Текст книги "Convicted"
Автор книги: Aleatha Romig
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Текущая страница: 8 (всего у книги 35 страниц)
Without a doubt, I know she was humming “Take Me Out To The Ball Game!”
Contentment consists not in adding more fuel, but in taking away some fire.
—Baldwin Fuller
Claire marveled at the shades of blue as the small plane circled over the island, completing the final leg of their journey. Although her mind constantly went back to her honeymoon, Claire reminded herself this was another place and another time. On her honeymoon in Fiji, Tony was with her, and he was in control.
Here, instead of Tony, she had Phil by her side. With each passing day, Claire appreciated his devotion and presence more and more. His honesty exposed her true threat, and his skills freed her from Catherine and the FBI, keeping her and her baby safe. She knew, without a doubt, she wouldn’t be where she was without him, yet despite all they’d experienced, their roles were so different than anything she’d ever known with Tony. In every matter of importance, Claire had control. After all, her money purchased this paradise retreat. Phil presented her with choices, but every decision was hers. At times, that power was intoxicating; at other times, it was daunting. After years of submission, it was a whole new way to live. Surprisingly, there were times she found herself missing the sense of security that accompanies that loss of responsibility.
As the scenes below her—those of a tropical paradise—bright blues, greens, and whites faded from her consciousness, Claire recalled memories of her recent life in Iowa—the one she left, walked away from, or more accurately, the one from which she ran. In the depths of her heart, she knew, for a short time, she had everything she wanted and more. She and Tony had an understanding; he had the control he needed, but so did she. She came and went as she pleased. Yes, she informed him first, but that was it. Claire informed Tony—she didn’t ask permission—nor did she seek his approval. He allowed it because they trusted one another. In the pit of her stomach, Claire knew she’d been the one to break that trust—to break the promise they’d made in their meadow of confessions. Perhaps that was Catherine’s plan; by convincing Claire to flee, Catherine successfully broke the trust she and Tony had built. Even if Tony contacted her, Claire wondered, could it be rebuilt?
What they had, before Catherine took it all away, was the perfect blend. Claire knew her sister, Emily, would never understand, and with the recent news of Meredith’s book’s pending publication, the rest of the world would probably never understand. Claire wished she could explain. Thankfully, she didn’t need to. It was one of Phil’s most endearing qualities—he didn’t pry.
Understandably, she never gave Phil the word for word, action for consequence, reminiscence of her life with Tony—At least, not like she’d done with Harry; nevertheless, Phil’s job involved knowing. If he hadn’t been good at his job, then he’d never sent the note in San Diego. Phil knew her past and never once had he questioned Claire about it; instead, Phil encouraged. He encouraged her to stay strong, protect her child, and trust her instincts. Right now, although she longed to hear from Tony, her instincts told her that she was finally safe. They reassured her that the trust she’d bestowed on Phil wasn’t misplaced. For once, she’d made a right decision.
As the plane’s pontoons touched the surface of the shimmering water, Claire pushed her memories and desires away. This was her experience, her new life, and the future she was choosing to have with her child. The sound from the plane wouldn’t allow them to converse; therefore, Claire straightened her neck and squared her shoulders as she touched Phil’s leg. When he turned to acknowledge her, Claire smiled.
She wanted him to know that she enjoyed the view outside of the plane—she was content. Phil probably realized her expression was forced; nevertheless, as far as Claire was concerned, it was real. She was tired of compartmentalizing—her new theme was fake it until you make it. Maybe in reality it was a bluff, but she had a lot riding on this bet—she’d secure her poker face and see it through.
As Phil helped Claire out of the plane, she held onto his hand for stability, and looked all around. Below their shoes was a white, sand lined beach, and behind them was the shimmering lagoon which opened to an endless horizon of blue sea. Waiting patiently on the shore were two people.
Phil’s research of possible destinations included staff members’ biographies as well as complete histories of the locations themselves. On this island, the main house was built in the late 1970’s by a wealthy Englishman who arrived with his staff of two. Francis and Madeline were married in Haiti prior to traveling to this destination. When the Englishman died, they stayed, and over the past thirty plus years, they’ve maintained the estate and cared for multiple families. Claire’s new house had many bedrooms and would have more than enough room for her and her child. Apparently, some of the previous owners had multiple children and grandchildren.
