her arms above her head, the man she loved gazing down at only her, and the large ceiling fan methodically moving the humid air, Claire’s world was right. Had she planned on her morning taking this turn? No. Was she willing? Without a doubt.

The large, talented hands claiming her body also had her soul. While his approach could at times be forceful—it was always gentle. Yes, her mind held memories of contrary times, but those memories were so long ago that they were difficult to resurrect. At this moment, she willingly surrendered, as she’d done a thousand times, to the whims and desires of the man above her. Without any words, he could manipulate and dominate—move her from a state of sleeping bliss to the throes of erotic desire. Similar to years ago, his dark eyes held the passion and emotion that allowed her world to spin. Because he willed it so—the world was right. Without him, the entire planet would spin out of control, lost forever in the darkest depths of the universe.

It didn’t seem to matter that her body was changing. The tips of his fingers lingered as he taunted her sensitive breasts. So little was needed to entice her yearnings—a simple puff of air on a taunt, wet nipple made Claire’s back arch and her insides liquefy. Teasing her to the point of begging, yet satisfying every desire was his specialty. Despite the way she’d changed—the way her body had changed—she felt wanted and sexy as he skillfully caressed and suckled, moving south over her enlarged...

Claire shook her head and tried to reason.

Enlarged—baby—no—gone—everything gone—

She fought the thought—the idea—no!

Dr. Fairfield watched in horror as the patient, who only moments earlier had been experiencing something which none of them could see or hear, was suddenly flailing against the restraints. The machine wasn’t meant for movement.

“I told you to sedate her!” Dr. Fairfield yelled into the microphone.

Trying to remain calm, the nurse beside him replied, “We did, Doctor. She shouldn’t be waking.”

It didn’t matter if she shouldn’t be—Claire was fighting the restraints with all she had. Her mouth opened, yet with the roar of the machine, the feverish attempt of the medical staff to halt the DTI, and the doctor’s angry shouts, Claire’s pleas for her unborn child went unheard and unnoticed. By the time the others entered the lead lined room, Claire’s flushed cheeks were covered with tears and only wordless whimpers escaped her lips.

Dr. Fairfield slammed his fist against the counter as the staff sedated and moved the patient from the gurney. Speaking to everyone—and no one—he said, “This is her fifteenth day on medication. Do you know how much time and money was spent on that scan?! Now it’s useless! She’s barely a one-hundred-and-ten-pound woman. How damn hard is it to get her sedation right?”

Though he asked questions—he didn’t want verbal answers. Flinging the door to the windowed room so hard that it rebounded off the wall, he called over his shoulder, “When the results we did get from this scan are available, bring them to me.”

Dr. Fairfield’s recently prescribed treatment was both proven and new. There were documented results with these medications; however, Dr. Fairfield was taking it a step further, combining medications and requiring more intensive therapy. It was more than had been tried in the published literature. This scan was supposed to show the first marker. Obviously, even without the DTI, the patient was experiencing a hallucination; however, observation wasn’t measurable. The DTI was meant to document increased brain activity. This sedation screw-up would postpone the next DTI for at least a couple of days. Frustrated, the doctor stormed back to his office.

Driving toward Everwood, Meredith reconsidered her objective. She’d been at this research for two and a half months. Soon, her children would be home for a small break before the next boarding school session. The hours she spent at Everwood would seriously detract from time she could spend with them. Was this story really worth the effort?

The tightness in Meredith’s chest told her what she already knew—she wasn’t a detached investigative reporter, like she’d always wanted to be. She was a friend, one who, for lack of a better word, was compensating for the pain she’d brought her friend years ago. This wasn’t about a story—it was about saving Claire and preventatively restoring pride to a little girl who one day would learn terrible things about her father. Meredith wanted Nichol to know there was more to the story—a page two as Paul Harvey used to say. It wasn’t that Meredith didn’t trust Emily to one day enlighten Nichol to Anthony Rawlings’ attributes, although she wasn’t sure she did. It was that, even though Claire came to her with the story of her and Anthony’s introduction, Meredith was the one who wrote it and made it common knowledge. If Claire never recovered and the rest of the story never came out, how would the book that’s made Meredith millions affect the beautiful, innocent little girl whose last name was Rawlings.

