Claire wasn’t advertising her location; however, short of assuming an alternate identity, she knew she couldn’t stay completely hidden. In an effort to avoid a trail of credit card receipts or loans, she utilized cash as much as possible. The recent expenditures took their toll on the money she’d received from the anonymous check. Although, she currently had no living expenses that would inevitably change. A one bedroom condo on the third floor would become available soon. Claire weighed the pros of living close to Amber and Harry, her only two friends against the cons of her unknown future employment.
Obtaining work was high on her priority list; however, it wasn’t easy. She wanted to work in meteorology. Her lack of recent experience and desire to avoid any station or weather organization connected to Rawlings Industries severely limited her options. Six minutes left on the elliptical.
Without a job, she needed more money. One evening while talking to Emily on the phone, the subject of her jewelry came up. When arrested, Claire was wearing diamond earrings, a diamond journey necklace, a diamond watch, and of course her engagement and wedding rings. If it had been up to her, she would have only been wearing the rings. Now as she struggled to complete the final five minutes on the machine, Claire smiled. If only her ex-husband knew how his insistence for her to wear the jewelry the day of her arrest would probably net her a fine profit. Today’s meeting was to determine the value of her bounty.
Harry recommended Mr. Pulvara. The broker only deals in high quality jewelry, and wasn’t a common pawn broker. It didn’t take an expert to know Claire’s jewelry was very high quality; however, Mr. Pulvara only sees clients through recommendations and by appointment. Thanks to Amber, she had both.
Claire valued Harry’s recommendation. His connections in the Bay Area went beyond his real job as President of Security for SiJo Gaming. Amber joked about being her brother’s boss. Nevertheless, with a degree in Criminology and five years of experience with the Bureau of Investigation and Intelligence, under the California Department of Justice as an investigator, Harry was more than qualified. Two minutes remained on the elliptical display; thankfully, the resistance lessened.
Claire returned her attention to the TV. Suddenly, her lungs deflated, not from exercise, but from the picture on the screen. She stared helplessly at her wedding picture, the one released to the media. Although closed caption flowed across the bottom, she couldn’t concentrate. Finally, her mind focused, and she read:
“…Bosley, diagnosed with stage four pancreatic cancer. It is unclear why Ms. Nichols’s name was not released to the public. Governor Preston has promised a full investigation. Mr. Anthony Rawlings’ publicist stated Mr. Rawlings is shocked by this turn of events. He has no comment at this time. MSNBC has not been able to reach Ms. Nichols for comment.”
Her legs no longer moved; the machine moved her. She gawked at the television as the newscaster progressed with other stories. When her feet hit the solid floor, her muscles tightened. Claire knew she should cool-down properly, and although her legs yelled in protest, the voices inside her head conquered.
Claire looked to the mirrors completely covering one wall of the gym. Normally, she didn’t like seeing herself hot and sweaty; however, today she couldn’t look away. Do the other people watching the same program recognize me? The bride in the picture beamed photogenic. Her porcelain complexion, blonde hair, and designer dress looked so different from the woman in the mirror. Other than her eyes, which Claire immediately diverted to the floor, the differences outnumbered the similarities.
Her thoughts swirled as she rode the elevator to the fourth floor. Entering the condominium, she called to Amber. No answer. She’s probably already left for work. Claire sat at the kitchen table, ignored the perspiration dripping down her back and between her breasts, and booted up her new laptop. While the PC came to life, she searched for her cell phones. She actually had two! It was probably silly, but she had her real iPhone with a blocked number and a pay-as-you-go phone. The latter was used to communicate with Emily and Courtney. Claire was trying to stay under the radar. Her iPhone was on her bedside stand, but she couldn’t find the other, which was strange. That phone being her primary source of communication with her sister rarely left her side. The two siblings were working on their relationship. They’d talked more during the past two weeks than in years.
