The Consequences Series Box Set

by Aleatha Romig

  The man stepped to the side, exposing the control panel. “I’m sorry. Am I in your way?”

  “No, actually you’ve already accessed my floor.”

  He looked at the small suitcase near Claire’s feet. “You’ll enjoy this hotel; the staff is wonderful.”

  “Thank you, I’ve been here for a few days.” Realizing the suitcase, she continued, “I just had a few things in my car that I needed to retrieve.”

  She didn’t know why she was lying. Nevertheless, she’d rehearsed her story, and she was glad it sounded slightly plausible.

  “Well, enjoy the rest of your stay.” The elevator stopped, and the doors opened. He politely held the door, allowing her to exit.

  She smiled, “Thank you, you too.”

  Claire walked toward the right, while the gentleman walked to the left. Unlocking her door, she quickly entered the sunlit suite. As she turned to bolt the lock, she mindlessly peered through the peephole. Directly across the hall from her room, she saw the same gentleman opening a door.

  That’s odd, why’d he walk the other way if his room was there? she contemplated, He looks familiar. Maybe I saw him when I originally checked in? Or, maybe I’m just paranoid!

  Within the bedroom, upon the bedside stand, was the only item she’d left at the hotel, one of her cell phones—her Tony phone. She left it on and plugged in.

  Not hearing from him in four days was refreshing. Allowing the signals from this phone to be sent from this location was priceless. That bit of deception plus a lengthy GPS erasing procedure were Harry’s idea. His past police experience made him suspicious. That same experience gave him invaluable knowledge. Claire couldn’t have begun to erase the GPS permanently without his directions. Claire would do anything, no matter how laboring, to protect Courtney.

  She opened the French doors to her balcony and inhaled the warm spring air. The beautiful wrought-iron railing added to the French ambiance. Looking down, she watched the people stories below on the famous Riverwalk. It was beautiful, filled with flowing water, flowers, people, and giant cypress trees. A faint breeze blew the curtains of the open doors as she relaxed upon her king-sized bed and checked the phone. There were seven missed calls and three text messages. Claire closed the phone. The getaway was too fresh in her mind—too many good memories. Her mood was too high; she would read the messages later.

  Next, she checked in with Emily: her daily I’M FINE text. Today, she added:

  “I’M BACK IN SAN ANTONIO. MY FLIGHT IS TOMORROW ABOUT NOON FOR SAN FRAN. CALL IF YOU CAN. LOVE YA!”

  With Emily’s husband, John, back in Indiana, the two sisters no longer spoke every day; however, they made a point to check in daily. Claire spoke to John a few times since his prison release. At first, it was even more uncomfortable than her first talks with Emily. Thinking about her time with Courtney, Claire decided they needed some face-to-face time. It was much better than phone calls.

  She also sent text messages to Amber and Harry, informing them of her location. Knowing there were people who cared and worried about her, added to Claire’s euphoria. Closing her eyes, she debated napping. The distinctive Emily phone’s ring stopped her descent into the drowsy abyss. With her eyes still closed, she reached for the small black cell phone. “Hi.”

  “Hi, Claire, I hope you don’t mind me calling.” The voice caught her off guard, her eyes opened wide. Napping disappeared from her radar. She hadn’t heard this voice since last July at Iowa’s Woman’s Penitentiary.

  “Brent?”

  “Yes.” She held her breath, unsure what to say. Brent continued, “Courtney’s home safe.”

  Claire’s mind spun. She wanted to trust him; after all, according to Courtney, he was also responsible for her freedom, and he was also a victim of Tony’s. Claire knew that. She’d witnessed their interaction. “I’m glad.” She swallowed and continued, “Brent… thank you.”

  “Please, don’t thank me. I’ve done much more to hurt you than help you.”

  She heard the anguish in his voice. “Just tell me, of all the things you’ve done, which ones did you want to do?”

  “I wanted to help you. I never wanted to hurt you, even before I read the preliminary brief. It’s just that sometimes I had no—”

  Claire’s words stopped him, “I understand.” She inhaled and continued, “You know that though, don’t you?”

  “I do, and we understand you.”

