Convicted (Consequences)

by Romig, Aleatha

  The morning sky lit with intense lightening. As the thunder roared, the skies opened and large raindrops fell, splattering the inside of their room. Tony and Claire jumped from their bed, their bare feet rushing from open door to open door throughout the house. By the time everything was secured against the storm, they were both drenched. Claire made her way to the bathroom, her nightgown plastered against her skin and droplets falling from her soaked hair. When she was about to take off the wet gown, Claire turned toward the doorway. He hadn’t made a sound. If he had, then it had been covered by the raging storm; nevertheless, she felt his stare and knew he was there.

  “I am sorry.” Tony’s expression matched his apologetic words. Stepping into the bathroom, he straightened his stance. Claire expected more words of regret; instead, she heard. “I wasn’t—not even when we were at the funeral. I felt bad for you—I didn’t expect you to take it that hard, and though I tried to be supportive, I’ll admit—your grief upset me.”

  She stared and tried desperately to register each of his words. “My grief?” She asked in disbelief. “What about his mother’s?”

  “What about her?”

  “You shook her hand—you talked to her—she told you that Simon admired you!” Each phrase was a little louder.

  “I didn’t think about it. To me, the deed was justified. I made a business deal. Deals happen all the time.”

  She stood silently and contemplated her husband. “Then why do you feel sorry now?”

  He moved closer. “I don’t know if I can explain this, especially to you.”

  Claire glanced to the mirror. In the opulent bathroom, in the middle of paradise, they both looked like drowned rats. Near their feet the puddle grew. “Try,” she said.

  “I didn’t feel anything before—not just about Simon—about everything. It was why business was second nature to me. It’d always been about numbers and formulas.” He wrapped his arms around her lower back. “I’m not making excuses. You want the truth—that’s it. From the time my parents died until you were with me in Iowa—I didn’t feel. Sometimes I wonder why anyone wants to. Not feeling was a hell of a lot easier.”

  Claire stepped forward, leaning her chest and midsection against him. “It can also feel good to feel.”

  Tony wrapped his arms around her. “You’re cold. You need to get out of this wet nightgown.”

  “I probably do, but I want to know more.” She buried her face in his chest. “There was a time I did what you’re saying, a time when I didn’t feel—I just remember it being very dark.”

  He tilted her chin upward. “I probably don’t need to ask what or who caused that time.”

  “It’s over. I can tell you who brought me out of it.”

  His eyebrow cocked in question.

  Her lips touched his and she asked, “So, does that make us even?”

  Tony’s shoulder’s shrugged. “I doubt it. That dark time was a lot longer for me; you had more work to accomplish—to rescue me.” His lips grazed the top of her forehead and his eyes shimmered. “Your influence went beyond my personal life.”

  “Oh?”

  “You probably don’t remember, but one time you asked me about something, and I told you about a company. It was one I was considering buying. You asked me how I could buy a business and close it without thinking about the people.”

  Claire nodded. She had recollections of such a conversation.

  “Until that moment, I’d never considered—the people.”

  “What happened to that company? It was in Pennsylvania, right?”

  Tony grinned. “That’s right—good memory. The company’s CEO and shareholders accepted my low-ball offer. Their major competitor, a company where I’m a major stockholder, took over their company. All forty-six employees were given the option to retain their jobs if they stayed and worked for the new company.”

  “Really?” It wasn’t the answer she’d expected. She recalled him talking about closing the doors.

  “Really.” He moved a strand of wet hair from her face. “Some of the employees declined and they received a severance package. The last time I looked into the data regarding that company, over seventy people were employed, and my profits were higher than projected with the original proposal.”

  “What made you change your mind? Why didn’t you go with your original plan and just close the company?”

  “My dear, there has only been one person who has ever made me do anything or question my beliefs, and since she has become a real, true part of my life—my world has never been the same.”

  Despite their wet clothes and skin, Claire filled with pride and warmth. “So, I helped save those peoples’ jobs?”