The isolation of this retreat was one of its most appealing aspects. There was a time when Claire didn’t like being alone; however, she was tired of unknown threats. This retreat would provide her child with the security that only comes from seclusion. For her child, Claire was more than willing to accept the loneliness that came with an island that was only accessible by boat or plane. Civilization—or something close—could be reached by a thirty minute boat ride; weather provided. This region boasted 363 days of sunshine a year; however, the lush vegetation required rain. Though usually short in duration, Phil’s research reported storms which could be intense. Deluges of rain followed by powerful sun created the perfect combination for a sultry, humid climate. After nearly a month in cloudy, cool Italy, Claire was ready for the warmth.
As they stepped toward the warm smiles of the caretakers, Madeline, a large woman with dark skin and a deep, rich voice, was the first to speak, “Welcome Madame el and Monsieur Nichols! I am Madeline and this is my husband, Francis.”
Claire looked at Phil and grinned. She liked the sound of Madeline’s voice; it added to the warmth in the air. Offering her hand in greeting, Claire said, “Hello, thank you. I’m Ms. Nichols, but please call me Claire, and this”—she looked to Phil. How could she possibly explain who he was? His definition had changed so drastically over the last year—“This is my friend, Phillip Roach. He helped me find your wonderful island.”
Francis shook Phil’s hand. “Madame el, but this is your island, and we are so very happy to help you with anything you need.”
Placing her hand over her midsection, Claire sighed. “I’d love to see the house.”
Madeline nodded and led Claire toward a path. Her smile shone brightly as she said, “Why of course, let me show you your home, and I’ll get you something to drink. We cannot let you dehydrate. The sun here, it is very strong; even now, before noon.” After a few steps, Madeline asked, “Your baby, Madame el, when is she due to join us?”
She? Claire didn’t know the sex of her child, but she’d always referred to it as he—the dark-haired, dark-eyed little boy who would look like his father; however, the little boy in her dreams would never know the sadness his father did. Her little boy would grow up with love and support; then, one day, he’d become the man his father finally became. “Oh, I don’t know if I’m having a girl or boy.” Madeline didn’t speak, but her deep brown eyes sparkled knowingly. Claire continued, “And my little one is due the middle of January; a New Year’s baby.”
“We love babies. Francis and I—we were never blessed with children of our own; however, we’ve shared our hearts with babies who now live all over the world. Thank you for bringing us another baby to love.”
Although Claire hesitated to trust anyone ever again, she instinctively liked this woman. It wasn’t just what Madeline said, but it was her whole aura that pulled Claire near and filled her with promise. When they passed the threshold to her new home, Claire exhaled. For the first time in ages—she was home. Her home was beautiful, light, and open—everything she’d always desired. Claire walked to the open doors, inhaled the sea breeze, and listened to the sound of the surf. Madeline’s voice refocused Claire’s thoughts. “We like to have everything open; there’s usually a refreshing breeze, but if it’s too hot for you Madame el, we do have air conditioning.”
Although the perspiration dripped between Claire’s breasts, and she needed to lift her hair off her neck, she grinned. “It’ll take me a while to get used to it, but I will”—Adapting was one of her specialties—“Please don’t use the air conditioning. I love the fresh air and the heat.”
Her heels clicked on the shiny bamboo flooring as they entered the master bedroom suite. “This is your”—Madeline hesitated—“and Monsieur Roach’s room?”
Claire placed her hand on Madeline’s arm. “No, Madeline, Phil is my friend. He and I are not—together. He isn’t the father of my child.”
“He loves you. I see that in his eyes.”
Claire stared. They were friends—but love? She’d have to think about that another time. “He’s helped me a lot.”
“It’s not my business. I simply work for you.”
Claire wanted to explain that her baby’s father would hopefully be coming to the island; however, she didn’t know if that were true. Besides, her story was so complicated that she didn’t have the energy to share; instead, Claire nodded and walked beside Madeline as she learned more of the amenities of her new home. The master bedroom also had a wide, closable opening to the lanai. When they stepped back outside and peered around the drape of flowered vegetation, the view took Claire’s breath away. The sea below was multiple shades of blue. Staring at the water, Claire wondered if depth influenced the hues. As she scanned toward the horizon, the waves blended seamlessly into the crystal blue sky. Walking further out into the sunlight, Claire realized the lanai wrapped around the house. It was the same porch she’d seen from the living room, the one with the large infinity pool, umbrella covered tables, lounge chairs, and groupings of chairs all perfectly arranged.