Back in the kitchen, she drank a glass of water, made a cup of coffee, and began to read the homepage. Immediately, she saw two photos: her wedding picture and the cover of Vanity Fair. Her stomach twisted as she read the article. It divulged her public life during the last two and a half years: her marriage, lack of prenuptial agreement, lavish trips, high-end shopping, charge of attempted murder, plea of no contest, and sentencing. As she began the part about the pardon, she heard the front door. Turning to the source, Claire watched as Harry came toward her. His liquid blue eyes flooded with compassion. Obviously, he’s seen the news. He held her other telephone in his outstretched hand.
Trying to sound strong as she took the phone, she said, “Thank you, I guess I left that at your place last night.” Amber may have better food, but Harry had the better television. Last night, the three of them watched a Lakers game at Harry’s. Claire wasn’t really a basketball fan, which goes against her Indiana roots. It’s just that the Hoosier glory days were before her time. She’d heard stories, but they never ignited a passion for the sport.
Her expression, the moisture in her eyes, and her obvious interruption from a work-out, told Harry what her words didn’t. She’d seen the news. Handing her the phone, he said, “This keeps chirping, so I think your battery’s about to die.” He looked into her green eyes. “Claire, are you all right?”
She sat straighter. “Yes, I’m fine. Thank you for asking.”
His compassion changed to surprise. “Oh, I just worried that…well, when I saw the news…all right.” He turned back to the coffee machine.
Claire checked the telephone: two text messages and one voicemail. She checked the texts. The first was from Courtney, sent at 10:45 PM last night:
“TONY JUST LEARNED YOU’RE OUT OF PRISON. YELLING AT BRENT. NOT HAPPY. WANTS ANSWERS. LOVE YOU. WILL TELL MORE WHEN I CAN. STAY SAFE.”
Claire stared at the screen. Why didn’t I see this last night? She didn’t hear it beep with the game. Fear swept through her in a wave as her heartbeat pounded wildly in her ears.
“Claire, what does it say?”
She looked from the screen to Harry and shook her head. She tried to hide her fear, but she couldn’t hide the tears slipping from her eyes. She hit another button and continued to read.
Sniffing, she wiped her eyes, tried to appear composed, and read through blurred vision. The time read 6:00 AM—only two hours ago, also from Courtney:
“PRIVATE DETEC TRYING TO FIND YOU. KNOWS ABOUT CANCELLED TIX TO SAN FRAN. CHECKING OUT INDIANA. CHECKING EMILY’S PHONE RECORDS. HEARD TONY’S VOICE W/ BRENT. NOT HAPPY!!!! BE CAREFUL.”
Silently, Harry stood motionless, intently watching Claire’s every move.
“I’m sorry,” she offered. “I need to check this voicemail.” She didn’t want to answer his what question, and she hoped he’d leave her alone to listen. He didn’t, although he went back to his coffee on the counter and gave her some space. Claire activated her voicemail and listened to Emily’s voice:
“Claire, it’s a little after 4:00 AM here. That’s what? 2:00 AM there, I think. I know you’re asleep, but you need to know, I just got a call at this hour, from some man named Roach. He said he’s a private investigator working for a mutual friend. He said you may be in danger and needs to know your location, and for your protection. I didn’t believe him. Please call and tell me you’re safe.” Claire’s tears multiplied as she listened, not only to her sister’s words but to the fear in her voice. “He said he knows I’ve been talking to a disposable phone in California, and he asked if it’s you. I just kept saying, I don’t know where she is and that I have no other comment. Finally,
I hung up on him. Can they really look into my phone records? I’ll get one of those phones too. I’ll call you later with the number, so even though you don’t recognize it, please answer. I love you, and I really do believe all you’ve told me. Let me know you’re safe. Bye.”
Warnings and alarms rushed through Claire’s mind as time stood still. Her body involuntarily sought to run—the flight instinct; however, that monologue had been talked to death. Run where? She’d started a life, which meant that flight wasn’t an option. Therefore, biology told her to fight. Not physically, Claire knew that wasn’t possible. This scenario was what she’d hoped to avoid. The text messages and voicemail confirmed her fear.
Naively she’d hoped, no prayed, since she hadn’t heard anything for two weeks; maybe Tony would just let her go. It may have been fantasy, but the two week reprieve was heavenly.
