“Oh, my dear, I’m so very sorry. I won’t pry.”
Forcing a smile, Sophia sat straighter. “Really, it’s all right. I’ve—had wonderful parents, but t—they’ve only recently passed away, late last summer. It was a car accident.”
Marie shook her head. “I had no idea. I’m truly sorry.”
“Oh, my in-laws have been wonderful. It just takes...time.”
“Now, your husband—Derek—is that his name?”
Sophia nodded.
“Does he have siblings?”
Sophia went on to describe Derek’s family—he’s an only child—his parents were very anxious for them to add a branch or two to the family tree.
“How do you feel about that?” Marie asked.
Shrugging her shoulders, Sophia said, “We’ve been talking.”
Marie grinned. “I’m sure you know—that’s not how it happens.”
Sophia’s cheeks reddened. “Yes, I believe my mother gave me that talk, when I was quite young.”
After lunch, they walked through some of the college shops before parting for the afternoon. Later, when Sophia told Derek about her day, she wouldn’t remember the exact words of their conversation only that it flowed without effort.
With all Derek had happening with his new responsibilities, Sophia knew that he was pleased that she was getting out of the house and meeting people.
As the sun set below the horizon, and the lingering shadows cast their last shades of what might have been onto the isolated beach, a hand fell to Claire’s shoulder.
At first, she hesitated, unsure if the connection was real or imagined. When she could no longer decipher, Claire turned to see the face—the eyes—the man for whom she’d prayed.
Claire’s resolve melted with his touch. The sobs she’d been suppressing erupted as Tony pulled her up to his embrace.
“I didn’t think I’d ever see you...” her words were barely audible behind the bellowing cries.
“Shhhh...” If he hadn’t been holding her, Claire wasn’t sure she’d have been able to stand. As she nestled near, his bare chest quivered with exertion. After a moment, they settled on the soft, warm sand.
“Did you ever reach the boat? Or did you finally swim back?” Claire asked, realizing the boat wasn’t in sight.
“It’s anchored around the bend.” He squeezed her tighter. “Believe me, I considered turning around, but I didn’t know which way was shorter the longer I swam; then, as I came back, I couldn’t tell which beach was which.”
“How long did you swim?”
Tony shook his head as a tired grin emerged across his lips. “A lot longer than I’d planned.”
She buried her head into his shoulder. “I kept praying and telling our baby you were safe, but...” the tears came back.
Smoothing her hair, he explained, “I contacted Francis. He knows where we are. He recommended we spend the night on the boat.”
“On the boat?” Claire questioned.
“Yes, we don’t want to be separated from it again, and there’s a small bed in the cabin under the deck.”
Claire nodded. She’d been below in the boat before—it was a calmer ride if the seas were rough.
“In the morning, when the sun comes up, I’ll get you home—I promise.”
She looked up to his tired eyes. “I don’t care where I am, as long as you’re there.” She struggled to stand. “Let’s go. You must be exhausted.”
Taking what was left of Madeline’s lunch time feast, they walked the shore around the bend. With the silver glow of moon light, Claire saw the boat only a short way out, bobbing silently in the virtually calm sea.
When they were both on board, Tony lifted the anchors and took them into slightly deeper water. “When the tide goes down, we don’t want to be marooned,” he explained.
Claire grinned. “I’m impressed. Who would have ever imagined Anthony Rawlings learning the ins and outs of marine navigation?”
Lowering the anchors once again, Tony purposely left slack in the rope. When he looked up and saw Claire’s questioning emerald eyes, he added, “See, Francis so nicely mentioned—perhaps I didn’t do that the first time.” Somewhat sheepishly, he added, “He’s right, I didn’t.”
She reached for Tony’s cheek. “I’ve said it before, and I still believe it’s true, you can teach—”
Tony interrupted, “My love, now that the adrenaline is gone, I definitely feel like that old dog. Let’s go below and get some sleep before the sun rises.”