When Claire entered the kitchen, she couldn’t contain her grin. They were in the middle of paradise, not even a dot on most maps, yet she was in the middle of a high tech, state-of-the-art kitchen. “Wow!” was all she could say.
“Oui, the last family loved cooking. The previous owner, she had the kitchen rebuilt, making it even bigger than the original.”
“I love it! She did a great job, and so have you. Everything’s amazing!”
Madeline’s eyes brimmed with pride. “There is so much more. Francis and I have a home too. You may see it, and there are gardens, paths, orchards, and so much more.”
“I want to see it all; however...”
Madeline nodded. “Oui, Madame el, you’ve had a long trip and need to rest. Let me bring you some water and maybe some fruit?”
“Thank you, that sounds wonderful.” Turning to return to her suite, Claire said, “I’m not sure where Phil is.”
“He is with Francis, Madame el.”
“When he returns, can you please show him to one of the other bedrooms?”
Madeline agreed and promised to bring Claire some water and a snack soon. Once Claire was back in her private suite, she decided to investigate her surroundings a little further. The attached bathroom was modern and bright with a skylight above a large, sunken tub. There were two other doors she hadn’t yet opened. The first one led to a small, private office. Nodding approvingly, Claire knew it would make a perfect little nursery. Fleetingly, thoughts of the nursery in Iowa came to mind; instead of compartmentalizing them away, she stared at the office and imagined it filled with a crib and changing table—the new thoughts overpowered the old. Her cheeks rose as she focused on her future.
The next door led to a closet, only slightly smaller than the office/nursery. The clothes she’d ordered filled the drawers and hung from the racks. Slipping off her heels, Claire fingered the soft fabric of the sundresses and contemplated changing out of her traveling clothes. She also considered a relaxing soak in the big tub when she smiled. The realization gave her a sense of peace she’d been missing for too long. She was doing it—she was adapting to this new normal.
Her epiphany, Madeline and Francis’s friendly greeting, and Phil’s unrelenting support, all worked together to bring happiness back to her life. When the knock came on her door, Claire called, “Come in, Madeline.”
The door opened, and Phil answered, “I’m not Madeline.”
Seeing the golden flecks in his green eyes, Claire thought about Madeline’s assessment. She didn’t know if it were true; she didn’t see love in Phil’s eyes—she saw concern. Wanting him to know how delighted she was about the island and all he’d done, her voice brimmed with excitement. “You’re right! I love everything about it!”
Phil exhaled. “I’m glad to hear that. What do you think about Francis and Madeline?”
“I don’t know for sure, but I think I like them.”
“Good, so do you think you can stay here?”
Claire grinned. “I do. What were you doing with Francis?”
Phil explained that Francis showed him around the outside of the estate. There’s a boat at Claire’s disposal—any time she wants to travel into town, Francis will accompany her. There’s also access to a helicopter or plane in case of emergencies.
Claire sat on the edge of her bed. “Well, I hope they won’t be necessary; however, I want to schedule a doctor’s appointment for a check-up.”
“Talk to Madeline; she can help with that. Remember, there’s a real doctor in town.”
“I think this’ll work. Thank you so much—for everything.”
Phil nodded. “You’re welcome, Claire. It seems my job is done here...”
Her new-found contentment evaporated with his declaration. Suddenly, the remoteness of the island filled her with angst. “You’re leaving?” she asked. “But—I—I just asked Madeline to show you to one of the other rooms.”
“She did, and it’s great, but if you’re happy and safe, I don’t think I should—”
Tears teetered on the edge of Claire’s eyes as she stood and asked, “Will I be able to contact you?”
“Is that what you want?”
What did she want? Claire knew she didn’t want what Phil wanted, or at least what Madeline said he wanted; nevertheless, she didn’t want him to go. The way she’d introduced him to Madeline and Francis was accurate; Phil was her friend. She trusted him, and she wanted him around. For most of the last year, he had been. Even before she really knew him, he was there—watching—protecting—a constant in her world of change. Claire blinked her eyes, and the teetering tears slid down her cheeks. “I want to have people around me that I can trust. I don’t know Madeline or Francis—not yet.”
