Текст книги "Convicted"
Автор книги: Aleatha Romig
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Текущая страница: 27 (всего у книги 35 страниц)
He accessed the tissue sample analysis for Simon Johnson. Since Rawlings confessed to paying for Simon’s demise, no one had taken the time to verify the Johnson case. Harry wanted to let it go. He wanted Anthony Rawlings to rot in jail for a very long time. Without a doubt, hiring someone to sabotage a plane was a crime, and of that—without a doubt—Rawlings was guilty. Of actually murdering Simon Johnson—Harry wanted to say—yes, Rawlings was responsible—but he couldn’t. Johnson’s body had been so badly burnt, the forensics were difficult.
The toxicology report came back with one hundred percent accuracy that actaea pachypoda was not in Simon’s system. Over the last few months, Harry had begun to wonder, what was in Simon’s system. Now, as he accessed the data, he found the answer to his question—the only foreign substance detected in Simon’s tissues was diphenhydramine. Harry scrolled to the raw data—diphenhydramine, micrograms/liter 17.5. Saying a silent prayer that his snooping would go undetected, he wrote down the information and backed out of the system. He was finally getting his life and his head where they needed to be. Harry didn’t need the powers that be to know he was still obsessing over a closed case.
A quick Google search on his phone confirmed Harry’s thoughts—diphenhydramine was more commonly known as Benadryl. He and Simon had been friends for a few years. Harry tried to remember if Simon had allergies—after all, his plane did crash in the late fall. With the dryness and fires often associated with autumn in California, it would make sense that he’d take Benadryl during allergy season. Harry had Simon’s medical history on his laptop back at the hotel and made a mental note to check for allergies. One last search, then Harry was done—he wanted to know the lethal volume of distribution for diphenhydramine...he waited.
After a few clicks, the answer appeared—lethal volume of distribution for diphenhydramine in adults—19.5 mg/L—children 7.5 mg/L—and infants 1.53 mg/L. Simon’s volume of distribution didn’t fall in the lethal range. Once again, Harry had more questions than answers.
Courage is resistance to fear, mastery of fear, not absence of fear.
—Mark Twain
Claire stared down at their three-month-old daughter. She remembered to breathe, as air fought with pride and love, to fill her chest. Staring at Nichol’s big brown eyes, she watched the chocolate come and go as her stubborn little girl fought unsuccessfully to keep her eyes alert. The lids fluttered slower and slower, each blink lasting longer than the last, until sleep overtook her round, angel like face. While her pink lips pursed and her long, dark lashes rested upon her rosy cheeks, Claire swooned helplessly, finding it difficult to look away from the child resting peacefully in her arms. Claire wasn’t the only one held captive by Nichol’s charm. It reached out to anyone within her sphere, including Madeline.
Claire rocked Nichol gently as Madeline’s rich laugh and hearty voice filled the tropical air, “Madame el, she eats well! Your beautiful daughter, she’s growing every day. Look at those cheeks!”
Both women peered at Nichol’s soft skin nestled against Claire’s breast. Answering in a stage whisper, Claire replied, “She is—too fast! I want to hold her and rock her forever.”
“Enjoy, because soon she’ll be crawling all over this floor. Next, she’ll be running all over the island.”
Claire shook her head. She couldn’t imagine her little baby girl crawling, much less running. Enjoying the even pace of the rocking chair, Claire closed her eyes and sighed. “I never imagined it would be so amazing.”
“Madame el, do you want me to put the princess in her crib?”
Claire started to say, no, when she looked up and saw Tony enter the room. The gleam which normally occupied his soft brown eyes—especially since the birth of their daughter, was gone. In its place, Claire saw darkness. She wasn’t sure the cause. Was it worry or concern? His stoic expression hid any revealing clues, yet she knew there was something. It wasn’t just his eyes; she could feel the tension radiating from his every pore. It’d been so long since she’d seen him this way. Instinctively, she understood he wanted to speak to her alone.
Feigning a smile toward Madeline, Claire relinquished the sleeping bundle. “I’d love to sit here all day; however, I’ll admit, Nichol needs a good nap in her crib—if we’re going to ever get her on the right schedule.”
“Oui, Madame el, we will.” Madeline looked toward Tony and back to Claire. Her smile faded as the lines in her forehead deepened. She continued, “If you need anything, or you Monsieur, please call for me. After I put the little angel down, I shall be in the kitchen.”
