Текст книги "Convicted"
Автор книги: Aleatha Romig
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Текущая страница: 6 (всего у книги 35 страниц)
I cannot say whether things will get better if we change; what I can say is they must change if they are to get better .
—Georg C. Lichtenberg
Derek listened as Sophia talked about her unusual encounter with Mr. Rawlings. Although she held all the information, her expression was that of a doe in headlights, wide-eyed with wonder. He couldn’t understand why the CEO of his parent company would travel all the way to Provincetown and visit Sophia’s small studio.
“I agreed to meet him for dinner, but he never showed. I guess that’s when he went missing. I’ve thought about calling the authorities and letting them know he was in my studio that Saturday morning...”
“I don’t know if that’s necessary. I asked Roger a few more questions and did a few online searches. Apparently, prior to his disappearance, he was in FBI custody. All I’ve been able to figure is that it has something to do with Claire Nichols.”
Sophia took a sip of her wine as they watched the waves of the Pacific Ocean crest and crash along the strip of shoreline. It was one of their favorite places to visit. Sophia would bring a blanket, and Derek would bring the picnic basket with wine and food. On this autumn day, the beach was virtually empty with the exception of a few dog owners allowing their pets the rare opportunity to exert energy. Sophia assumed the weather was too cool for the Californians. For a woman from the East Coast, the warm sunshine and brisk wind were perfect; sharing it with her husband made it heavenly.
Thoughtfully, she asked, “Didn’t you tell me she’s missing too? When did she disappear? Don’t you think it’s strange that they’re both missing?”
“She disappeared a little over two weeks before him, and her family thinks he’s responsible. They’re making all sorts of noise to anyone who’ll listen. Stocks in all of Rawlings holdings are dropping fast now that the news has gone viral.”
Snuggling against her husband’s shoulder, Sophia sighed. “I’m sure this will be huge for you and everyone employed by one of his companies, but I’m tired of talking about it.” Turning her face toward his, their noses touched. She smiled and whispered, “I’ve missed you so much.”
Derek may have answered verbally, but with the sound of the waves and the wind combined with the pressure of his body laying her back on the blanket, she didn’t hear him. Concerns for Ms. Nichols, for Mr. Rawlings, and for anyone or anything outside the two of them were forgotten. Yes, Sophia loved her studio in Provincetown; nevertheless, home was definitely wherever she could be with her husband.
For the second day in a row, Harry followed his electronic bread crumbs along Venice’s characteristic slab streets to the Hotel Danieli. The luxurious hotel was made up of three beautiful Venetian palazzi. Staring at the magnificent historic structure, he wondered how Claire could afford her accommodations. All of the information he’d read regarding her disappearance claimed she left without accessing any of her available funds. She didn’t take her credit cards or any known cash. As Harry read that information, he remembered thinking, well, at least this time Rawlings gave her access to funds, or so it appeared; then Harry reminded himself, appearances have been known to be deceiving.
Harry knew the beacon on his phone wasn’t deceiving or misleading as it had led him to the same structure two days in a row. Claire Nichols was within the walls of this well-known, beautiful hotel. Yesterday, with help from the bureau, he learned she wasn’t registered—at least, not under her name. The hotel had 225 guest rooms and suites; 72 rooms were registered under only a man’s name, 23 were registered under a woman’s name, and the rest had Mr. and Mrs. in the registration. The rooms and suites registered to residents of the United States were immediately eliminated for one reason or the other. That left only 174 rooms/suites as possibilities. When he remembered Claire’s near perfect Italian retort in St. Mark’s Square, Harry asked for a search of either single women or couples from Italy. Once again, the results were excessive.
Entering the very impressive lobby filled with glass chandeliers, pink marble columns, antique carpets, and gilded ceilings, Harry knew the hotel was too large to hope for another chance meeting. He also suspected that after yesterday afternoon, Claire would remain within the confines of her room. Taking in the opulence of his surroundings, Harry decided to go another direction. Obviously, Claire had funds. Once again, he called the bureau. This time, he asked for information on the suites at the Hotel Danieli, particularly the executive suites. If Claire were staying in one of the top hotels, Harry reasoned she was also staying in one of the best rooms. Within seconds, he learned all were occupied by couples; however, there was only one that caught the attention of the agent on the other end of the line. It had been retained by a couple, Mr. and Mrs. Alexander of Paderno del Grappa, Italy, for the last ten nights. There was a note on the registry indicating that Signore Alexander had recently informed the front desk that they’d be leaving first thing in the morning.