Claire stood to go to her room. She would finish the article on her laptop, later.
Harry tried again, “Claire, please tell me what’s happening.”
“Nothing, I’m fine.” She made to the hallway before Harry touched her shoulder.
The moment his fingers connected, Claire flinched. Straightening her spine, she spun to face him. A look of terror and panic filled her beautiful eyes. The expression shocked him. Harry expected sad or maybe mad, but what he saw was unbridled fear. It took his breath away. While an investigator for the Bureau, he’d seen that look. Without thinking, he asked, “What did he do to you?”
Her eyes muted; a haze covered the brief glimpse into her true feelings. Claire’s countenance turned stoic. “Harry, I need to take a shower. Thank you for checking in on me. I’m fine, and I know you need to get to SiJo.” Mustering a forced grin, she continued, “I hear your boss is getting upset about all your recent time off.”
He wanted to question her. Inquisition procedures were his specialty; however, she wasn’t a suspect. She was his sister’s friend. No, his friend. During the past two weeks, they’d spent countless hours working as a team to put pieces of her life back together. He knew about the box of memories Anthony Rawlings had sent her, he knew she looked like a child at Christmas when she purchased a cell phone, and he knew she did not attempt to murder her ex-husband. Of course, that was just Claire’s word, but Harry believed her.
He didn’t know much about her life with Mr. Rawlings. Somehow, whenever the subject came up, she eloquently changed it. Now, the churning in his gut told him why. This petite, funny, friendly, pretty, delicate, and kind woman in front of him was hurt. Maybe, just maybe, it was only a broken heart.
It has been said people drawn to law enforcement have a sixth sense, an ability to see what others do not. Harry prayed he was wrong. His sixth sense said there was much more than a broken heart in Claire’s past.
Harry pushed his questions aside. “Your right, I do need to get into the office. Are you still going to Mr. Pulvara’s?”
“Yes, my appointment is at 11:00 AM. I really need to get ready.”
“I’m sorry if I’ve overstepped some bounds. I won’t push you; it’s none of my business.” The haze covering her eyes evaporated; the emerald green began to shine. Harry added, “If you need anything, you know my cell number.”
She smiled up at him and sighed. “Thanks, Harry, see you later.” She turned toward the hall, speaking over her shoulder. “Please lock the door on your way out.”
Claire closed the bedroom door with the weight of her shoulders. The glossy wood felt smooth behind her head. She strained to hear the sound of the front door close and lock. The still coolness of her room filled her lungs. After enough time had passed, Claire allowed more warm tears to flow. Her trembling hand pushed the small button on her doorknob. She produced a mental checklist: security guard, locked front door, and locked bedroom door—was it enough? Suddenly chilled, Claire wrapped her arms around her torso and felt the shuddering of her chest as sobs resonated uncontrollably. After a few minutes, she blinked away the moisture, tried desperately to calm her unsteady hands, and sent Emily and Courtney a text:
“GOT YOUR MESSAGE. THANKS. I’M GOOD. CALL WHEN YOU CAN. I LOVE YOU TOO.”
Hot water pelted her upturned face as she stepped into the shower. The sensation of warmth flowed over her. Slowly, the heaviness washed away from her soul. By the time her feet hit the tile floor, her thoughts centered on the future. The past was gone. She had survived. She wasn’t the same woman Anthony Rawlings had taken three years ago.
As Claire exited the elevator with her cell phones in tow, she inhaled the unique scents of the parking garage. Easing herself into the leather driver’s seat of her car, she relished her new-found independence. Yes, life threw her some obstacles; she was stronger for them.
The GPS instructed her to turn right from the garage. The morning fog had begun to dissipate, revealing patches of pale blue sky. She turned her Honda into traffic and thought about the jewelry inside her purse. Her lips turned upward as she pondered the value and remembered Anthony’s perpetuity for appearance. This time, she hoped it would work in her favor.
Chapter Four
Light thinks it travels faster than anything, but it is wrong. No matter how fast light travels, it finds the darkness has always got there first, and is waiting for it.