Tony remained silent as Claire acknowledged Madeline’s words and watched her walk away. Once they were alone, Claire made her way toward her husband. With each step forward, she analyzed the man before her, standing silently staring out at the beautiful, blue sea. Despite his casual attire, Claire recognized his stance, the tightness in his shoulders and clinched jaw. She knew he was contemplating a thousand things—he was, once again, the CEO of a billion dollar conglomerate—the man with unfathomable responsibilities—the man before paradise. She needed to know why.
Reaching for his arm, Claire looked up into his dark eyes. “Tony, what is it? What’s the matter?”
“I need to tell you something”—his tone matched his gaze, strong and demanding—“but first, I want you to promise that you’ll do as I say.”
Claire stood a little taller. “I love you—I promise that. What I’m going to do has yet to be determined.” The muscles under her fingertips tensed. Softening her pitch, she implored, “Tony, please tell me what happened. You’re scaring me.”
Turning, he clutched her shoulders as his stare bore down from above. Undaunted, she waited for his explanation. Behind his eyes, where she used to see only darkness, Claire now saw fury, indecision, and love. The sound of the surf filled the void while Tony wrestled to organize his words. Finally, his warm breath hit her cheeks and he implored, “Don’t you understand? I need to know that you and Nichol are safe.”
“We are safe. We’re all safe. What’s this about?”
Squaring his stance, he relayed the information emotionlessly, as if addressing a board of directors, “I just got off the phone with Eric. I’m going back to Iowa.”
Claire pulled herself free and took a few steps backward in disbelief. “No! No you’re not! We talked about this. Catherine can wait. Nichol needs you.” Reaching for his hand, she continued, “I need you.”
“Let me finish.”
Claire nodded. “Fine, finish, but you know what Agent Jackson said. There are charges and a case against you. You helped hide Catherine’s crimes and ran from the FBI. When you step foot on U.S. soil, they’ll take you into custody.” Tears trickled from her eyes. She’d begged for less. Begging to keep her husband safe, with her in paradise, came without hesitation. “Please, Tony. Please remember, we said one year. Let Nichol celebrate her first birthday with us, all of us, here—together.”
“Damn it, you’re killing me,” he said as he wiped the tears from his wife’s cheeks. Gently taking her hand, he led her out onto the lanai, to a shaded chaise lounge. Sitting, he directed, “Look at this view.”
She turned toward the horizon. It was the same view she’d seen each day for months. Some days, she could stare at it for hours, but now she wanted answers.
Tugging softly on her chin, Tony pulled her gaze toward him and kissed her lips. Claire’s heart ached at the sadness she saw. He continued, “I need to know you two are here—safe and sound. I won’t inform the FBI I’m back in the States.” As Claire’s rebuttal began, Tony shook his head in an effort to keep her quiet. Obediently swallowing her protest, she nodded and he went on, “Then—then, I’ll be back. I’ve contacted Phil. With his help, we can finish our objective sooner rather than later.”
Phil had returned to the States after the first of the year. He stayed in constant contact, and Claire hadn’t seen any worrisome emails. “Why?” Her voice quivered as she tried to voice her multitude of concerns all at once. “Why would you take that risk? What’s so important that it can’t wait a year? And how did you talk to Eric? Both the FBI and Phil told you not to contact anyone who doesn’t know our location. What if he told Catherine?”
“He won’t. If there’s one person in this world I trust explicitly besides you—it’s Eric. He’s proven himself over and over.”
“Yeah, you used to say the same thing about—” Although Claire stopped herself before she completed the sentence, it was too late. In the pools of black staring at her, she saw the pain she’d just inflicted.
Tony’s volume rose. “You don’t think I know? You don’t think I’ve berated myself over and over for trusting her and putting you and Nichol in harm’s way.” Claire reached out, but when the tips of her fingers neared his arm, he pulled away. His response was as much a confession as a wish, “I thought the estate was a haven—hell, you were probably safer in California with—”
Claire wouldn’t let Tony go there, she interrupted, “I’m sorry. I know you trust Eric. I also know you thought you were protecting us. We can’t rewrite history. If we could, our pen would probably run out of ink”—this time, as she touched his hand and intertwined her fingers with his, he didn’t stop her—“Please tell me what’s happening.”
“I have to go back and be sure everyone is safe. It’s a responsibility I can’t avoid.”
“Is this about Sophia—Catherine’s daughter? Do you really think Catherine would do anything to her own daughter? Besides, not to sound selfish, but I don’t think she’s worth you leaving us and taking the risk.”
