He gave Ms. Nichols credit. She’d tried to remain under the radar, even using a post office box at the Palo Alto Post Office. It would have worked, except the federal government, as well as the Indiana state government, didn’t accept P.O. Box numbers as an acceptable address to send official documents. Ironically, Ms. Nichols adherence to domestic laws led Phillip Roach to the corner of Forest and Gilman.
Phil wasn’t willing to relay all of this information to Mr. Rawlings. First, he wanted to visit Mr. Pulvara to learn more before he jumped to conclusions on her recent windfall. Second, he wouldn’t divulge the exact address without visual confirmation. After all, she could have deceivingly listed a friend’s address. Or perhaps she paid someone for the use of their mailbox. Phil glanced between the large, luxurious building and his laptop as he worked to compile a detailed report. He planned to say he was getting closer to pin-pointing Ms. Nichols’ whereabouts when he saw a petite, brown haired woman suddenly visible through a large window on the fourth floor. He strained to see the woman, stories above. Yes, it looked like Claire Nichols.
Reaching for his camera with the telephoto lens, she walked away from the plates of glass, and he lost sight of her. Momentarily questioning his vision, he debated adding her address to the report. Then like a gift from the surveillance Gods, Claire Nichols stepped through the front doors of the building.
Wearing a jacket to protect her from the spring wind, the brunette turned toward the northeast. Phil watched her bury her hands deep into the pockets of her coat. The breeze blew back her hair, exposing her face and slender neck. Utilizing the long telephoto lens, he zoomed in on her features. Due to the wonders of technology, his camera’s illumination element diffused light, creating the illusion of daytime even in dusk.
Despite the brown hair, Phil’s intuition told him this was the same woman in the photos he’d studied. Without question, the surveillance Gods had offered him Claire Nichols. Depressing the button on his camera, multiple photos snapped in seconds. Phil pulled his car out of the concealed parking space and slowly eased his way along Forest Street. He drove ahead of where she seemed to be going.
Through his rearview mirror, he watched Claire progress along the sidewalk, only feet from his newly parked car. He snapped her photo. She clearly appeared absorbed in her thoughts. Forcing her into his automobile would be easy, but that wasn’t Mr. Rawlings’ request. Mr. Rawlings wanted information.
An investigator’s job didn’t entail questioning his client’s instructions. Therefore, he would never do so aloud, yet internally, Phillip Roach wondered, if Mr. Rawlings was concerned about this woman who reportedly tried to kill him, then why did he only want facts? As Phil observed the attractive woman, his instinct told him that he hadn’t been hired to keep Mr. Rawlings safe. No, he’d been hired to report the every move of a woman that Mr. Rawlings wasn’t willing to emancipate.
As Claire passed, Phil pretended to look down. Once she was a few steps ahead, he eased out of his car and onto the sidewalk, falling into rhythm with her steps.
Chapter Nine
Things are not always what they seem; the first appearance deceives many. The intelligence of a few perceives what has been carefully hidden.
—Phaedrus
Phillip Roach reread his email:
To: Anthony Rawlings
From: Phillip Roach
Subject: Claire Nichols
Date: March 23, 2013
Mr. Rawlings,
Due to the late hour in Iowa, I’m emailing the information I have acquired thus far:
I had visual confirmation. Claire Nichols has been located. Her address is: 7165 Forest Ave. Unit 4A, Palo Alto, California. She recently obtained a copy of her birth certificate, social security card, and a driver’s license. She isn’t employed. Her bank account is healthy, opened with the deposit of a 100 thousand dollar Cashier’s check. This was traced back to a bank in New York; it was purchased with cash. I have some top notched associates working on this, but it seems to be a dead end. It was purchased the week before her release.
She spent much of the original money on necessary items: a car (2011 Honda Accord LX), clothes, personal items, telephones, computer, etc.
Her bank account recently received another deposit of 50 thousand dollars, and she created an investment portfolio worth near 750 thousand dollars. The source of this money is still being investigated. I hope to learn more Monday. I have confidence this information will be obtained.
Attached are photos taken Saturday night.
I will await your directives for continued observance and will remain completely devoted to this case until you instruct otherwise.