  “You didn’t help. Not one of my employees—or anyone—had ever had the nerve to question my motivation or decisions. You were the first.” His eyes shone with pride. “Claire, you didn’t help save their jobs—you saved them.”

  Her smile beamed upward. “I told you some of your confessions would upset me. That doesn’t mean I love you any less.”

  Tony pulled her closer. “You need a warm shower. It sounds like the storm is slowing down. When you’re done, you can get a few more hours sleep.”

  She lifted her arms. “Only if you’ll help me get out of this wet nightgown.”

  Pulling her gown upward, Tony replied, “I told you before, you made a great business negotiator.” Once it was completely over her head, he kissed her lips. “You still do.”

  The family you come from isn't as important as the family you're going to have.

  —Ring Lardner

  Amber entered Harry’s condominium. Sitting in the living room, surrounded by stacks of papers, open file boxes, and multiple computers, she found her brother. Glancing around the cluttered room, she sighed.

  Harry hadn’t heard her enter, but he heard the sigh. Looking up, he asked, “Hey, have you heard of knocking?”

  “I’ve heard of it. I didn’t know you understood the concept. It’s not like you use it when you enter my place.”

  Harry laughed. “Yeah, sorry. I didn’t know Keaton was over the other day.”

  Her cheeks blushed. “Well, since Liz’s at the office, I figured it was safe to enter. What are you doing? I thought you were on medical leave.”

  “I am, but Williams had some evidence shipped over here. I was going nuts with nothing to do.”

  Amber reached out and gently touched her brother’s left cheekbone. The bruise was no longer red and puffy. His left eye now opened as well as his right; nevertheless, the skin around the eye and down his cheek was still discolored. A greenish-yellow tint replaced the dark blue that followed the red.

  Harry groaned.

  “I guess that modeling career you’ve had on the back burner is out of the question.”

  Though Harry tried to appear offended, the corners of his lips rose revealing his amusement. Smugly, he replied, “That’s not nice. I’ve been told I’m still very handsome.”

  “Well, Liz is biased.” Amber picked up a stack of papers from the sofa, relocated them to his coffee table, and sat down. “Seriously, Harry, what are you doing?”

  “You know I can’t give you the details.”

  “Fine, no details, but you’re still working the case against Rawlings, aren’t you?”

  “No details, Amber.”

  Her shoulders sagged. “Harry, look at you. Think about Ilona and Jillian. Think about Liz—she’s still traumatized. It’s not worth it!”

  His blue eyes bore towards her. “How can you say that? What about Simon? Don’t you care that Rawlings hasn’t been punished for what he did?”

  “Can you prove he did it?”

  “Not yet, but my unexpected meeting in a back alley confirmed he’s involved.”

  Amber leaned forward. “No, Harry—that meeting confirmed what you know, what you already knew. Remember what you told me when you thought Claire was pregnant with your child? That attack confirmed that you should leave the FBI and come to
SiJo. Simon would want you safe. He wouldn’t want you risking your life or the life of your child or anyone else to prove something that can’t be changed. I mean—so what if it is Rawlings? It won’t bring Simon back. What if you’re wrong? What if Simon’s crash was what the NTSB said in the first place? What if it was an accident? Either way, Simon won’t be coming back.”

  “You don’t get it. People can’t go around changing other peoples’ lives without consequences. We know for certain that he kidnapped Claire.”

  “So what? I may have felt sorry for her when I first heard her story, but seriously, if she’s stupid enough to go back to him—she deserves whatever has or will happen to her!”

  Harry stood ready to defend Claire’s decisions, even though he hated most of the ones she’d made. When he did, a wince escaped his lips as his back straightened and his ribs ached.

  “See, that’s her fault too! You’re obsessed with this because of her. Don’t tell me it’s Simon’s memory—it’s because of Claire.”

  “No! It’s not her fault—any more than it’s yours.”

  Amber’s eyes widened. “Excuse me? My fault—what the hell?”