“It’s not about Catherine’s daughter.” Tony hesitated.
“Then who is that important?”
“Emily.”
Claire’s heart stopped. Despite the warm ocean breeze, her body shivered while goose bumps formed. “Emily? What do you mean? Did something happen?”
“Not yet, but Phil called, and he’s concerned. Emily and Catherine have been communicating quite a bit recently, via email and phone. His instincts told him something wasn’t right.”
Claire studied her husband’s features. In her heart, she knew she’d misjudged his sincerity involving her family in the past. She reminded herself that things had changed—they had changed. Seeing the lines around his eyes and the angst in his expression, she believed that he truly looked worried. She continued to listen.
“Phil didn’t know any more, so I decided it was worth the risk to call Eric. Our cell is blocked—Phil’s made sure that it can’t be traced. When I got a hold of Eric, he agreed—there’s something going on with Catherine and Emily. He said your sister and brother-in-law have agreed to come to Iowa next week. Catherine convinced Emily to visit and retrieve some of your things.”
Claire stood and paced near the edge of the infinity pool. The beautiful surroundings no longer registered. Her mind was on the other side of the world. “That doesn’t make sense. Why would Emily be talking with Catherine? She shouldn’t trust anything Catherine says.”
“But Emily doesn’t know that. All she knows it that you trusted Catherine. I’d bet you told Emily multiple times how wonderful Catherine was to you.”
The bile rose from Claire’s stomach as her mind recalled the glowing endorsements she’d bestowed upon Catherine in her recollections of life on the estate. “I did, but...”
Tony put his hand out, and Claire walked toward him, tears teetering on her lids, as he continued her sentence, “but Emily doesn’t know the truth.”
“Then I’ll call her. After all, you just called Eric—I’ll call Emily.”
“You’ve been missing for six months. How do you think that conversation will go?”
Claire knelt before Tony and laid her forehead on his knees. “Do you think”—sobs of fear resonated from her chest—“Do you think Catherine would hurt Emily?”
Although she looked up to her husband for confirmation, Tony didn’t need to answer. Claire knew the truth before she posed the question. Emily too was a child of a child.
He stroked her hair reassuringly. “I will stop this. It can’t go on. We can’t live in hiding forever, and John and Emily shouldn’t live in fear of a threat they don’t even know exists.”
Taking a deep breath, Claire said, “You’re right.”
Standing, she brushed her lips against his. Tony pulled her into his lap, exhaled, and said, “Thank you. It’ll be a relief to know you’re safe.”
Claire leaned away, her voice stronger. “You’re right—this can’t go on, but you’re not right about Nichol and me staying here—Phil better get us an extra seat because we’re going with you.” She saw his finger moving toward her, about to silence her talking, but Claire shook her head and leaned back. Momentarily, their eyes meet. Hers contained a fire she didn’t try to subdue—it was a fire with a purpose. The flames masked the growing fear coiling through her thoughts. “Tony, this isn’t debatable—I’m not asking. We aren’t staying here and worrying. Besides, Emily is my sister—I’m going.”
Breaking their stare-off, Claire ended the conversation by surrendering herself to his embrace. She concentrated on the steady beat of his heart as her head rose and fell with his deep exasperated breaths. The sounds resonating from his chest pacified her. She fought the desire to stay this way forever—safe and secure in her husband’s arms.
Claire had played this game before. She’d just called his bluff. Now, it was up to Tony. He needed to decide to call, raise the stakes, or fold. She didn’t think folding was an option. Although he wasn’t happy with her proclamation, and it jeopardized his sense of control, they both knew the money to pay Phil—keep them hidden—and secure their return—technically, belonged to her. Ultimately, Claire would decide who would travel—and who wouldn’t.
As minutes ticked by, Claire lay silently in his embrace. She didn’t need to see his eyes—the color didn’t matter. If she wanted to go, then she was going. Claire could’ve yelled or fought to make him understand; instead she waited. Tony needed to justify this reality on his terms. When his arms squeezed her tighter, she knew his decision was made. With a sigh, Tony acquiesced, “I’ll call Phil. We’ll see what he can do; however, I’m confronting Catherine alone. I don’t want you or Nichol in her presence—unless she’s in police custody”—he kissed the top of her head—“Hell, even then—no, I’d don’t want Catherine to ever be near Nichol!”