“I did a thorough background check. They’re very transparent, so what you see is what you have.”
Claire nodded.
“I have another job waiting.”
Claire’s neck stiffened. “I understand; you’re tired of babysitting.”
“Claire, I asked the pilot to wait. I think this is best.”
“Thank you. Thank you for protecting me, getting me here—for everything.” She wanted to reach out and hug him; however, she couldn’t bear to hurt anyone else. If Madeline’s assessment was true then Phil was right—his leaving was best. “Maybe someday—”
He interrupted, “I’ll leave you my number, but remember—only make emergency calls—and also—for you and your baby’s safety—don’t contact anyone but me or the FBI.”
Claire swallowed and nodded.
Before she could think of anything else, Phil was gone. An overwhelming sense of seclusion engulfed the room as she watched the door shut. Inhaling deeply, Claire fought the feeling of suffocation, suddenly threatening her ability to breathe. When the air finally filled her lungs, a sob erupted from the depth of her chest. The trip from Venice had taken days. They’d created an intricately woven web designed to detour anyone’s efforts in finding them. Suddenly, the trip and Phil’s departure were too much. Claire collapsed on her big, lonely bed.
The ceiling fan that moved the hot, sticky, midmorning air did nothing to cool the room. Despite the oppressing heat, Claire wrapped herself in the soft comforter and cried herself to sleep.
When she woke, her eyelids felt swollen. Claire wasn’t sure how long she’d slept. The clock near the bed read 3:18, and the sun on the horizon told her it was afternoon—not morning. Rubbing her temples, Claire realized she needed food to help her aching head and settle her nerves.
As she neared the table by her door, she knew Madeline had been in her room. There was a pitcher of water and a covered bowl within a bowl of ice. Lifting the lid, Claire’s stomach growled as she saw the luscious fruit. She tried not to think about Phil or being alone; instead, she ate the fruit, drank the water, and talked out loud to her baby. Perhaps if she explained how everything would work out, in a calm, reassuring voice, then she’d believe it too?
Within days, the customary staff/lady of the house, protocol was forgotten. Claire spent hours with Madeline in the state-of-the-art kitchen, learning to cook foods she’d never previously tried. She also spent time with Francis, caring for the tropical gardens and fruit trees.
Madeline arranged for Claire to visit the doctor, and Francis accompanied her. Traveling by boat was something that would take time to get used to. Once on the mainland, Claire loved how Francis helped her feel welcome and secure.
She was both relieved and happy to learn that the doctor Phil promised truly did exist. He was educated in the UK and spoke English as well as many of the native languages. His clinic was modern and even had an ultrasound. Claire was now twenty-six weeks into her pregnancy. Since it had been over a month since her last visit, the doctor recommended an ultrasound. The image amazed Claire—so unlike the original peanut-shaped picture she’d shown to Tony. This time, she saw her baby’s profile, as well as, little hands and little feet. When he asked if she knew the sex of her child, Claire remembered the conversation she’d never had with Tony; the one asking him to go with her to her next appointment. With tears in her eyes, Claire replied, “No, doctor, I don’t, and I don’t want to know—not yet.” He willingly kept the information hidden.
Every midday and evening, Claire would sit down to eat with Madeline and Francis. The idea of eating each meal alone was too daunting. Within no time at all, meals became Claire’s favorite time of day. She loved to watch the two of them interact, as Madeline’s expression absolutely glowed when she was near Francis. They had so many stories to share; Claire could sit and listen for hours. To Madeline’s insistence, each meal began with a prayer. It was a ritual Claire hadn’t practiced since she was young, and after so much change and discord in her life, she found it comforting. It wasn’t what Claire imagined her life would be, but at least she felt safe and accepted. Considering everything she’d endured—that was a lot—more than she could ever ask for...
Those who have trusted where they ought not, will surely mistrust where they ought not.
—Marie von Ebner-Eschenbach
Although it was only a little over two weeks since Tony was with the FBI in Boston, it seemed like a lifetime had passed. Even he didn’t recognize his reflection in the mirror. His beard growth and unkempt hair, along with his uncustomary clothes, created a person Tony was tired of being. As he lay within the hostel in Geneva, he knew his first goal was in sight. He’d sacrificed comfort to maintain the cash necessary to, once again, become Anton Rawls. That wasn’t who he planned to be forever; nevertheless, Anton was a necessary step to accessing his hidden treasure.
