Текст книги "Consequences"
Автор книги: Aleatha Romig
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Текущая страница: 3 (всего у книги 36 страниц)
Also laid out on the dresser were a few pieces of jewelry. The inexpensive things had been included in the donation boxes. These pieces, however, were of finer quality. The pearl necklace on a white gold chain was the same one she wore in the wedding picture with Emily. There was also a pair of diamond earrings. As Anthony fingered the diamond studs with his gloved hands, he decided to put them into the donation box. The damn things couldn’t be half of a carat total weight. He grinned. If he wanted Claire to have diamond earrings, they sure as hell would be bigger than that.
Walking toward the living room, he glanced into the bathroom, completely empty with most of its contents thrown away. No one wants a used shower curtain. The living room was amazingly sterile, contrasting the way he found it. Months ago, when he first entered the apartment to place the surveillance cameras, the small living room surprised him. He had closets bigger than this, yet it was homey, if that was possible. It may have been the pictures, plants, or eclectic furnishings—he really didn’t know. It felt like her.
Now the room was down to the bare essentials. He looked at his watch: seventeen more minutes. He picked up the laptop and placed it in the case. Going back to the bedroom, he decided to keep all the framed pictures and the pearl necklace. He put them in the case with the laptop.
Reminiscing, the computer had been invaluable. With it, he’d been able to access her calendar, e-mail, and various accounts. He found all scheduled commitments and via e-mail regretfully canceled. He also e-mailed her employer, Facebook friends, and sister. They all received a similar message describing an amazing opportunity she received, how she’d be unreachable for a while, but would get back to them as soon as her decision regarding her future was made. Through the laptop, her bank accounts, credit cards, auto loan, utility bills, cellular phone—everything—was assessed. The balances now all read zero. After paying each final statement in full, the accounts were closed. The monies that went into her bank accounts were difficult to trace, but if someone took the time to do it, they would learn it was a settlement from WKPZ. Anthony hoped no one would investigate that thoroughly, but if they did, that discovery should pacify them. Of course, WKPZ had no record of such a transaction, but the probability of anyone investigating that thoroughly was low. The fact the monies had been deposited into her various savings and checking accounts four days before her disappearance led to the allusion. Smiling, he recalled sitting with her at the Red Wing, knowing she had an extra $200,000 plus in her accounts and was clueless. Anthony knew from his surveillance that she only checked her accounts on the weekend. At that time, she would sit down and attempt to make ends meet. The day after she did her little balancing act, the monies electronically appeared.
The settlement money and “see you later” e-mails combined to make her disappearance appear planned. If he could reach his own back, Anthony would have given himself a hardy pat—he deserved it!
The manager at the Red Wing was the most difficult to quiet. After the e-mail, he immediately began calling and texting her phone. Thankfully, Anthony had taken her Blackberry with him back to Iowa. Claire responded apologetically to the manager via text. She was so sorry to leave in such a rush, but you have to answer when opportunity knocks. Anthony was pretty sure that if she were to return to Atlanta, which she wouldn’t, the Red Wing would not be willing to reemploy.
Keeping her laptop, he could check her e-mail and account balances. He would also be able to periodically send e-mails or post a Facebook status to keep the curious from overreacting. Even though the computer would be in Iowa, the web address and URL wouldn’t change. No one would know the point of origin.
Claire’s Blackberry met an unfortunate accident. Many cell phones contain GPS trackers. Anthony wasn’t willing to take that chance. A mass text was sent explaining that Claire would have a new number soon, and she would contact everyone as soon as possible. And then, after removing the SIM card, Anthony backed his rental car over the phone. It didn’t survive. His case also contained the final hardware of his surveillance equipment. He definitely didn’t want some stupid painter running across one of his cameras.