Meredith parked her car in the employee parking lot, smoothed her ugly, white uniform, and stood tall; she knew this assignment was more about guilt and obligation than investigation. Until she was convinced Claire was beyond hope—Meredith couldn’t stop. Thank God her husband understood. He’d make their children’s two week break memorable. Maybe one day, not only would Nichol be proud to carry the name Rawlings, but Meredith’s children would be proud to share their parents’ name—not only because their father was a wonderful, loving person—but because even when it was difficult—their mother had learned to do the right thing. It wasn’t an easy lesson. Although Claire carried the scars, Meredith would never forget that she’d been the one to start the wheels of that lesson in motion.

Ms. Bali informed Meredith of Claire’s change in protocol a few weeks ago. As a member of Claire’s food care staff, Meredith had been included in meetings centered on Ms. Nichols. It was during one of those meetings that she’d met Claire’s new lead doctor, Dr. Fairfield. They weren’t introduced. Meredith sat attentively and listened to his directives. Being on Claire’s direct food care team, she also had access to Claire’s records—including the recently prescribed medications. Meredith researched each drug thoroughly—most fell under the class controlled and categorized as antipsychotic.

Since the induction of the new drug regime, Meredith assessed—Claire had become more depressed and agitated. Getting her to eat—anything—of late—was difficult. She now became irritated at any change in routine. Even the suggestion of going outdoors, the activity she enjoyed most, provoked angst. It wasn’t that Claire spoke, but non-verbally, she fought; her body tensed and her glare intensified. The compliant patient of two months ago no longer existed. Meredith reasoned any change was positive, yet her heart told her otherwise. She truly wondered how much Emily knew, and how much longer she’d allow it to continue. Was it better to have Claire content in her own world or upset in the real one?

Today, Meredith’s shift began at 4:00 PM, which meant she’d deliver dinner. After a few days into the new protocol, Ms. Bali rearranged assignments, making Claire Meredith’s only responsibility. Although Dr. Fairfield wanted Claire responsible for her own feeding, nutrition was important, and any hope of her feeding herself was currently gone. Her sister wouldn’t allow her to go without meals. Without a doubt, Claire required more consistent care. It wasn’t Meredith’s qualifications that landed her this opportunity; it was Claire’s positive response to her. The people in charge were willing to do anything to avoid conflicts. Ms. Nichols didn’t like change; therefore, anything the doctor didn’t demand changed wasn’t—that included Meredith.

The more time Meredith spent with Claire, the more she feared Emily would discover her interaction. That’s why Meredith requested the later shift: 4:00 PM to 11:00 PM. On the days Emily visited, it was usually earlier in the day.

As Meredith approached the bank of employee lockers behind the kitchen, she saw Ms. Bali. It was obvious that she was waiting for her. Cautiously, Meredith asked, “Hi, Ms. Bali, is there a problem?” Looking at her watch, she saw that there were still ten minutes before the beginning of her shift. “I wasn’t scheduled until 4:00 PM, was I?”

Ms. Bali didn’t answer; instead, she tilted her head toward the offices and said, “I need to speak with you—privately.”

Meredith’s heart raced; perhaps her concerns about her children’s impending break were unwarranted. If Emily discovered her presence—or Everwood discovered her fake credentials—her investigative—or guilt-filled endeavor was over. Trying to contain her concerns, Meredith asked, “Do you want me to come right now, or can I put my things in my locker?”

Ms. Bali’s strained expression mellowed. Forcing a smile, she replied, “Oh, you can put your things in your locker. We’ve had a rough day, and I need to fill you in.”

Remembering to breathe, Meredith nodded, placed her purse and lunch in her locker, and fell quietly in step with her supervisor, walking toward her private office. Once inside, Ms. Bali shut the door and asked Meredith to sit.