The new suit hanging near his bed took more of his cash reserve than he’d used on living expenses for the entire two weeks. That, plus the razor he’d just bought, was waiting to reveal the man beneath. Tony tried unsuccessfully to sleep as thoughts of his morning filled his mind. In the morning, he’d finally access the financial institution and resume a more accustomed lifestyle.
During the past seventeen days, Tony had done more than travel. He’d spent time at internet cafés, learning what he could. At first, he followed the developments of Rawlings Industries. The Vandersols were continuing to taunt the press with accusations. With each statement or news release, the price of stock in Rawlings and it’s many subsidiaries took another hit. One article said the board of directors named Timothy Bronson temporary CEO, in the absence of CEO Anthony Rawlings.
Tony wasn’t sure how he felt about their decision. Did they truly feel he was that easily replaced? Then, as the days passed, Tony came to the realization that he supported Tim’s new role. After all, over the past few years, he’d been grooming him for just such a move. It wasn’t like Tony planned to disappear, but Tim had shown promise from the beginning. It was good to know he was the man in charge.
Once that realization struck, Tony experienced an unexpected release from his business obligations. He could spend his time watching his empire struggle to survive and still do nothing, or he could spend his time learning more about Agent Jackson’s odd remarks and tracking down his family. For the first time in his life—Rawlings Industries paled in importance.
Whenever he could, Tony researched rabbit trails of information. Nothing came together. He knew he was missing too many pieces of the puzzle.
He’d also taken two short calls from Agent Jackson. He read somewhere that fifty-six seconds of connection was necessary to track a call. He wasn’t sure if that were true, but to be safe, he kept their conversations under that mark. Understandably, the FBI wanted more; nevertheless, Tony divulged just enough to keep them pacified.
“Yes, I’m in Europe”—“No, I haven’t been in contact with anyone in the States”—“Yes. If I didn’t have the damn phone, then you wouldn’t be talking to me now”—“Goodbye.” Although he hated the monitoring, thinking about the calls made Tony grin. Each time he kept the information limited and heard the distain in Agent Jackson’s voice, Tony felt like he’d accomplished a small victory. Maybe it was only one hand in an all-night card game; nonetheless, each winning hand adds to the final jackpot.
The razor pulled at his facial hair as Tony worked to, once again, become Anton Rawls. The financial institution was a mere drive from the hostel where he’d slept. Although his body ached from the too soft bed, it was nothing compared to the mayhem cursing through his mind. After all these days, his goal was so close.
During the last few weeks, he’d learned to utilize public transportation, but Tony knew that wouldn’t do for the bank; therefore, dressed in his new, finest suit, Tony entered the lobby of one of the nearby five star hotels and casually ate breakfast in one of its finer restaurants. No one questioned his presence—he obviously belonged. Tony wanted to enjoy the fine cuisine. Undoubtedly, it was the best he’d eaten in a while, but his thoughts of the safety deposit box wouldn’t allow the aroma or taste of Eggs Benedict to register. When he was done, he exited the front door, told the bellman to flag him a cab, and rode to the bank. On any other day, it would have been a customary thing for him to do, but today it was revolutionary.
No one within the financial institution questioned his identity. Even if they’d seen him before, he was the same Anton Rawls who always visited the institution—the only one to access the safety deposit box in the last twenty-five years.
When presented with the customary ledgers, Tony stared at the list of signatures. There were his own—or more accurately—Anton Rawls written repeatedly; however, that wasn’t what caught Tony’s attention. That wasn’t what caused his neck to straighten and his jaw to clench. The last two signatures—directly above where he was about to sign—were from Marie Rawls. The first signature was dated: 11-09-13. It always took a minute to remember that not everyone dated as Americans did. The numbers he saw meant: eleventh day, ninth month of the thirteenth year. The second signature was signed two days later.
Speaking perfect French, Anton inquired, “Who is this? Did someone else access my box?”
The employee looked puzzled, read the signature, and then referred to some documents. When he was done, he sheepishly replied, “Yes, sir, your safety deposit box can be accessed by two individuals—you and a Marie Rawls. It appears that the woman who was here presented the clerk with appropriate identification.” Then he asked, “Mr. Rawls, is there a problem?”