Six months of footage taught him much about Claire Nichols. She kept late hours and enjoyed sleeping late in the morning. She liked to cook and bake, but gave a lot away. There were no boyfriends or male visitors to the apartment, which made Anthony happy. She liked to talk on the phone and chat with people on the computer. She rarely watched television except for a show called Grey’s Anatomy and another on the same station. She liked to exercise, sometimes walking with the lady next door. Rarely did she stay around the apartment. She went out with friends frequently. Many times, she would return home in a less than sober state, but again always alone. During Christmas season, she put up decorations and even a tree. The best part of the surveillance was access to her schedules and passwords. The computer hacking would have been more difficult without those passwords. Oh, he could have done it, but this was easier.
Anthony heard the knock on the door. He removed his gloves, put them in his pockets, and opened the door. “Hi there, are you John Vandersol?” the burly man with underarm stains and a perspiration-drenched face inquired.
“Yeah, that’s me. You the movers? Come on in.” Anthony decided that even though he looked nothing like Claire’s brother-in-law, his presence in her apartment made more sense than any other male. People rarely remembered faces anyway.
He signed the contract and paid the man in cash, with a $200 tip. He explained that his sister-in-law moved to another city for a job and wanted all of her things taken to the local refuge for donation. The mover wasn’t interested in the backstory, and Anthony didn’t push. He gave enough information to make the transition plausible and not too much to make it sound contrived. Too bad Claire wouldn’t be filing taxes. She could receive a hell of a deduction for her donations. It didn’t take the men long to empty the apartment.
Her car sold for an amazingly low price. Actually, it hadn’t been enough to pay off the loan, but the point was to get rid of it. Forging her signature on the paperwork wasn’t difficult. He used her signature on the napkin as a pattern. The fortunate buyer didn’t ask questions.
Caressing the case that held the only remnants of Claire’s previous life, Anthony wiped the doorknob with his gloves, locked the door to the empty apartment, and placed the keys into an envelope. The complex had been e-mailed about Claire’s sudden move, as well as reimbursed for severing the lease. The envelope was deposited into an open slot in the office door. Getting into the rental vehicle, he called his driver, “Pick me up at Budget Rental, ten minutes.”
Anthony didn’t like doing all these tasks himself. Under different circumstances, he would hire someone to box the items or wait for the movers. This, however, wasn’t normal circumstances. He couldn’t risk others knowing his plan. He couldn’t even trust his best friend and head of his legal team. This was all very private.
Eric, Anthony’s driver, had some clue about things transpiring in Atlanta. He had more than a clue. He helped transport Claire back to Iowa. But his allegiance was steadfast, as with the rest of his household staff.
Sighing as he parked the gray inconspicuous Toyota Camry in the lot of Budget, he thanked God this was done. Now to change into his kind of clothes, get back to his real life, prepare for his scheduled meetings overseas, and decide Claire’s future. He flashed a private smile—the acquisition was complete.
Through humor, you can soften some of the worst blows that life delivers. And once you find laughter, no matter how painful your situation might be, you can survive it. —Bill Crosby
Chapter 4
Multiple times a day, she would think of her chance meeting with Anthony Rawlings. She believed his name sounded familiar, but didn’t and still doesn’t know why. God, she would love to put his name in Google and see what popped out; maybe Crazy Abusive Man or Nut Job with a Supremacy Complex?
One day while tending bar, they started to talk, not about anything that Claire could remember, just chatting. He was attentive and charming. His eyes mesmerized her, but not with fear as they did now, more of a pull. Her policy was not to see patrons socially. Yet for some reason, when he invited her to a small booth after her shift, she accepted. In hindsight, Claire believed she was safe, still being in the Red Wing. Once there, they talked and drank some wine. At some point, he had a napkin and talked about helping her obtain a job. It was something about the Weather Channel—definitely not this. She remembered signing a napkin, but not him. It seemed harmless. She couldn’t remember what was written on the napkin. They didn’t discuss it again while they shared a few more glasses of cabernet sauvignon. After that, she went home alone.