Writing down the suite number, Harry grinned. His instincts told him that he’d found her; then, without warning, his satisfaction waned. If she were registered as Signora Alexander, and Signore Alexander called the front desk, who was Signore Alexander? She acted genuinely surprised by the news of Rawlings’ emergency landing. Her reaction caused Agent Baldwin to assume she wasn’t here with Rawlings, but then he remembered the pictures at the San Francisco Bureau and wondered, could the person in question be Roach, and if it was—was their cohabitation all an act? Or could it be real?
Claire packed her luggage while trying to convince herself that leaving civilization, for a while, was the best move. Although Phil asked her to limit her baggage, she wondered how she’d get the things she needed in paradise. It wasn’t like she imagined paradise with a drugstore on the corner or a boutique just a boat ride away.
Her thoughts went back to Fiji. Claire remembered the suitcases of clothes she took with her on her honeymoon and how very few of them were ever worn. The memories warmed her and—despite her sweater and slacks—left her chilled at the same time. Sadly, Claire’s anticipation for this trip, to paradise, was significantly different; instead of love and romance, she sought peace and tranquility. It wasn’t the allure of moonlit strolls on the beach or the stone shower reprieves from the sultry humidity that Claire envisioned. It was the calmness that came with knowing you can go inside or outside without fear of danger. It was the knowledge that she had done everything—sacrificed everything—to ensure the child growing within her would be able to live in peace.
Grasping the long, gold chain that hung from her neck, Claire’s knees buckled as she sat on the edge of the king-sized bed and shed a tear—or two. With all her heart, she wanted to hear from Tony. She wanted to tell him that she hadn’t left him—she’d left because of Catherine. Claire longed to explain—to have him acknowledge her fear as real; however, part of her, a part that grew every day, also feared him. It wasn’t the fear of physical retaliation, right or wrong, she’d compartmentalized that away. No, it was the fear that he wouldn’t accept her reasoning, wouldn’t acknowledge Catherine as a threat, and wouldn’t forgive her for wavering in the trust she promised to give to him. After all, her leaving was the first flake resulting in an avalanche of problems.
Sobbing quietly behind her closed door, Claire decided, no. Catherine was the one who covered their world with the deadly depths of snow. Claire’s leaving was only the final flake to start the tumble—a simple flake, that became a small snowball, and lead to the avalanche which threatened to cover them all—forever. The last time Claire looked, stocks in Rawlings holdings were still falling, the publisher was threatening to publish her book, and Emily and John were stirring up noise and doubt at every turn. Placing her hand over her midsection, Claire felt the fluttering of butterfly wings.
Did her child understand what she was doing? Did her little one know that this was all for him or her? Claire vowed that she’d do anything and everything to keep this baby safe. By the time Phil knocked on Claire’s door, she had two suitcases filled. The rest of her things would remain in the suite. After all, the difference in climate alone didn’t necessitate much of her attire. Claire knew she’d be glad to be rid of jackets and coats!
Acknowledging Claire’s puffy eyes, Phil asked, “Do you want to go down to one of the restaurants, one last time?”
Claire looked toward the dinner dresses she’d left hanging in the closet. “Thanks, but no. I’m still freaked out about yesterday. Would you please call, and have dinner brought up here?”
Phil nodded. “You know, I’m pretty sure you’re going to like it.”
“I’m sure I will. How long will you be able to stay?”
Phil shrugged. “Long enough to be sure you’re all right with it. I won’t leave you, if you don’t want to be there.”
The fluttering in her midsection suddenly felt like her baby was doing flips. Her hand went to her belly as her eyes opened wide. Oh, she’d felt movement before, but this was different—her entire stomach moved. Claire believed it was probably even visible. More than anything, she longed for Tony. She wanted to share these moments with him; instead, she saw Phil’s concerned expression. When he asked if she was feeling all right, tears filled her eyes. “Yes, I’m feeling fine.” The baby moved again. With more vulnerability than she intended to show, Claire asked, “Would you like to feel my baby? He’s really moving around.”
Phil had never imagined placing his hand on a pregnant woman’s stomach, but there was something in Claire’s voice—a need he wanted to fill. He knew she didn’t want him the way he wanted her; however, at that moment, she needed someone—someone to share in this experience. Being her second choice was more than he’d ever been before—to anyone.