If the cabin had been truly meant for sleeping—the designers didn’t plan for it to be shared by a 6’6” man and a pregnant woman. Regardless, Claire and Tony worked their way into the small space. The rhythmic bobbing of the boat was surprisingly comforting as Claire maneuvered herself in an effort to become comfortable. Once they were settled, Tony said, “Do you know what this reminds me of?”
“Sardines?”
She heard his laugh in the dark cabin. “No, I was thinking of our trip to Europe—the yacht on the Mediterranean.”
Her mind went back in time. It seemed like two other people in a different life. “I suppose if I pretend this four inch foam mattress is really a king sized bed and the ceiling is six feet above my head instead of two—”
Tony’s lips found hers, stopping her words. “Yes, there are a few differences.” Trailing the tips of his fingers along her shoulder and down her midsection as Claire lay on her side facing him, he continued, “Perhaps it’s the rocking of the waves, or the sweet sound of your breathing in my ear; regardless, it reminds me of then.”
“I suppose I can see a few similarities.”
“One day—one day we’ll go back, and the yacht we rent will have enough room for all of our children.”
Fighting, once again, to relieve the pressure in her lower back, Claire replied, “Children? I’m pretty sure the ultrasounds have only shown one baby.”
His voice fought the exhaustion to which his body had already surrendered. “Oh, but think how much fun it will be to create more...”
When his words turned to breathing, Claire kissed his cheek and whispered in his ear, “Good night, Tony.”
He may have said it was her breathing that reminded him of the past, but it was his breathing that gave her hope for their future. Only hours earlier, the world turned gray—color was gone—now in the darkness of the boat’s cabin, Claire remembered the colors of the flowers Tony had picked. She saw the blue of the sunlit ocean and the greens of the plants. It didn’t matter that they weren’t in their bed or their room, all that mattered was that he was safe—she was safe—and they were together.
Intuition will tell the thinking mind where to look next.
—Jonas Salk
Harry conferred again with the Boston field office. Since their face-to-face meeting almost a month ago, Agent Baldwin was, again, fully assigned to the Sherman Nichols/Anthony Rawlings case; however, now it had the added dimension of Catherine Marie London Rawls. As much as Harry personally hated to admit that Rawlings’ cooperation and confessions fit perfectly into the Harry’s timeline, gaps still existed.
During his confessions, Rawlings recalled the death of his parents. He claimed an irrational commitment to his grandfather, as his reason for protecting Catherine London Rawls. His parents were gone; therefore, as a tribute to his grandfather, he did what he could do to save London from a life in prison. At the time, he believed his parents’ deaths were the result of an accident—a discussion that became heated and grew out of control. He knew at the time, there was a history of bad blood between Catherine and his parents. After his father, Samuel, had successfully voided Nathaniel and Catherine’s marriage, she’d been pushed to her limit. Rawlings tried to reach his parents first, hoping to utilize his stellar negotiation skills. He failed—not in the negotiation—in reaching his parents before Catherine.
Rawlings recounted personal knowledge of his grandfather’s mission—to make the people responsible for his incarceratio
n and their families pay. The first person on their list was Sherman Nichols; however, by the time Rawlings had the money to fulfill Nathaniel’s vendetta, Sherman and his wife had already passed. The next person was Jordon Nichols—Sherman’s son. According to Rawlings, there was a network of connections which when utilized, and well compensated, would provide any target with an untraceable deadly accident. He didn’t know the details, didn’t have time for them, but agreed to supply the money. Rawlings and Catherine discussed the plan ad nauseam. Rawlings willingly admitted a sense of obligation to fulfill his grandfather’s agenda. As an entrepreneur and businessman, he would and could affect the lives of others; however, giving the order to take a life was significant—even for him. Rawlings claimed to have procrastinated with that order, making London wait—even though she protested.
According to his confession, Rawlings claimed there were other parts to the plan which he told Catherine needed to be confirmed before he’d authorize the Nichols’ demise. One such task was securing the scholarship for Valparaiso University. Before Rawlings finally agreed to the deal, fate stepped in—the Nichols car crashed in a true accident.