  “I met Simon through you. Yes, I want to prove that prick is responsible for his death. Would I care as much if Simon wasn’t a friend? Probably not—does that make you responsible? No! You’re losing focus—Rawlings is responsible, and I’m going to prove it.”

  “The position of President of Security Operations at SiJo is yours. All you need to do is say the word. Walk away from this. Don’t let Rawlings ruin any more lives.”

  Harry didn’t answer. He sat back down to his makeshift desk with multiple computer screens and concentrated on his research. He knew there was nothing more he could add to the conversation—nothing productive. Amber must have realized he wasn’t turning back around. He heard her huff and get up before the door to his condominium slammed shut sending aftershocks back to the living room.

  With no one around, Harry read the screens. SAC Williams had gotten him access to the bureau’s server. The databases of information were a wealth of knowledge. Unfortunately, in real life, results for searches didn’t materialize as fast as they did on television shows. That was all right. Currently, Harry’s only commodity was time. That was one of the reasons the Deputy Director allowed him to remain on the case. That—and Harry’s acceptance of beefed up security.

  He hated having an agent posted outside his door. It was even worse having one accompany him everywhere he went; nevertheless, in his current state, Harry agreed. He wouldn’t be much of threat if he were to be attacked again.

  As he read the screens and entered more data, Harry thought about his sister’s words. He understood her concern and appreciated her offer of a job. Harry liked the time he’d spent at SiJo. For anyone else, it would be a great career. Amber had even offered him a real position on the board of directors.

  When he considered how far their relationship had grown since his divorce, he felt an unfamiliar sense of contentment. Maybe he did have the family he’d always wanted. The fact that he’d had it since he was a young boy, but hadn’t realized it, almost made it better. He wasn’t as alone as he sometimes thought. Harry hoped that one day Amber would understand his determination to nail Rawlings to the wall was for her—too. She needed closure on Simon’s death. No beat down in an alley would change that.

  He reached for his phone and texted Amber.

  “THANKS FOR THE OFFER. I’M SORRY FOR BEING AN ASS. DINNER?”

  Claire held tight to Tony’s hand while Francis maneuvered the boat through the crystal waters. The trip from the island to town took anywhere from thirty to forty minutes, depending on wind and the roughness of the sea. Since this was only Claire’s second excursion off the island, she was surprised by the number of other islands they passed. The first time Francis took her into town, she was too nervous to truly register the world outside of the boat.

  Today, through sunglass covered eyes, she took in the beauty around her. The bright, tropical sun danced off the waves and glistened both near and far. The sea was neither calm nor rough. In more open water the waves were bigger. As they traveled between the islands in narrower straights, the seas calmed, reminding Claire of their lagoon. The islands they passed en route varied immensely. Some were small, like hers. Others were large with multiple homes. Many were uninhabitable with cliffs and ragged stone mountains. Claire understood how under the cover of darkness, maneuvering around the channels between the islands could be dangerous. If the seas were too rough, a boat the size of theirs could easily find itself thrown against the large rocks and cliffs.

  Despite having been born elsewhere, Francis knew the language and the culture of the area well. He was also known by many of the town’s people. Once they were ashore, Claire watched Francis’ interaction with the natives. Over the years, he’d obviously earned their respect.

  Claire didn’t see any motorized vehicles other than water craft. She whispered to Francis, “Does anyone drive cars here?”

  “Oui, Madame el”—he pointed toward a large mountain in the distance—“There’s one road that comes around the mountain, but driving it takes much time. Most traveling and shipments, they come by plane or helicopter. The airport is not far.”

  Claire remembered Phil telling her that by air she could be at a state of the art medical facility in less than two hours.

  Tony asked, “Are there always planes at the ready and pilots? Or do they need to be reserved in advance?”

  “Reserved is better,” Francis answered. “However, most requests can be accommodated quickly.”