The next day, she slept in, shopped for groceries, which now rot in her refrigerator, and worked the closing shift. Had she known it was her last full day of freedom, she would have spent it in a more productive manner: visiting with friends, enjoying a crowd at the mall, or calling her sister. Claire wondered if Anthony returned to the bar that day. She didn’t think so, but she remembered his call.
March 17, about a week ago . . .
Claire’s shift ended at six, which was good. She wanted out before the holiday crowd hit the Red Wing. Green beer anxiously awaited the Irish patrons, who on St. Patrick’s Day were everyone.
The day before when Anthony Rawlings called the Red Wing, Claire was shocked. She truly never expected to hear from him again. The call came as the seats at the bar were beginning to fill. Her boss didn’t appreciate personal calls at slow times of the day, much less at busy times. “Hello, this is Claire. May I help you?”
“Good evening, Claire.” Her heart skipped a beat, immediately recognizing the deep husky voice that accompanied the handsome dark-haired, dark-eyed man.
“Anthony?”
First a chuckle, then, “I am impressed. You have a wonderful memory for voices.”
Well,yeah,whentheyaccompanypeoplelikeyou. “Thank you, I talk with people for a living. I am surprised you called. Did you forget something or leave something?”
“Well, yes and no.” The manager walked toward her. She covered the phone and whispered, “Customer from yesterday looking for something.” He turned away and walked to the kitchen.
“Okay, if you let me know what it is, I can look around and call you back. First let me get your number.”
“Oh, you definitely have my number. First I think you should know what I left.” Claire waited impatiently. He sounded mysterious, but there were people waiting. Finally, he said, “You, Claire . . .”
Her cheeks flushed. “Excuse me?”
“I have been thinking about you and would be honored if you would agree to accompany me to dinner.”
Claire’s mind scrambled. She tried to think, but the bar was filling with patrons all looking to her for service. Anthony was waiting for her to respond. Last night, he was so handsome and charming. The prospect of someone like him, older and successful, taking the time to call her after a few hours of chatting was flattering. She worked to sound resilient. “I am sorry, I work until close. That is too late for dinner.”
“Someone named Crystal who answered the telephone earlier said you work the early shift tomorrow. Or will you turn me down again and send me home heartbroken?”
Claire sighed. This was outside her comfort zone, but then again, she didn’t want to be responsible for sending some poor successful gorgeous businessman home heartbroken. “I am supposed to get off tomorrow at six, but if you recall from last night, it isn’t always prompt. I could be ready by seven, if that isn’t too late for you?”
His tone was lighter and quicker. “Wonderful. Should I pick you up at the Red Wing or your place?”
Oh god, she wasn’t ready for him to know where she lived. “I can meet you—”
He cut her off. “I am sure you can, but let me pick you up in style. I will see you at seven at the Red Wing, and we are going to Chez Czar. Until tomorrow, Claire.” The telephone disconnected.
For the next sixty to seventy minutes, the barrage of orders and customers needing pacification kept her mind from fully registering her actions. She’d accepted an invitation to one of the top dining spots in Atlanta with someone she barely knew. She broke her “no dating a customer” rule and her “no going in the same car on a first date” rule. But maybe the first date was in the booth at the Red Wing. Then this will officially be the second date, which is totally acceptable. Oh my, what would she wear?
At six fifteen, she officially clocked out, her register balanced. In the back of the bar, there was a small locker room where the female employees kept their purses, coats, and extra clothes. Claire knew her Red Wing T-shirt and jeans wouldn’t make the Chez Czar cut. Besides, the last time she saw Anthony, he was wearing a very nice suit.
Opening her locker, she pulled out a black dress. She hadn’t had much time this morning, but after shaving her legs, she decided to run to Greenbriar Mall and see if Macy’s had anything in her price range. It turned out there was nothing for free, but she did find a simple black dress on its second markdown. It was shorter than she normally wore, but it fit, and she didn’t have time to be picky. After a quick run through Burlington’s, a pair of simple black heeled sandals was purchased. She had a black cotton half sweater that complemented the dress well and would be perfect for a cool spring evening.
