Walking toward the living room, he glanced into the bathroom, completely empty. Most of its contents were thrown away. No one wants a used shower curtain. The living room was unnaturally sterile, dramatically contrasting the way he’d 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 were possible. It may have been the pictures, plants, or eclectic furnishings, he really didn’t know. It felt warm, 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 all 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-plus-thousand-dollars in her accounts and was clueless. Anthony knew from his surveillance that Claire 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 funds 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 give himself a hardy pat. He deserved it!
The manager at the Red Wing had been the most difficult to quiet. After the e-mail, he immediately began calling and texting her phone. Thankfully, Anthony had her BlackBerry with him back in 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 Claire’s laptop, Anthony could check her e-mail and account balances. He would also be able to periodically send e-mails or post a Facebook status updates to keep the curious from overreacting. Even though the computer would be in Iowa, with a VPN (Virtual Private Network) set in Atlanta, 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 went out explaining that Claire would have a new number and would contact everyone as soon as possible. Then, after removing the SIM card, Anthony backed his rental car over the device. 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 mornings. She liked to cook and bake, but gave a lot away. There were no boyfriends or male visitors to the apartment, which pleased Anthony. 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, going out with friends frequently. Many times, she would return home in a less than sober state, but 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. A burly man with underarm stains and a perspiration-drenched face met his gaze. He inquired. “Hi, are you John Vandersol?”
“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.
Anthony signed the contract and paid the man in cash, with a 200 dollar 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 rented 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. Truthfully, he had more than a clue. He helped transport Claire back to Iowa; however, Eric’s allegiance was steadfast, as was the rest of his household staff.
Sighing as he parked the inconspicuous gray Toyota Camry in the lot of Budget Rent-A-Car, 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.
Chapter Four
There is a thin line that separates laughter and pain, comedy and tragedy, humor and hurt.
—Erma Bombeck
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 up: maybe Crazy Abusive Man or Nut Job with a Supremacy Complex?
She recalled that one day while tending bar they started to talk, not about anything particular, just chat. He was attentive and charming. His eyes mesmerized her, not with fear as they did now, more of a pull, an attraction. Her policy was not to see patrons socially, yet for some reason, when Anthony 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 continued talking and drank some wine. At some point, he had a napkin and talked abou
t helping her obtain a job. It was something about the Weather Channel—definitely not this. She remembered signing the napkin but couldn’t recall him signing it. The entire scenario seemed harmless. She couldn’t remember what was written on the napkin. It was never discussed again as 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 sat rotting 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 did remember his call that evening…
About a week ago—March 16
The call surprised Claire. After their talk the night before and her refusal to see him for food, she never expected to hear from him again. Yet the call came as the seats around the bar were beginning to fill. Her boss didn’t appreciate personal calls, at slow times of the day much less during 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’m impressed. You have a wonderful memory for voices.”
Well, yeah, when they accompany people like you. “Thank you, I talk with people for a living. I’m surprised you called. Did you forget 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’ve been thinking about you and would be honored if you’d 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’m sorry, I work until close. That’s 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 of her comfort zone, but then again, she didn’t want to be responsible for sending some poor, successful, gorgeous businessman home heartbroken. “I’m supposed to get off tomorrow at 6:00 PM, but if you recall from last night, it isn’t always prompt. I could be ready by 7:00 PM, if that isn’t too late?”
His tone sounded 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’m sure you can, but let me pick you up in style. I’ll see you at 7:00PM at the Red Wing. We’re 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 most exclusive 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; however, just maybe, the first date was in the booth at the Red Wing. Then this would officially be the second date—which was totally acceptable. Oh my, what would she wear?
The next morning, she didn’t have much time; however, after shaving her legs, Claire decided to swing by Greenbriar Mall and see if Macy’s had anything appropriate for an evening with a man like Anthony Rawlings, 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, she purchased a pair of simple black heeled sandals. These items, accompanied by a black cotton half sweater, she had at home, would be perfect for a cool spring evening.
March 17th was a bigger holiday in the bar business than Christmas. Thankfully, Claire’s shift ended at 6:00 PM. She wanted to be gone before the holiday crowd hit the Red Wing. St. Patrick’s Day bestowed a claim of Irish roots on each patron, all anxiously awaiting their share of the green beer. By 6:15 PM, she was officially clocked out, with her register balanced. In the back of the bar, was a small locker room where the female employees kept their purses, coats, and extra clothes. Opening her locker, Claire pulled out the black dress.
After changing her clothes and stuffing her Red Wing t-shirt and jeans back into the locker, she looked at herself in the mirror. Twisting and turning, her uneasiness came out in her reddened cheeks. This wasn’t her. She was jeans, t-shirts, and tennis shoes. Pushing forward, she added eyeliner, mascara, and lip-gloss. That, accompanied by a quick brush through her hair, was 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 ya going all dolled up?” This flirting tone was one of the many voices from Claire’s manager repertoire.
Feeling playful, she decided to 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, a shiny black Porsche pulled 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 as Claire smiled and the voices faded into the sounds of the night on the other side of the door.
Anthony got out of the driver’s side. His perfectly tailored light-colored Armani suit validated the purchase of her new black dress. Chivalrously, he kissed her hand and escorted her around to the passenger’s door. At the time, Claire believed that the simple act was the most elegant gesture she’d ever experienced.
Being a four-star authentic Italian restaurant in the heart of Atlanta, Chez Czar had a reputation for being continually booked. Claire wondered how they could possibly have reservations on such short notice; however, as soon as they arrived the hostess greeted them warmly and guided them to a premium table.
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-fuddled. “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, which was nice, but a little 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 the type of service people talk about on cruise ships. Goodness knows people weren’t treated like this at the Red Wing or Applebee’s for that matter. Before she realized what happened, Anthony had ordered d
inner. Tentatively, she replied, “Well, thank you.”
“Don’t you like Caesar salad and shrimp linguine?” he asked, dismayed.
“Oh, I do. It’s just, no one has ever ordered for me without first 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 don’t like your food, we can certainly send it back for something else.”
As soon as the linguine arrived at the table and the aroma of garlic and butter penetrated her senses, Claire 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. When his soft and full lips touched hers, she momentarily felt the rest of the world disappear. It ended too soon as he pulled away and smiled. Claire’s cheeks flushed. Once they were alone in the car, he asked, “Are you ready to go back to the Red Wing, or should I take you to your home?” As 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 to not look around. She’d never entered such an exclusive establishment. His suite at the Ritz Carlton was as large as an apartment. Once inside, he remained suave and sensual with deep, dark brown eyes. His glance transfixed her, giving her the sensation of chocolate, dark and melted. Although she didn’t know him that well, she agreed to romance and sexual pleasures. Something about him made her break all her own rules. He was prepared, romantic, and attentive.
The Consequences Series Box Set Page 5