—Terry Pratchett
Sophia watched her husband pack his suitcase. “Derek, I just got back from Florence. Can’t you stay home?”
“I told you, baby, they want to meet me face-to-face.”
Sophia sighed and smoothed the t-shirts he’d so precisely placed into the bag. It was so different from the way she packed, but then again, they were different. Some of their friends called them Darma and Greg. Looking at Derek’s suits, pressed shirts, and cuff links, they definitely had different styles; however, those differences brought them together and kept them united.
Her bare feet allowed her head to fit perfectly under her husband’s chin. Standing to wrap her arms around Derek’s neck, she smiled and spoke lovingly, “I know, just please hurry home.”
His light brown eyes mellowed as he stared into her tender expression. “I’ll come back as soon as the interview process is done.”
“Tell me again, who are these people, and why do they want you?”
Derek tipped his head to Sophia’s and grinned. “I’ve told you. You just don’t listen.”
Her hands wandered down the buttons of his white silk shirt. “Maybe it’s because I get distracted. I keep thinking about wanting you for myself.”
“I think you’re trying to distract me so I’ll miss my flight.”
“Oh, well, so you leave tomorrow, instead of tonight.” She nibbled his neck. “Would that be so bad?”
Punctuality was Derek’s thing, not Sophia’s. She was a free soul—an artist. Perfect for her personality, she could work, sketching and painting, whenever the impulse hit. Sometimes, that was 3:00 AM. Often times, Derek would wake to find her covered in chalk dust, still wearing the nightgown she’d worn to bed.
Despite their differences, their love was intense, passionate, and real.
Just south of thirty, Sophia had given up on happily ever after. She’d had her share of romances, but something always seemed to intervene. Most of the time, it was her art. There were few men willing to take a backseat to a sketch pad.
If she chose to reminisce, there was one man that met her requirements. He did a great job schmoozing with investors, but he honestly preferred spending time alone with her. He understood her art, and he always said everything right; however, as time passed, their goals grew incompatible. It was as if he could see her dream, but it didn’t matter. He wanted things she didn’t understand. One day, he received an unbelievable job offer, requiring travel. They promised to stay in touch. The final act proved lonely.
Then unexpectedly in December of 2010, her life changed. She met Derek at a mutual friend’s Christmas party. It happened so fast. In January of 2011, they married, a whirlwind elopement to Paris. Sophia shared her affection f
or Europe and memories of Paris while working on her Master’s degree. Derek surprised her with a prearranged wedding. They exchanged vows in the park at the foot of the Eiffel Tower. Afterwards, they dined in a small French cafe with their witnesses. Derek secretly flew both of their sets of parents to Paris. It was the dream wedding she’d given up ever having.
Occasionally, her love of art and a desire for self-promotion required her to travel for art exhibitions. Personally, her art was gaining notoriety. Recently, she’d accepted an invitation to exhibit her work at the Florence Academy of Art during a three week exhibition. Although she didn’t like leaving Derek, they both knew this was a remarkable offer.
And now that she was home again, in Provincetown, Massachusetts, it was Derek’s turn to follow a remarkable offer. Shedis-tics, a software Fortune 500 company in Santa Clara, California, recently contacted him. The parent company, Rawlings Industries, wanted this branch of its empire to be again in the top 100. They believed Derek could help them achieve that goal.
It wasn’t that he didn’t already have a great job and career. He did, in Boston for a major electronics company. Everything was going so well. He was satisfied with his career, and Sophia was happy in the community she loved. That all changed when he received the phone call from a Shedis-tics representative. The contact person told Derek he came highly recommended. Now he wanted more.
Truly, the offer seemed too good to be true. Unsolicited propositions rarely happen in today’s economy. He was rightly cautious; however, after days of research, Derek found everything with Shedis-tics legitimate. He also reasoned the new job would allow him the ability to greater support his wife’s passions. Even with notoriety, art didn’t pay well. Derek loved her passion and wanted to make her every dream come true.
The Consequences Series Box Set Page 58