After changing her clothes and stuffing her T-shirt and jeans back into the locker, she looked at herself in the mirror. She immediately felt silly. This wasn’t her. She was jeans, T-shirts, and tennis shoes.
Some eyeliner, mascara, and lipgloss accompanied by a quick brush through her hair were as good as it would get. Judging by the hoots from both sides of the bar when she entered the front of the Red Wing, she did all right. “Check you out, hot stuff. Where are you going all dolled up?” Claire’s manager had a variety of voices in his repertoire. This was his flirting one.
Feeling playful, she decided to throw it back to him and respond all Southern belle, “Why, sir”—the syllables drawn-out—“I don’t know what you mean.” He raised his eyebrows and stared. “Well, goodness gracious, I do have a little ‘ole date with a tall dark, handsome stranger.”
A few minutes later, Claire saw a shiny black Porsche pull up to the front of the bar. “See y’all later. Don’t wait up.” The coworkers behind the bar did some more hoot’n and holler’n. Claire smiled as the voices faded into the sounds of the night on the other side of the door.
Anthony got out of the driver’s side. Immediately, she was pleased that she decided to find a dress. His light-colored Armani suit was perfectly tailored. His greeting was polite as he once again kissed her hand and escorted her around to the passenger’s door. The simple act seemed elegant.
Being a four-star authentic Italian restaurant in the heart of Atlanta, everyone knew Chez Czar had a reputation for being a difficult place to get reservations for. However, the hostess immediately guided them to one of their best tables.
When the waiter arrived with menus, Anthony immediately asked for their best bottle of Batasiolo Barolo. After the waiter departed, Claire began to look at the menu. She couldn’t help notice there were no prices. What did that mean? When she looked up from behind the large leather-bound folder, Anthony was looking at her, not his menu. Once again, Claire felt her cheeks flush. “Do you already know what you want?” she asked.
“I believe I do.” He reached for her menu. Claire released it, although she hadn’t had a chance to really see her choices. The whole “no price” thing had her a little be muffled. “And I can’t see you behind that big menu.” Claire smiled. She’d never met a man like Anthony. She felt like she had his full attention, and it was nice but unsettling. When the waiter returned with the wine, he poured a small amount into a glass. Anthony tasted the liquid and replied, “Ahh, yes.” The waiter poured two glasses.
Claire wondered if this was what people talked about on a cruise ship with amazing service. Goodness knows no one was treated like this at the Red Wing or Applebee’s for that matter. Before she realized what happened, Anthony ordered dinner. “Well, thank you.” Her tone was tentative.
“Do you not like Caesar salad and shrimp linguine?” he asked, dismayed.
“Oh, I do. I just have never had anyone order for me without asking me my preference.” Claire thought to herself, But then again, I have never met anyone like you.
The tips of his lips moved upward, and his eyes shone. “If you do not like your food, we can certainly send it back for something else.”
She did like the food. As soon as the linguine arrived at the table and the aroma of garlic and butter penetrated her senses, she knew the taste would be even better. When the shrimp touched her tongue, she relished the seasoned flavor. Anthony was incredibly charming and polite. After dinner, as they waited for the valet, he gently placed his arm around her waist. He was much taller than she realized at the Red Wing. Leaning down to her ear, he whispered, “May I kiss you?”
Feeling the unstoppable sensation of his stare, Claire only nodded. As his lips touched hers, they were soft and full. Momentarily, she felt the rest of the world disappear. It ended too soon. When he pulled away from the contact, Anthony smiled, and Claire felt her cheeks flush. Once they were back in the car, he asked, “Are you ready to go back to the Red Wing, or should I take you to your home?” Claire contemplated her options. He offered her a third alternative. “Or would you like to join me in my suite, perhaps for some more wine, or we could call room service for dessert?”