  Her entire body filled with warmth. She’d known this man for less than three years. Her ex-husband claimed him as his best friend, and he’d endured much of the same domination as Claire. She couldn’t suppress her smile as tears trickled down her cheeks. “I offered to pay Courtney back. I can now.”

  “She told me, and I agree with her. Please, keep your money. Watching and listening to Tony’s response when he learned of your unorthodox release and seeing him unable to control or influence the situation, more than made it worth every penny.”

  “If there’s anything I can do for either of you…”

  “Actually, there is…” The two continued their conversation for almost an hour. Brent wanted to know all about Tony’s box. The information fascinated him. He also asked about the information she’d learned from their detective work. Brent vowed to do what he could from his end. He also explained the things he’d done to hurt Claire: the divorce with no financial compensation, his attitude when he visited her in prison, hiring a private detective to find her, and supporting Tony along the way.

  Claire reassured Brent that she understood. He didn’t have a choice, and she appreciated his current clandestine support. Fearfully, Claire asked Brent a question she’d contemplated off and on again for a while, “Is Jane Allyson all right? I mean, has Tony done anything to her?” Claire’s heart skipped a beat as her question met silence.

  Finally, he answered, “She is, for now.”

  “Can you please elaborate?”

  “When we left her office, Tony voiced his displeasure.” Claire nodded, although Brent couldn’t possibly see her from Iowa. He went on, “I’ve tried on numerous occasions to remind him that if something would suddenly happen to her up-and-coming career, immediately following your petition for pardon, it would appear suspicious.”

  Claire smiled; Brent knew the game. Tony’s kryptonite was indeed appearance. Claire replied, “I don’t want her to pay because she helped me.”

  “I put her in that position. I promise I’ll do all I can to protect her.” Brent chuckled. “She knew what she was doing when she did it. That’s why I chose her. She’s one tough lady and a great attorney! You should’ve heard her when we went to her office.”

  “I bet. She’s the only one, in a room full of males, who stood up to Tony at the jail in Iowa.”

  “Other than you.”

  Claire stammered, “I-me? I didn’t stand up to him. I never did.”

  “That isn’t true. You never would’ve survived if he didn’t consider you a challenge. He truly thought you’d take the insanity plea.”

  “Well, the fact I didn’t, probably confirms that I am insane.”

  Brent laughed. “That’s why you and Courtney get along so well.”

  He went on to tell her about Phillip Roach, the private detective who’s been watching her for the last month, sending photos and information to Tony. Brent wasn’t privy to all the information, but Tony’s attitude regarding Claire seemed to be changing. Brent assessed that he’s no longer upset; obsessed would be a better word.

  Brent assured Claire that she’d successfully lost the private detective during the last week. “If Tony knew you and Cort were together, I would’ve heard. I even called Mr. Roach once to confirm my theory. He was rather allusive about the past four days and promised more information in the future.” Claire heard the smile in Brent’s voice. “It’s all making Tony a little crazy.”

  “Have you met this Phillip Roach? What does he look like?” Claire asked.

  The clock read 7:23 PM. Originally, Claire pl
anned a quiet evening with room service. Her TV had an attached gaming system, and she’d contemplated practicing her skills in anticipation of another gaming session with Harry; however, finishing her make-up, stepping into the Marc Jacobs white silk sundress, and fastening her Prada sandals, she mentally reviewed her new plan.

  Chapter Thirteen

  ‘Charm’ - which means the power to affect work without employing brute force, is indispensable to women. Charm is a woman’s strength just as strength is a man’s charm.

  —Henry Ellis

  The final slam of the cottage door muffled Sophia’s sigh. On the other side of the wooden barrier were their home, life, and private haven. With a turn of the bolt, and the closing of heavy shutters on creaky hinges, she’d successfully closed it tight: storing everything away for a season.

  Sophia’s mind swirled with memories of their first home: late nights slipping out of bed and making her way upstairs to her studio, while Derek slept—light brown hair disheveled, mouth slightly open. She relished the security of knowing when sleepiness overtook her creativity; she could crawl back into their bed and be enveloped by his warmth. Leaning against the door, she remembered the first time Derek made a fire in their fireplace but forgot to open the flue. Once the smoke cleared, they laughed until they cried, and the way the golden sunshine streamed into her studio in the late morning. It was her favorite time to paint; the colors looked so real. These recollections made her smile, despite her heavy heart.