Tentatively, he stepped toward her. When he hesitated, Claire reached for his hand and placed it on top of her stomach. He was afraid to press, but her petite hand pressed his down. Without warning, from under his hand, her stomach moved. He felt it! When his gaze met hers, he saw the excitement in her beautiful eyes. “I felt that,” he whispered.
Claire nodded, her smile breaking some personal sadness. “Isn’t it amazing?”
Phil nodded. “It is.” Although he was apprehensive to allow his hand to rest too long, Claire kept her hand pressed against his, taking away his choice. Once the movement slowed, her pressure released. Never in his life had he experienced such an amazing sensation as that of a new life moving beneath his touch. Smiling down at her, he said, “Claire, thank you. That was unbelievable.”
Blushing, Claire replied, “It is, maybe my little one is excited about a place to call home—even for a little while.”
Phil couldn’t help but respect the woman he’d come to know. “It’ll take some travel time, but we’ll be there soon.” Looking down at her packed luggage, he asked, “Do you need anything before we leave? I can go to a shop before we call for dinner, or we can go out together.”
Focusing once again on the world around them, Claire shook her head. “I do need a few things, but first I’ll need to sit down and make you a list. If we’re traveling early, I’d like to get some sleep; maybe you can go after we eat?”
A few hours later, Phil left the suite in search of the items on his list. With each step and the turn around each corner, his clandestine skills worked overtime. Claire’s story about Harrison Baldwin didn’t make sense. He didn’t want to upset her any more than she already was, but the entire encounter worried him. He’d worked too hard to create an untraceable trail, and it wasn’t like he was new at this. Claire was right; contacting some California cops would not suddenly unlock the secret to their location.
Walking along the slab streets illuminated by lamp light, Phil’s thoughts continually looped back to Claire’s child. He wanted Claire safe. Now, after the experience of feeling the baby move, he was suddenly concerned about the kid as well. Phil knew that he wouldn’t hesitate to assure that both Claire and her child made it to paradise unharmed. Knowing his own history, nothing was beyond the realm of possibilities—Phil would willingly lie, steal, cheat, or kill to fulfill his quest.
Scanning each new location for Harrison Baldwin, he wondered, would one of those actions be necessary when it came to him? Claire assessed Catherine London to be her main threat. Phil contemplated, could it be more involved? He’d done a background check on Harrison and Amber for Mr. Rawlings; however, he had to admit, he took the preliminary information at face value. Phil ascertained, he’d get Claire settled; then he’d look further into the backgrounds of the nice siblings who took Claire under their wings.
Phil’s pocket vibrated.
Claire was nearly ready for bed when she heard the knock on the door to the suite. Reaching for her phone, she sent a text:
“IS THAT YOU? WHY ARE YOU KNOCKING?”
Before she received a response, the second round of knocks echoed through the suite. Cautiously, Claire moved to the peep hole. The lump in her throat grew as she saw Harry with flowers and a sign that read:
CAN WE PLEASE TALK?
She debated her movements when the phone within her hand vibrated. Looking down, she read:
“IS WHAT ME? NO! DON’T OPEN THE DOOR. I DON’T CARE WHO IT IS! I’M ON MY WAY.”
The next time she peered through the hole, Harry’s sign had changed:
I HAVE SOMETHING I NEED TO TELL YOU—PLEASE?
Wondering how he’d located her again didn’t pass through her mind, and what he wanted to tell her didn’t seem as important as the look on his face. It was the sadness. She’d left him in Palo Alto. They’d said goodbye at the hospital, but she left without seeing him again. Then yesterday, she’d allowed the stress of her escape to overpower her feelings of friendship—he was her friend—wasn’t he? They’d been together, he helped her start a new life, and he’d been encouraging and supportive—up until Tony came back in the picture.
Claire placed her hand on her stomach. Their baby wasn’t moving. What was her little one trying to say? Should Claire take the advice of her child and be calm? After all, tomorrow she and Phil were leaving. If she didn’t talk to Harry tonight, would she ever again have another chance?
Let us not be content to wait and see what will happen, but give us the determination to make the right things happen.
—Horace Mann
Phil wasn’t far from the hotel, and his list from Claire wasn’t complete. Without a doubt—none of that mattered. Getting back to Claire was his only thought as he pushed through the crowded streets. His stomach clenched with an overwhelming sense of déjà vu. All at once, he was back in Palo Alto outside of her condominium—
Phil knew Claire was with Baldwin. He’d followed them from the airport, and then, he read his computer—telling him about the sensors. He ran as fast as he could. It didn’t matter; he couldn’t get to her—to her condominium—in time. When he reached her—it was too late...