  Tony decided, since they had time, he wanted to see the airport. Claire wasn’t interested. She decided to spend her time walking around the town until her doctor’s appointment. First, she entered what she considered to be the equivalent of a grocery store. Many of the town’s people spoke enough English to help Claire if she had any questions. There were also stands or booths along the side of the road with items for sale. It appeared many of the natives did more bartering than buying and selling. The road was defined and hard, but not paved—well-tried dirt. On her way to the doctor’s office, Claire passed two taverns and decided alcohol was a universal language.

  The waiting area of the doctor’s office was full of people, yet when Claire entered, the nurse immediately led her back to one of the examination rooms. “My husband will be here in a few minutes. I’d like to wait for him.”

  “Your husband?” the nurse beamed. “But of course. Will you learn your baby’s gender today?”

  Claire smiled. “I sure hope so. Can we please do another ultrasound?”

  “Let me check with the doctor. It’s his decision.”

  After a few minutes of being alone, the door opened. When Tony entered, Claire knew why she hadn’t heard the customary pre-enter knock. Grinning toward his handsome face, Claire thought how knocking had never been his forte. Tony’s deep voice and sparkling eyes revealed his excitement. “I thought your appointment wasn’t for another half an hour. I didn’t miss anything, did I?”

  “No,” she reached out to hold his hand. “They brought me back as soon as I arrived. I have a little habit of being early for appointments.”

  Tony snickered. “I like that habit.”

  “I know you do.”

  As their lips united, there was a knock on the door. Claire’s eyes twinkled as she called, “Come in.”

  The nurse entered, “Oh, hello, you must be Mr. Nichols?”

  Claire watched as Tony’s lips twitched. Suppressing her giggle, she replied, “This is my husband. Rawlings is our last name. Nichols was my maiden name.”

  The nurse apologized and explained that, after Claire’s exam, the doctor would allow another ultrasound. When they were alone again, Tony asked, “Are you sure there isn’t a problem using our real names?”

  “Francis assured me and so did Phil, this place as well as others like it, are known for their discretion. Apparently, we ar
en’t the only people here, or in the world, willing to pay big money to hide. It’s a great source of income for areas where resources are limited. They’re paid very well to keep our information private.”

  Tony nodded. “If they’re paid that well, then I’d think we could have an ultrasound whenever we wanted”—he squeezed her hand—“And I want one!”

  She grinned. “Me too!”—her smiled faded—“Tony, I hope you aren’t disappointed, I mean I know you keep saying you don’t care if our baby is a boy or a girl, but I think you do.”

  “I really don’t. I promise I won’t be disappointed. Healthy is what I want. I also want you healthy and safe. The only things that we’ll accomplish today will be learning whether we need to order blue or pink baby things and narrow our name discussion to one gender.”

  Claire smiled. They’d discussed names a little bit—mostly, they seemed to discuss boy’s names. When they Googled the most popular names for the last year, Sophia came up for girls and Aiden for boys. Tony immediately nixed Sophia. When he explained his reasoning, Claire was shocked. She had no idea Catherine had a daughter. The story was especially wild when he explained that Sophia was the artist who painted Claire’s wedding portrait. Apparently, he’d been watching her since Nathaniel died. It wasn’t done for vengeance—Tony’s voyeurism of Sophia was the fulfillment of a promise to Nathaniel—to watch over Catherine’s daughter. Tony didn’t know why Catherine didn’t want to see her, but the night he was taken into FBI custody, Tony was about to tell Sophia the truth about her mother. Obviously, he never got the chance.

  Claire agreed. The name Sophia wasn’t in the running.

  Neither one had a reason for not liking Aiden—they just didn’t. Tony didn’t want to use family names. As much as he had admired Nathaniel, he now realized that perhaps his grandfather wasn’t as good of an influence as he had once thought. Claire contemplated names from her family. She knew, without asking Emily, was a no. Her mother’s name—Shirley was very close to Tony’s grandmother Sharron. Claire’s grandmother Elizabeth was close to Emily. None of them seemed worth arguing for. So far—the only girl’s name that they were both receptive to—was Courtney.