The other family that was unknowingly involved in the vendetta was that of Jonathon Burke, the securities officer who helped build the FBI case on Nathaniel. During the span of time between Nathaniel’s death and Rawlings ability to financially fulfill the vendetta, Burke also died of natural causes. The next in line was Allison Mason, Burke’s only child. Certain that fate wouldn’t be as kind as to help their cause again—Rawlings agreed to pay the money to ensure her demise—the network was utilized. Rawlings claimed that he didn’t know the details of the impending accident until after it occurred. Both, Allison and her husband perished.
These were people completely off the FBI’s radar. Upon further investigation, Harry learned the Mason’s deaths had been officially ruled accidental—a tragic fall from a trail, while hiking in the Grand Teton National Park. If Rawlings hadn’t admitted to knowledge of this incident, it would never have been found. Each year, about 150 people die in national parks. Most went under reported; some visitors slipped on wet trails or leaned too far over guard rails. Regardless of the incident, they made poor publicity for the nation’s national parks and received little attention. Up until that moment, no one suspected that the death of Jonathon Burke’s only daughter, Allison, and her husband were anything other than a true accident.
Soon, the FBI would contact their niece—their only surviving relative—and seek permission to exhume their graves. Tissue samples were needed to confirm the presence of actaea pachypoda.
The next people on Rawlings’ and London’s list were Emily and Claire Nichols. This was the next generation—children of children of children. Rawlings admitted to watching Claire off and on for years. He didn’t know why he was obsessed—but he was. Although a fatal accident had always been the plan, Rawlings found it unacceptable. He told Catherine that there were some fates worse than death and created the perfect storm of events for what he assumed would be Claire’s worse fate. It involved orchestrating circumstances in her life which would lead to Claire’s need for money—his one expendable asset. He coordinated her disappearance, with the intent to allow Claire to work-off her family’s debt while discrediting her credibility at the same time. When he was done, her arrest, humiliation, and incarceration would secure the payment of her debt and allow her to live. He didn’t foresee emotions derailing his plan.
Reading Rawlings’ account of his acquisition nauseated Harry. He couldn’t help but compare it to hearing Claire’s account—months earlier. The difference was the emotion. Claire recounted a private hell; Rawlings recited a well calculated plan.
Claire also answered FBI questions. Her accounts mirrored Rawlings; he’d confessed everything to her before the questioning. Never once did either one of them mention actaea pachypoda, or any connection to poison. Months ago, Harry petitioned for blood samples from Jordon Nichols and Simon Johnson. His requests finally came through. It took longer than he expected, which didn’t matter. Since Claire and Rawlings were playing house somewhere in the South Pacific, time wasn’t an issue. The results were irrefutable: Jordon Nichols’ retained blood sample tested positive for actaea pachypoda—Simon Johnson’s did not.
Interestingly, the transcripts of Rawlings’ admissions, which Agent Jackson shared with Harry, also contained information on Simon Johnson. He wasn’t associated with the Sherman Nichols’ case, yet Rawlings included Johnson in his list of confessions. He stated Johnson’s demise was simply a by-product of learning what was possible. Rawlings had learned it was possible to make people disappear. His first choice was by business. If that didn’t work, then there was always plan B. Rawlings utilized the network he’d discovered years ago. This time, he willingly paid the money to have Simon’s plane altered, forcing it to cease functioning in-flight. Rawlings knew Johnson was an accomplished pilot and said he wasn’t sure if Johnson would be able to maneuver out of the situation; nonetheless, he paid to have a job done.
When the case began, Harry thought verification would give him peace. He was wrong. It was just as Amber had said, Rawlings was still out there, and Simon was still dead. There was something else; Harry’s law enforcement gut wouldn’t drop his suspicions. The evidence didn’t match. The NTSB’s report indisputably claimed Simon’s plane was in top notch—inspection worthy—condition. No evidence of tampering was found during their investigation. Why would Rawlings confess to a crime he didn’t commit?