With blatant disregard for anyone else on the streets of Venice, Phil’s adrenaline-filled veins helped him maintain a full-out run. Some people cursed as he pushed past them, while others sent him hateful looks. None of it registered. The only image in his mind was that of Claire laying on the floor, and Chester reaching in the pocket of his jacket...
Phil didn’t stop to ride the elevator; instead, he took the stairs two and three at a time. By the time he reached the door of their suite, no one was outside. The hallway was empty and calm. Instinctively, he leaned his head against the door and listened. No sounds were registering from inside the room. All he could hear reverberating in his ears was his own heavy breathing and the sound of his pounding heartbeat. Slipping his key into the lock, he opened the door.
It took only a second for Phil to assess the scene. Claire was sitting on the sofa, her expression neither happy nor sad. It was a look he recognized—the one she wore when she was suppressing her feelings. From the doorway, Phil saw the back of a man’s head. Even before the blonde-headed man turned toward the sound of the opening door, Phil knew it was Harrison Baldwin. Phil wasn’t thinking about his movements; it wasn’t planned; nonetheless, as Baldwin stood, Phil found himself suddenly across the room and chest to chest with the younger man. The fear Phil felt for Claire and her child over the last few minutes came bubbling out. “Tell us what you want! How in the hell did you find her?”
“Hey, man”—Harry’s open hands came up in a commonly accepted sign of surrender—“I’m not the bad guy here. Claire’s in no danger from me.”
Phil’s volume decreased, yet his tone remained hard. “Then why are you here?”
Claire interjected, “Phil, Harry was just telling me an interesting story. Please”—she looked toward Phil—“please, let’s hear him out.” Then she added, “Together.”
She’d never seen such rage in Phil’s eyes. He’d told her of jobs he’d done, never with too much detail; however, at that moment, when he entered their suite, she saw military—special ops—private detective—and bodyguard—all rolled into one. It wasn’t that she’d ever questioned his ability to protect her, but at that moment, there was no room for doubt. Phil’s eyes stayed fixed on Harry as he stepped backwards toward Claire.
Despite Phil’s obvious displeasure, Claire believed he’d be as surprised as she at Harry’s news. Yes, Claire had the monopoly on hurt; that went without saying. Even so, Phil would definitely be surprised. Both men stared at one another. Finally, Claire broke the lingering silence, “Harry, why don’t you show Phil what you showed me? Show him the reason I finally opened the door.” She wanted Phil to know she hadn’t acted impulsively.
When Harry reached for his pocket, Claire felt Phil flinch. Reflexively, she placed her hand on his arm and whispered, “It’s all right. It’s not what you think.” The calmness of Claire’s voice released some of the tension from the suite; nevertheless, Claire sensed that if it was necessary, Phil was ready to pounce.
Harry opened his wallet and offered the contents for view. Phil stared for a moment, processing the sight before him. Inside the confines of the leather billfold was a badge. Phil turned questioningly to Claire and then back at the badge. Reaching for the wallet, he looked closer. The golden eagle, the woman with the scales of justice, and the words: Federal Bureau of Investigation. Next to the badge, in its own compartment, was a card which read: in bold letters—FBI with Harry’s picture and the name—Agent Harrison Baldwin.
Clearing his throat, Harry began again, “Mr. Roach, Claire’s been telling me what a wonderful job you’ve been doing keeping her safe. I’ll add that it’s taken a lot of time and manpower to locate the two of you. I applaud your abilities.”
Phil looked once again at Claire. His displeasure at this turn of events was evident in his voice. “Mr., or Agent, or whoever the hell you are—what do you want with her? Why are you utilizing federal manpower to locate her?”
“I can’t exactly divulge that information at this time.” Shifting slightly in his chair, Harry added, “To be honest, I shouldn’t even be divulging my position. It’s that we, the FBI, learned of your plans to check-out of Hotel Danieli tomorrow. After locating Claire, we don’t want to lose her again.”
Phil sat straighter. “I don’t believe that’s your choice. We’re leaving.”
“All I’m asking is that you”—his blue eyes softened with his plea—“Claire, remain in contact with me. I’d like to know your location and that you’re safe.”
Phil interjected, “She has been and will continue to be safe. Maybe the FBI should worry about things like terrorists and leave private citizens like Ms. Nichols alone.”