Claire nodded in agreement. He believed he’d made a compromise. Truthfully, she’d won, yet if making his declaration helped Tony accept her company—she didn’t care. Claire didn’t want Catherine near Nichol either. Her priority was keeping both Nichol and Tony safe. After they assured Emily and John’s safety, Claire wanted her family back in paradise. Eventually, Tony would need to surrender to the FBI—it was inevitable, but she wanted her nine more months of paradise.
The last five months had been magical. Tony and Claire were finally partners with all the ups and downs accompanying those roles. They didn’t always agree; however, after a life with false conformity, they learned disagreeing wasn’t negative. It didn’t mean disobedience or insubordination; instead, it meant discussion, voicing opinions, perhaps arguing, and then making up. Even this last conversation illustrated their recently established equality. They’d faced the demons of their past and chosen a future.
Parenthood was an excellent induction—it took them both into uncharted waters—and evened the playing field—which admittedly had at one time been tilted in Tony’s favor. Every day with Nichol was an exciting new adventure. Claire didn’t want it to end any sooner than necessary. For the first time, she had her dream. It was the relationship she witnessed with her parents and grandparents. At one time, she believed happily ever after was outside of her reach. Now, it was her reality. She wasn’t ready for that to end. After all, it wasn’t supposed to end. The fairy tales her dad read to her as a child ended with—they lived happily ever after.
Claire wanted to believe that was the end of their story, but she feared it wasn’t.
That night, Claire lay in bed and listened to the sounds of her paradise. Unless she concentrated—the ever present surf, no longer registered. What brought the smile to her face and peace to her heart were the sounds coming from the attached nursery. The rockers of the chair creaked against the bamboo floor. Claire closed her eyes and pictured Tony holding Nichol.
Tonight, their daughter had made it all the way until 3:00 AM, before waking to eat. Before her cries registered to Claire, Tony was out of bed. Minutes later, he brought a freshly changed, cooing bundle to Claire. The middle of the night feeding was their special time. It was as if their room—their bed—and their family existed in a bubble which no outside force could penetrate; then, as was their routine, when Nichol’s belly was full, Tony told Claire to sleep, took their daughter to the attached nursery, and rocked her back to sleep.
Normally, Claire would drift away as his deep baritone voice spoke softly in the other room. Some nights, she’d try to listen to his words; however, sometimes she felt like an intruder on their private talks. Tonight, she gleaned words here and there as he lulled Nichol back to her world of slumber. The words that registered were Tony’s affirmations of devotion. She couldn’t help but notice that the word safe seemed to be tonight’s reoccurring theme. Claire twisted on the satin sheets realizing that hearing him repeat that word had the opposite effect on her.
When Tony finally climbed back to bed, Claire nuzzled against his chest. The lingering scent of cologne combined with a faint aroma of baby powder overpowered her senses. Her voice cracked as she tried to sound strong, “I love you.” She didn’t want him to know how scared she was. After all, she was the one who demanded to accompany him to the States.
Tony stroked her back and whispered, “I love you, too.” As if to reassure not only Claire but himself, he pulled her tighter and proclaimed, “It’ll all be all right. I won’t let anything happen to you or her.”
Claire nodded into his chest. She knew, even with his hushed tone, he meant every word, but at this moment, it wasn’t hers or Nichol’s safety Claire doubted. “What about you? Who’s keeping you safe and assuring your return?” Her tears ran onto his chest as she no longer attempted to feign strength. “I’m not just worried about Catherine”—her words came in snippets, interspersed with deep painful sobs—“what about the authorities?” “I don’t want to lose you,” “I don’t want this to end.”
Tony’s head fell against the headboard as he continued to rub circles on the soft exposed skin of her back. “I don’t deserve to be kept safe.”
She sat up and stared at him through the darkness. “Don’t you dare say that!”
“It’s true. I’ve done awful things, and I deserve to pay for them.”
“Tony, please stop.”
He sat taller, pulling Claire close and tried to explain. “The thing is, if this had all come down years ago—before you—I would’ve thought it was undeserved—an injustice. Like how I used to see my grandfather’s consequences, but now—now I know I deserve it. Back then, I would’ve gone away concerned only with Rawlings Industries. Now, everything’s different. The idea of being away from you and Nichol kills me. That separation—no matter if it starts sooner or later, will be worse than anything they could’ve done to me, before.”
“You’re turning state’s evidence against Catherine. With Brent, Tom, and all your legal team, maybe you can avoid jail time?”