And Jordon Nichols? Harry had more questions than answers. Why would Rawlings admit to knowing about the plan, claim it was never fulfilled, yet have him poisoned? Could it be that Rawlings was trying to mislead Claire? But why plan an auto accident if poisoning were already on the agenda? Was Rawlings just that big on overkill—literally, or was there more?
The back alley attack and threat to Harry’s family also bothered Harry. Why would Rawlings want him off the case and threaten Harry’s child, if he were planning on confessing everything?
Of course there was still London. Perhaps she was the one threatening Harry. Claire said she threatened her child. Did she want him off the case? How did she even know he was on the case? All of the interaction with London alluded to her being blissfully unaware that she was under suspicion. According to Marcus Evergreen, London was only cognizant of the case against Rawlings for the possible recent abduction of Claire Nichols.
The entire country was aware of such allegations. After all, John and Emily Vandersol were still pursuing that angle to anyone who’d listen.
Claire rolled on the large bed, relishing the soft sheets against her skin. After their campout, in the cabin of the boat a few weeks ago, their bed was much more comfortable. Smiling, she reached for the man whose warmth filled her days and nights. Instead, her touch met cool satin. Lingering in her cocoon, she enjoyed the ceiling fan’s gentle breeze as it moved the humid air around the grand bedroom. When she closed her eyes, the scent of his cologne permeated her senses. Beyond her haven, she heard the sounds of morning—birds singing their morning wake-up songs and the ever present surf.
Forcing herself from the heavenly bubble, she reached for her robe and walked toward the veranda. A veil of tropical vegetation filtered the sun’s sultry penetration. Stepping around the fragrant flowers and large lush leaves, she took in the marvelous view. Even after over two months, it still took her breath away. Leaning against the folding wall, she relished the endless blue sky with wisps of white filling the space above the horizon. On most mornings, turquoise dominated. Sometimes, if the sun were just right, the waves sparkled florescent. Farther out, away from the shore and her paradise, the waters darkened. The blue became indigo, purple, or gray, often reminding her of the fog-covered mountains near Palo Alto.
Wearing a white bikini and white lace cover up, she made her way to the front lanai. As her bare feet padded across the smooth bamboo floor, Madeline’s friendly rich voice brought her to present. “
Madame el, may I bring you tea?”
Claire smiled, “Yes, Madeline, thank you, but please, no food...I’m not hungry.”
“No, Madame el, you must eat. I’ll bring you muffins and fresh fruit.”
Claire shook her head—arguing would be pointless. She settled into the cushioned lounge chair, elevated her feet, turned on her iPad, and waited for the daily news to load. It wasn’t the first story to appear on her homepage, but her own picture immediately caught Claire’s attention. She clicked and read the title:
Family Files Charges against Iowa City Police Department, Prosecutor, and Anthony Rawlings.
Shaking her head, Claire read:
Associated Press—John and Emily Vandersol have filed formal charges against the Iowa City Police Department, Marcus Evergreen, I.C. Prosecutor, and Anthony Rawlings (in absentia).
Mr. and Mrs. Vandersol have requested a hearing based on evidence discovered at the home of Anthony Rawlings. The request states the evidence, currently undisclosed, is sufficient to establish probable cause against Anthony Rawlings. The Vandersols also charge Mr. Rawlings with extortion. “Anyone else would be sitting in jail. It’s only because of his wealth and influence that ICPD and Mr. Evergreen have not filed charges. Their delay is corruption.” (Another of the many charges listed). The Vandersols claim the prosecutor and police department worked together to protect Anthony Rawlings. In doing so, the ICPD jeopardized the investigation of Ms. Claire Nichols’ disappearance. Mrs. Vandersol also charged Mr. Rawlings (in absentia) with the disappearance and possible death of her unborn niece or nephew.
Claire’s hand rubbed her very large midsection. Now in her thirty-fifth week, she smiled, knowing that no harm had come to her unborn child. She honestly didn’t believe that would be the case if she’d remained at Catherine’s disposal. She continued reading:
Convicted (Consequences) Page 33