Ignoring Phil, Harry urged, “Please listen”—he leaned forward—“You and I—we—Claire—I’m worried about you. There’s reason to believe”—Harry shifted in his chair—“We have reason to believe that Rawlings will be looking for you. Currently, his resources are limited. We know that; however, there are rumors that Rawlings has funds outside the United States. If he accesses those funds, we can assume”—his icy blue eyes turned to Phil—“despite your best efforts, Mr. Roach, that Rawlings will locate Claire.”
Claire concentrated on her hands lying calmly in her lap. She didn’t want to make eye contact with either man; both knew her too well. When the silence became palpable, Claire took a deep breath, looked up, and green met blue. “So, Harry, did my sister send you?”
“No,” he answered truthfully. “She is worried and rightfully so. Claire, I wish you acted more concerned about Rawlings.”
“Did you receive help from your law enforcement friends?”
“Yes, but they are FBI, not California—”
“Were you ever employed by the California Bureau of Investigation?”
Harry looked down. “At one time.”
“SiJo—were you ever employed by SiJo?”
Harry’s eyes met hers. “Yes, and I knew Simon; he wasn’t only my sister’s fiancé, he was my friend. This case has meaning to me!”
Claire’s jumble of emotions steadied. She knew Phil’s presence helped; nevertheless, she also realized she was once again facing someone who had lied to her on more than one occasion—someone she’d trusted. With her voice rising an octave, Claire asked, “Tell us, what else have you lied to me about in the past seven or eight months? I’m very curious. What about us? Was that a lie too? Was there any meaning there?”
Harry looked from Claire to Phil and back. “Claire”—Harry’s voice calmed—“perhaps this is something we could discuss in private?”
Placing her hand again on Phil’s arm, she replied, “I don’t intend to have that, or any other discussion with you in private. Please leave.”
“You’re in danger. You know that. The FBI wants to help you. Don’t be stupid and trust the wrong people.”
Claire stood. “Hmm”—straightening her shoulders and feeling the fire flash in her eyes, she replied—“Yes, I’ve definitely been stupid”—emphasizing his word—“in the past. I believe I’m finally learning from my mistakes. Goodbye, Agent Baldwin.”
Harry took a step toward her. “Claire.”
Phil quickly moved between them.
Harry continued speaking, “Listen to me—I didn’t call you stupid. It’s just that you have a blind spot when it comes to Rawlings. Even after everything he’s done.” Harry spoke quickly, “What I mean is that you never would have left, like you did, if there wasn’t some part of you who still feared him.” When Claire started to turn away, Harry reached for her hand. “Just give it some thought. Seriously, I don’t blame you for being upset with me, but I never kidnapped you, raped you, hurt—”
Claire interrupted and pulled her hand free, “No, you didn’t, but you weren’t honest with me either! You misled me into believing you were someone you’re not. At least Tony was honest with who he was.”
“Really? Was he honest when he said his name was Anthony Rawlings or Anton Rawls?”
The intensity of Claire’s eyes grew with each word. “Anthony Rawlings is his legal name. That isn’t, nor was it, a lie; however, I have yet to be assured of your legal name.” When Agent Baldwin failed to respond, Claire continued, “I will repeat—Tony has changed, and he isn’t the person who I’m running from.”
“Then tell me, who are you running from? Who scared you enough to leave him, let your family and friends think you’re possibly dead, and hide out in another country?”
“You’re the FBI—figure it out.”
Phil’s deep voice entered the conversation. His steadfast tone didn’t invite debate. “I believe Claire asked you to leave.”
Once again, disregarding Phil, Harry continued, “Claire, how about if you don’t leave?” His tone mellowed. “Stay here a day or two longer and think about what I said. Tell me who you’re running from. Let me tell you what we know about Rawlings and his connections to other open cases.”
Claire stepped past Phil and walked toward the door to the bedroom. “Phil, please show Agent Baldwin out.” With that, she disappeared through the threshold, shut the door, and left the two men alone. If she tried, she could hear their words, but Claire didn’t want to try. She didn’t want to think about how yet another person, someone she’d trusted, had lied to her. Tears formed as she remembered late nights with Harry, sitting with him on the sofa of Amber’s condominium and recanting details of her private life. During those times, she’d felt safe and supported as she recounted things she never thought she could share with another man. Today, she felt used.
Harry’s words from only a few minutes earlier came back to her: I never kidnapped you, raped you, hurt...Before she walked into the bathroom to get ready for bed, Claire whispered, speaking aloud, yet not for anyone to hear—more as a validation to herself, “You’re wrong, Harry. Now you’ve hurt me.”