Smiling, she responded, “I like dessert.”
The hotel’s foyer was exquisite—marble floors, large glowing chandeliers, and huge floral arrangements. Claire tried not to look around. She’d never entered such an exclusive establishment. His suite at the Ritz Carlton was large like an apartment, and once inside, he remained suave and sensual. His eyes were deep. They gave her the sensation of chocolate, dark and melted. Although she didn’t know him that well, she agreed to romance and sexual pleasures. He was romantic and attentive. There was something about him that made her break all her own rules.
It was after midnight when Claire lifted her head to meet Anthony’s now milk-chocolate eyes. “I really need to get back to my place.” Claire had enjoyed the soft 700-count sheets too much. “I don’t want to disturb you, so I can get a taxi downstairs.” She started to shift away, when he gently reached for her.
“If I promise you a ride in the morning, would you consider some more dessert?” Anthony’s expression as well as another of his features informed Claire that he wanted her to choose the dessert. She knew she wasn’t scheduled to be at work at all the next day.
“I don’t want to disrupt your schedule. I am sure you are busy.”
“I promise this is not a disruption. And maybe after more dessert, we could have another glass of wine. There is still some in the bottle from room service.” The last time she looked at a clock; it was 1:15 a.m. Even at that moment, Claire didn’t realize the consequence of their napkin agreement.
As Claire lay on the sofa recalling the events that led her to this place and this situation, she couldn’t recall traveling. She remembered a car but couldn’t recall any other part of this house. She couldn’t remember any other memories of Atlanta. That time, 1:15 a.m. was her last conscious memory of her life.
From the other windows near the bed, she could see only trees. She must be at the end of the dwelling because she couldn’t see more of the house. Her windows were far from the ground. Even if they opened, she would break something from this height. Day after day, the sky would lighten to shades of gray and then darken too soon, keeping track of the days became difficult.
Wondering where she was, Claire told herself that when Catherine returned she would ask about their location. Catherine didn’t come, the young non-English speaking man did. Day after day, no one came to talk to her. The food came and the room was cleaned. Clothes were miraculously washed and returned to her closet or drawers, but no person was ever seen. She was alone. The isolation was hell. It may not leave physical markings, but it was a neater form of Anthony’s abuse.
Claire was never a TV watcher, and the TV in her suite didn’t receive many stations. However, she did check the news each morning to learn what day it was. They had begun to blend. On April 2, she finally heard a repeated knock at the door.
The past thirteen days hadn’t been a total loss. After two or three, Claire realized the weather channel would do local weather. The first time she sat to watch, she was stunned. The midnight announcer, Shelby, graduated from Valparaiso the year before her. Claire watched in disbelief. How could Shelby be on the Weather Channel and she be held prisoner in a house in Iowa? The local weather came from Iowa City, Iowa.
She discovered her windows faced southeast. The sun shone on a few of the thirteen days of her seclusion. The hours of sunshine grew in length by minutes each day, but it still looked cold. With the insulated windows and warm fireplace, Claire’s only knowledge of outdoor temperature remained Shelby and her coanchors.
As a means of escape, Claire turned to reading. The built-in bookcases were filled with current bestsellers. There were series and individual books. She loved to read when she was a child, but life had become too busy. That didn’t seem to be a problem any longer.
She also discovered a small refrigerator that was always stocked with water and fruit. No one ever asked what she wanted to eat. Truly she wasn’t hungry considering she didn’t do anything to build an appetite. She showered, dressed, and primped a little. The rebellion seemed meaningless with no one to rebel against. One sign of progress, the bruises faded from red, to blue, to purple, to green, and now a very indistinct yellow.
The knock came again. Food usually entered after the first knock, this person was waiting for an invitation. She didn’t think it was Anthony, he didn’t knock. Could it be Catherine? Slowly, Claire approached the door.
“Yes? Who’s there?” The anticipation of actually hearing a voice respond to her was stimulating.