  Begrudgingly, she allowed herself a window of self-pity. That being said, as soon as she was once again face-to-face with her husband, she vowed to keep her true feelings hidden. After all, this was Derek’s big break. Sophia wanted to be the supportive wife. She kept telling herself, if the roles were reversed, he’d support me.

  Undoubtedly, the uncertainty added to her unease. They didn’t know when they’d be back to Provincetown or who’d be returning. It could be both of them or only Sophia. It all depended on Shedis-tics.

  Since graduating high school, Sophia controlled her life. Having the people of Shedis-tics dictate her living arrangements, travel plans, and everything else made her anxious. Yes, she’d submitted to the occasional investor, agreed to show her work, or attended a private wine-and-dine session; but all at her discretion. She’d always had the option to say no.

  Sophia knew marriage meant collaboration—a partnership. She’d watched her parents successfully share a similar arrangement her entire life. When she said I do, Sophia willingly accepted her role as half of a whole; however, now she questioned her percentage. Was she in fact half? Or was she less? Was Derek still half? Or was he more? Perhaps Shedis-tics was now part of the equation?

  Originally, his new job was scheduled to begin May 1st. Nevertheless, they called him out to Santa Clara only two days after her father’s accident, over four weeks early.

  Little did Sophia realize, when Derek said he couldn’t take more than two nights in her childhood bedroom, he’d meant it literally. Truthfully, Derek hadn’t known either. As he explained, when the company president calls and invites you to meet with parent company executives, you don’t say, No, thank you.

  Lingering on the stoop of their cottage, she looked toward the Harbor, inhaled the salt air, and listened to the soft din of the sea. The sound of the surf created a continual soundtrack for life in Provincetown. While something she rarely thought about, she knew she’d miss it terribly.

  Yesterday, she closed her studio on Commercial Street. The sign in the window read: Closed for an Undetermined Amount of Time. The neighboring businesses promised to keep a watchful eye on everything. Sophia knew nothing would physically happen to her personal slice of cramped heaven. It was the emotional toll that concerned her.

  On her way to the airport, Sophia took a detour and found herself at the shore, enjoying the calm water rippling beneath the crystal clear blue sky. Tears streaked her cheeks as she bid adieu to Provincetown Harbor. Through her blurred vision, she saw the Cape across the sea. Sophia absorbed the scene, savoring it—preserving it. If she kept it safely sealed within the recesses of her mind, it would never completely be gone. In times of need, she’d will it forward, out of the depths of her memories, and into her thoughts.

  Recognizing the inevitable, she made her way to the small Provincetown airport. From there she’d fly to Boston. In Boston, she had tickets for a first-class flight to San Jose, the closest airport to Santa Clara.

  Even with a short layover in Denver, she anticipated feeling Derek’s strong arms by 4:00 PM Pacific Time. When she did, she planned to melt into his embrace and show him why they should never be apart again; then, she reasoned, the world would once again be right.

  When the elevator doors opened, Phillip Roach just about lost it! She entered almost sixty seconds earlier and should have been to her floor, not still within the golden mirrored cubical. Practicing his covert skills, Phil Roach assumed a calm passive persona and spoke casually to his number one assignment, Claire Nichols. This hadn’t been his plan. Nevertheless, now that they’d conversed, and she hadn’t recognized him; she might be his lifesaver.

  Anthony Rawlings was suspicious and becoming increasingly untrusting. Phil did a good job for a few days, giving generic reports and letting Mr. Rawlings assume his ex-wife was vacationing alone in San Antonio; however, the lack of specifics and pictures were beginning to spark too many questions.

  The per diem and generous expense account made it difficult for Phillip Roach to confess he’d lost his assignment. A few days ago, Claire Nichols flew to San Antonio with Phil on the same flight. He knew of her hotel reservation, and he followed her to the Hotel Valencia. It was late; he assumed she was sleeping safely within her room until the next day; however, when he returned to the Riverwalk later the same night, Ms. Nichols was AWOL. Her car was gone, she was gone, and her cell phone continued to send signals from her suite. Phil panicked, knowing he’d been duped!