Tony could barely see. He didn’t know what this meant—except that he needed to see inside his safety deposit box and verify his accounts. His short, curt words revealed his obvious displeasure, “There better not be. I want to see my box immediately.”
“Yes, sir, I need your key, please.”
Tony handed him the key and followed the nervous man into the vault. The process of inserting both keys took longer than Tony ever remembered. He knew it was his impatience; however, he swore the whole thing was happening in slow motion. Once the box was removed, Tony followed the employee into a private room.
“Sir, do you want me to stay?”
“No, leave.” His directive was more of a growl as his dark gaze assaulted the bank’s employee. Tony didn’t care; he wanted the man gone. He needed to see what was inside the box—or more accurately—what may be missing, in private.
The employee stepped quietly from the room and Tony opened the box. In all the years he’d transferred and reinvested Nathaniel’s funds, never had the contents of this box taken him by surprise—until now.
Instead of the customary documents, Tony reached into the depths of the steel container and removed a disposable international cell phone. It was very similar to the one he had for the FBI. Along with the phone, there was also a charger and an envelope.
He wasn’t sure if his shaking hands were from rage or fear. His entire plan rested on the collection of these funds. If his money wasn’t here, where was it? Tony thought back to the dates on the signatures: September 9 and 11. During those days, Catherine was in Iowa—with him. Who else could know about this?
Tony opened the envelope to a letter that was very short—and unsigned:
Congratulations, you’ve found your way to this clue.
I can’t be sure who’ll be reading this note, so I can only say that you’ve passed your first test. Congratulations—I believe that deserves a positive Consequence.
I realize you’re not accustomed to being the student, but please know that I sincerely hope your educational experience is glitch-free.
If you are who I believe you are—it will all make sense.
I didn’t leave you without resources—I wouldn’t do that. I’ve heard it’s a difficult experience to be removed from your life and left at the complete disposal of another; therefore, as your positive consequence, I’ve created one account which is available to you. It can be accessed through the information below.
To continue your education, I’ve provided you with a cell phone. I assume a lecture in general operating instructions won’t be necessary; however, choose wisely—remember all actions have consequences.
The temperature of the small room increased with each word. The weeks of worry about Claire and—and—it was all some kind of ruse—some kind of game—a way to steal his money! But why? He had money in the States—more money than she accessed in these accounts. She could’ve had anything she wanted. Thoughts came too fast. Was it about the money, or was it to bring him down publicly—public failure—public humiliation—appearances. Red infiltrated the room. Perhaps it came through the low buzz of the florescent lights. He tried to stop it—tried to maintain control. After all, there was an explanation; Tony knew there was. How? How did Claire even know about this account? How could she access it? He had the key!
Inhaling deeply, Tony closed his eyes. Glitch-free? Consequences? Was that some kind of sick joke? Maybe it wasn’t Claire; after all, she told her story to Meredith. Tony didn’t know how much she’d said—hell, she told her story to the attorneys in Iowa. The FBI had that account—he’d read the opening sentences. Suddenly, he wished he’d read more when he was with the FBI. Maybe, just maybe, this was some FBI set-up?
Tony had no choice—he had to take the bait and turn on the phone. He couldn’t remember ever feeling so trapped. In their game of chess, he was in figurative check; however, he didn’t know for sure who’d put him there. Tony looked around the room for an outlet. Finding one, he plugged in the phone. While the small gadget came to life, he worked to still the mayhem in his head.
What about the account? The last time he checked, he and Catherine had over 200 million dollars invested. What stipend had he been allowed to keep? Red seeped into his thoughts as he considered the possibilities. If the fuck’n FBI thought they could take away his life and his money, then they were sadly mistaken. He was going to get to the end of this, come hell or high water, and damnit, the last seventeen days had been hell!
When the screen finally lit, Tony accessed the contacts. There were three. The first programmed number wasn’t associated with a name—it was an asterisk (*). The second was the name: Claire. The third was his name: Anthony. He felt the muscles of his neck tighten. Was the information about Claire’s cell phone in that FBI report? The shit about the asterisks? Or was this Claire’s way of saying it was her? Claire’s way of saying, now I’ve done it to you, and didn’t he deserve it? Tony knew he did; nonetheless, he wouldn’t accept it willingly or play her damn games!