“Damn it, Claire! You don’t deserve any of this. Maybe we shouldn’t have remarried; then you wouldn’t be married to someone who’s discussing jail time, and you sure as hell wouldn’t be harboring a fugitive.”
Claire smirked. “I don’t know. You’re married to someone who’s been in a federal prison.”
His head fell to hers, as if he couldn’t allow any part of him to not be in contact with her. “You’re so much stronger than I.”
“I hardly think that’s true.”
“I don’t know if I could survive what’s happened to you.” She felt him stiffen as he corrected, “What I’ve done to you.”
She let her fingers swirl through the soft hair on his broad chest. “It’s over, and you will survive it—we’ll survive it—we’ve made it this far.”
“I’ve never asked, and you’ve never said, what was it like?”
“Tony, please—”
He rolled her over to her back. From the faint light of the nursery and the moon over the sea, Claire saw the emotion in his eyes—she saw regret, sadness, and perhaps even fear. Instead of making that pain worse, she wanted to take it away. Swallowing her memories of prison—the memories of loneliness—the desperate need for fresh air—and the ever threatening depression—she answered, “It was very routine.”
He raised his brow.
Claire reached up and caressed his cheek. The stubble made her smile—she loved the sensation of that stubble on her skin. “Every day is the same. You wake at the same time, eat, go from place to place, shower, sleep—everything is scheduled.”
“You’ll never know how sorry I am that I’ve ruined your life. You deserve so much better than me.”
She arched her back so that her lips contacted that same stubble. After a lingering suckle, she replied, “Are you saying you wish we weren’t here—right now? That you wish we weren’t together?”
Tony shook his head. “You know I’m not.”
She pressed her breasts upward. The sensation of his hard chest brought her over sensitive nipples to attention. “I’ll admit there were parts of the journey I’d prefer to forget; the destination is”—she suckled the rough skin—“worth it—and—amazing.”
His eyes closed and tone turned sultry. “Mrs. Rawlings, you’re playing with fire. I’m fighting a lot of thoughts and emotions right now. If you aren’t careful, then I can’t promise I’ll be able to control my actions.”
Again, she arched upward this time, her teeth playfully nipped the lobe of his ear. She smiled as she received her desired effect—the familiar growl resonated from the back of his throat. His words were gone.
While he pulled the satin gown away from her breasts, she ran her fingers through his hair and whispered, “I’ve played with fire before—I like it.” Feeling his desire against her leg, she murmured, “And sometimes control is overrated.”
The sandpaper like stubble scratched the soft skin of her enlarged breasts. With each turn of his cheek, her senses electrified. Currents of yearning coursed through her body. The combination of pain and pleasure melted into ecstasy. Claire hugged Tony’s face to her breasts while his hands caressed and encouraged. Nichol wasn’t the only one who enjoyed the liquid feast Claire had to offer.
The next few minutes faded into a cloud of passion. Her nightgown lay upon the floor in a puddle of satin, and his gym shorts disappeared. The tropical humidity added to the sultry moisture molding their bodies together. His broad chest weighed heavily upon her breasts as he pinned her petite body to the soft sheets. Skin to skin they were lost in one another. She closed her eyes as she mindlessly responded to his caresses. Endlessly, his fingers probed as he teased and taunted her desires. Claire couldn’t stand the anticipation any longer. Her entire being cried out as she begged for relief.
No other man had filled her so completely. No other man had taken her to the pits of hell and the uppermost parts of heaven. Her fingers clutched tightly to his shoulders as they momentarily forgot their troubles. Their world was right here and right now. Her body convulsed as she cried out to the only man who knew her completely. Before she could think coherent thoughts, before her body settled from its intense state, Tony too found relief. It was a brief reprieve from the demons surrounding them; nonetheless—it was a break. With the breeze from the ceiling fan stirring the early morning air, they fell asleep in each other’s arms—pretending their safety in paradise would last forever.
Phil secured their new identifications and accompanied them through the multiple TSA check points. Not once was his documentation questioned, as they safely re-entered the United States. Claire’s wig was short, and Tony’s contacts made his eyes a shade of green. Their travel clothes mimicked those of everyone else, and they traveled economy class. Although Nichol didn’t wear a disguise, the four blended well into the anonymous masses.