  He also knew Claire’s reservations at the Hotel Valencia extended until Sunday morning. Having no idea where to look, he continued his surveillance of the hotel on the famous Riverwalk. When he saw Ms. Nichols enter the lobby Saturday afternoon, it took all of his self-control to not hug her. Thank God she was alive and safe. If something had happened to her in a place he hadn’t reported her being, Phil didn’t even want to consider the consequences. It didn’t matter. She was all right.

  She wasn’t just all right. She was relaxed, tan, and happy. He was sure she’d been with a man, but who? He’d confirmed Harrison Baldwin’s presence in Palo Alto during the last four days. There was no doubt Mr. Rawlings would want answers. Phil’s exuberance at her presence could be blamed for the unplanned meeting in the elevator; however, as he reviewed the encounter, he assured himself no harm no foul!

  Currently, she was settled in her room, presumably for the night. Phil had watched her for almost three weeks. She wasn’t the wild and crazy kind. Room service was a 99.9% assured outcome. Rarely was Phillip Roach wrong.

  The electronic sensor startled him back to reality. It was a non-conspicuous device attached to her suite door. As long as the door remained closed, the device remained silent. When the door opened and separated the connection, an alarm sounded in his room. Immediately, Phil jumped to the peephole, expecting to see a waiter delivering room service.

  Instead, stepping from her suite, dressed to kill was Claire Nichols. No wonder Mr. Rawlings was so interested in this women, she’s frig’n hot! Phil thought as he watched the petite frame in the flowing white sundress and high heels. Although his view was somewhat distorted due to the domed glass peephole, the woman he saw looked more like the woman in the pictures. She looked like Mrs. Rawlings.

  Phil grabbed his sports coat, combed his hair back, and splashed his face with water. Fifty-seven seconds after Claire left her room, Phil double stepped it down the stairs to the lobby, only eleven floors down.

  The firm soles of his shoes hit the marble floor of the main lobby. Phil inhaled a
nd exhaled, regulating his breathing as he walked toward the large glass entry. Being Saturday night, the hotel as well as Riverwalk bustled with people, most paired and appropriately adorned for evening revelries. It was after all, a five-star establishment. The magnitude of private conversations created a dim drone as Phil scanned the open foyer. The ceiling towered many stories above, the enormous fireplace blazed, and the tile floor echoed with the clicks of stiletto heels. An occasional whiff of food cooking in the distance reminded Phil that Citrus, the hotel’s finer restaurant, was nearby.

  His tenacity was rewarded as Phil passed the glistening, metal, and beaded chain curtain separating the ultra-sleek Vbar from the Hotel Valencia. Just beyond the semi translucent drape, he saw the beautiful outline of Claire Nichols. Her white dress shone like a beacon within the dimly lit tavern.

  Phil followed the piano music and entered the posh lounge. The low lights, red carpet, and intimate groupings created a chic romantic atmosphere. He watched from afar as her face, illuminated by a flickering red candle, smiled and spoke to the attentive waiter. Using his phone, he casually snapped a few photos. Walking nonchalantly through the busy lounge, Phil positioned himself on a leather stool at the shiny black bar. Each time he raised his head, Ms. Nichols sat directly in his field of vision. He ordered a Blue Moon and waited.

  Fifteen minutes passed; no one joined his assignment. She didn’t seem worried, and she wasn’t fidgeting with her phone, yet her attire screamed date. He waited, but no one joined her, so perhaps no one was coming. Phil contemplated the woman he’d spent the last three weeks getting to know. Many women sitting alone in a bar would be self-conscious. Ms. Nichols looked completely content, composed, and confident. She sipped a glass of red wine and gazed around the room. Suddenly, their eyes met. Phil fought the urge to look away. He reminded himself, they’d met on the elevator. His mind wheeled as she smiled and tipped her glass his direction. Could this be an invitation? Perhaps if I talk to her, maybe I can learn where she’s been?