When she returned to her room, Phil was standing in the open doorway. His presence surprised her. He usually knocked before he entered her room. “What are you..?”
“Are you all right?”
The concern in his voice wouldn’t allow Claire to be upset by his invasion of her private space. She swallowed and nodded.
Phil grinned. “You see, your instincts were right.”
A renegade tear slid down Claire’s freshly washed cheek. She didn’t want to be sad. After all, she’d left Harry for Tony. She wanted to compartmentalize Harry away; however, from the moment she watched Harry walk out of that hospital room, she’d thought she was the monster, the one who took advantage of his feelings and crushed them. During those months in Palo Alto, she considered Amber and Harry her reinforcements, her chess pieces fortifying her with the strength to face Tony. She wondered, was she just a pawn in a much bigger game? Was anything real?
With a lump in her throat, Claire answered, “Why doesn’t that make me feel better?”
“It will, one day. Just keep listening to them. What are they saying right now?”
Claire shrugged. “That I need to push this away, get some sleep, and concentrate on getting to paradise.”
“Are we still leaving?”
“Oh, yes.” Her eyes brightened. “Can you get us away from Catherine and the FBI?”
Phil smirked. “I’ve always done better under pressure, and just in case my recent babysitting assignment has in anyway caused you to doubt my abilities, you should know—I love a challenge! Tell me, how attached are you to the things in those two suitcases?”
Claire smiled. “I’ve started over from nothing before. I could care less about the contents of those suitcases, and for the record, I think you’ve done an amazing job with your babysitting assignment. If I didn’t, then I wouldn’t continue to trust you with me and my baby’s lives.”
“Good.” Phil casually leaned against the door jam. “We’ll keep our reservations for 10:00 AM. There’s a taxi scheduled to pick us up; however, we’ll leave earlier. There’s a seldom used private water entrance to the hotel. We’ll be going by motorboat. It’ll be cooler, so you might want...” Phil grabbed Claire’s jacket, the one that had been lying on the chair since Claire’s afternoon outing, and flung it toward her. When he did, something dropped from the pocket.
His casual demeanor evaporated. Putting his finger to his lips, he picked the object up and turned the small device all different directions. Claire watched as his eyes shone and his lips turned upward. With new excitement to his voice, Phil said, “You get some rest. I have a little work to do. This just got easier.”
Claire nodded.
As he started to walk away, Phil added, “Oh, and Claire, no matter what sort of ID someone shows you, please don’t...”
She grinned. “I won’t open the door. I’m going to sleep.”
Phil closed the door to her bedroom. Seconds later, she heard the door to the suite open, close, and lock.
By the time they reached the plane, Claire wasn’t sure where they were, or who they were. The Alexanders were gone—forever. At Phil’s urging, she agreed to keep Harry’s card with a phone number tucked inside her carry-on bag. Phil said it was just in case. Prior to their departure, he examined everything—her purse and clothing—everything, to be sure there were no more tracking devices. The best part of his plan, in Claire’s opinion, was when he found another couple scheduled to leave Venice the same time as their reservations. Ingeniously, Phil planted the tracking device in their luggage. Eventually, the FBI would learn it wasn’t Phil and Claire; in the meantime, his diversion bought them some additional time.
It wasn’t that Claire wasn’t willing to work with the FBI or any other branch of law enforcement to bring Catherine down. It was—well—she was hurt. Yes, it may be petty in the grand scheme of her troubles; nonetheless, she needed time to process the new notion of who Harry was and who he wasn’t.
He was an FBI agent.
He wasn’t her friend—or at least—he wasn’t the friend she thought he was.
The haze of sleep faded slowly as the harshness of Tony’s new reality filled his consciousness. Fighting the need to wake, he heard the sound of another person breathing. Instinctively, he reached for the source. As his hand brushed the rough surface of the cheap sheet covering the twin-sized mattress, he pushed away the disappointment and contemplated the turns in his life. Forcing his eyes to open, he faced the drab, dimly lit interior of the hostel.
The room where he’d slept held ten twin beds—all occupied. As he looked about the room, Tony even noticed that one bed contained two people. Laying his head back on the pillow, he exhaled and questioned this reality. Venice, Italy had always been the lap of luxury. From the first time he visited with his grandfather, it was a milieu of opulence. Looking up at the cracked plaster and listening to the sounds of multiple sleeping people, Tony knew the customary five star suites and gourmet meals were nearby; nevertheless, until he reached Geneva and accessed the safety deposit box, they might as well be a million miles away.