Before they left their haven, Claire hugged Francis and Madeline and promised their safe return. The couple didn’t know the ins and outs of the Rawlings’ legal issues. They did know they’d all grown fond of one another, and Nichol was the light of their world. Tony explained that he had created a trust fund that would assure the island retreat’s financial solvency. He assured Francis and Madeline everything would remain flush until they returned.
They both promised the couple, that their return would be sooner rather than later. Claire’s heart broke as Madeline’s large tears dampened her shoulder during their farewell. She knew if it wasn’t her sister’s life at stake—she’d never have left their island.
It took two full days flying commercial, but finally, they arrived in Cedar Rapids. It was late at night—after midnight, and thankfully, the airport was quiet, calm, and uneventful. After spending six months in the tropics, the cool March Iowa air chilled Claire to her bone. She shivered in the back seat of the van Phil had arranged to have waiting. With each shiver, Claire covered Nichol with another blanket.
While Phil drove, Tony reached over the baby seat and held Claire’s hand. “You’re trembling. Are you all right?”
“I think I’m just cold.”
Rubbing her gloved hand, he moved it to his lips. “No one noticed us, Mrs. Rawlings. You can relax.”
She exhaled and watched her breath create a frozen mist. “I can’t believe we’re going to show up on Courtney and Brent’s doorstep. I’m excited to see them, but what will they say? We lied to them.”
Tony and Phil’s eyes meet in the rear-view mirror. Claire asked, “What? If there’s something, tell me—I’m sick and tired of secrets.”
Tony squeezed her hand and tried to explain, “Knowledge is leverage for the law. Right now, I’m wanted and you’ve been harboring me. If the Simmons’ were caught communicating with either of us, they could be charged with aiding and abetting a fugitive.”
“Then let’s stay in a hotel. I don’t want to put them at risk.”
This time, Phil answered, “Claire, they want you there.”
“But, how? How would they know?”
Tony replied, “They’ve known since before you and I met up in paradise. Brent’s known you’re alive since the FBI questioned me. The authorities wouldn’t allow him to share. Of course, he told Courtney.”
“All these months! Why didn’t you tell me? I’ve been berating myself over lying to my family and friends. Do Emily and John know the truth?”
Tony’s tone became businesslike. “If you’d have known—you would have wanted to communicate, and no, it made more sense for the Vandersols to remain in the dark.”
Claire stared.
Tony continued, “We’d hoped their pursuit of me and Rawlings Industries would keep them safe—that as long as they were helping to hurt me—we hoped that Catherine would leave them alone.”
Tears coated Claire’s cheeks as she turned toward the dark, dead landscape. Thankfully, there wasn’t any snow, but each tree along the way was leafless and the fields were empty and dark. Claire wasn’t sure why she was crying. Perhaps it was exhaustion or stress. Maybe it was anticipation at seeing Brent and Courtney and John and Emily again.
Her thoughts evaporated as her husband’s hand reached for her chin. With his thumb and forefinger, Tony turned her gaze toward him. Through the darkness of the van she saw his clenched jaw. “Can you please be mad at me later? We’ve got a lot going on.”
Not trying to move away from his determined tone, Claire closed her tired eyelids causing more tears to rush down her cheeks, and explained, “I’m not mad. You’re right—I would’ve thought about calling daily. After Nichol was born, I probably would’ve done it—even if I knew I shouldn’t.” Claire used her gloves to wipe her face. “I’m tired and scared.”
Tony reassuringly took her gloved hand in his. Phil interjected, “The Simmons know about Nichol, and they can’t wait to meet her. Emily and John aren’t due to arrive until tomorrow afternoon.”
Tony smiled and said, “We’ll get some sleep and you’ll feel better.” His devilish grin reappeared as he whispered, “Or not sleep?”
Claire shook her head. “I’m afraid our princess won’t understand the time change. We may spend the night up—in shifts—with her.”
Still holding his wife’s hand, Tony shrugged, leaned against the vinyl seat, and sighed. “That’s not quite the up I was imagining.”
Claire’s eyes darted toward the rear-view mirror. Courteously, Phil appeared lost in his own thoughts, unable to hear the whispers which only moments earlier he’d answered. Claire shook her head and peered under the blankets at a sleeping Nichol. With a weary smile, she placed one hand over their daughter, and enjoyed the sensation of her little chest moving up and down.
For a moment, Claire envied Nichol’s ignorance. As long as she was fed, clean, and loved—their daughter didn’t know the evils that lurked in the shadows. With her other hand, Claire clung tightly to Tony. Closing her eyes, she said a prayer to keep her family safe.