Phillip Roach
Phil double-checked the attachment: multiple photos of Claire walking along a street, the close-up views were quite detailed. He continued to click. The numerous photos gave the illusion of Claire Nichols literally walking down the street. He slowed his clicks; she now sat on a park bench. Next, she held an iPhone. The conversation changed her expression—relieved, happier. A few more views of her on the bench and then there’s someone with her. Click, they’re talking—the other person who wore a jacket and baseball cap was a man. Although the hat concealed his features, Claire’s expression suggested familiarity. The next shot showed the two of them walking from the bench to a waiting car. No physical contact, however, both of their expressions appeared relaxed and casual. As Phil clicked, Claire opened the passenger door of the blue Mustang while the man opened the driver’s. The last photo showed the license plate.
Phil smiled; satisfied with his report and hopeful Mr. Rawlings would feel the same. SEND.
The cool clear water refreshed Derek Burke as his plane descended toward Boston. Below the clouds and between the buildings, he saw sprouts of green. As April began, so did spring on the East Coast. He’d been gone two weeks, making five weeks since he and Sophia were in the same city. He knew it wasn’t either of their preference, but after accepting the Shedis-tics job offer, he worried it’d be their future.
Relishing flying first class with wider seats and increased leg room, Derek closed his eyes and nervously awaited their reunion. The anticipation combined with apprehension obscured the roar of engines. He considered Shedis-tics’ final offer; the next time he flew from coast to coast, it would be in a private Shedis-tics plane. They offered him unlimited access and ability to fly from Santa Clara to Provincetown in hours, without the hassle of commercial flights.
The enticement package was incredibly appealing. The salary alone was more than Derek had ever considered requesting, and the signing bonus would alleviate most of their debt. Sophia’s larger studio could become a reality sooner, rather than later.
Throughout the negotiations, he’d done what he promised and called Sophia, discussing each offer together. When he explained the financials and necessary living requirements, she was on board; however, her attitude changed when he mentioned the travel component. Not just traveling to and from the West Coast, but weeks and months traveling outside the country. It was inferred, most of his travels would take him to the Orient, the location of the world’s major software players. After all, Shedis-tics didn’t expect to overcome the competition by watching from afar.
Unfortunately, Shedis-tics required a decision prior to his return home. With a heavy heart, Derek accepted. The pros far outweighed the cons. His new position officially began on the first of May. He prayed his wife would see why he gave them an affirmative answer.
Imagining Sophia’s beautiful slate gray eyes, amazing scent, and soft skin, anticipation conquered his apprehension.
“Sir, you may exit the aircraft.”
Lost in his own thoughts, he’d completely missed the landing. Derek nodded. The attendant had his bags ready near the door. Yes, this first-class thing was nice, and to think, this would be slumming compared to the Shedis-tics private plane.
Derek took his phone out of airplane mode, and it immediately vibrated. As he approached the luggage carous
el, Derek read Sophia’s text message:
“I HAVE A SURPRISE FOR YOU! TAKE A TAXI TO BOSTON HARBOR HOTEL. THERE’S A PACKAGE FOR YOU AT THE FRONT DESK—Smiley face.”
It was funny how a colon and half of a parenthesis could bring a smile to Derek’s face, but it did.
At the front desk of the Boston Harbor Hotel, Derek retrieved his mysterious envelope and tipped the concierge. He surveyed the contents of the envelope: a key to suite 523 and a beautifully scribed note: Come see your surprise.
His enthusiasm amplified with each step of this faux clandestine encounter.
Opening the door to suite 523, he beheld his something special leaning against the wall, illuminated by candles. Scattered near the sketched self-portrait of his beautiful naked wife and through the suite’s sitting room were thousands of rose petals. If the petals didn’t indicate his directed path the assortment of lacy under garments at each two step intervals did. Following the erotic GPS, Derek found his beautiful wife, dressed exactly as she was in the sketch, lying upon a large four poster bed. The candles provided a sweet, sexy fragrance combined with the perfect flickering glow.
In mere seconds Derek was dressed to match—or rather undressed.
Hours later, wearing thick hotel robes, they settled onto the intimate dining table on the balcony of their suite. Boston Harbor’s lights glimmered in the cool spring night air. Sophia surveyed the feast before her as she felt her husband’s gentle fingers lift her long, disheveled hair, and his lips kiss her exposed neck. Despite the warm terrycloth, goose bumps appeared on her arms and long slender legs. She closed her eyes as a purr escaped her lips.
His warm breath bathed her ear as Derek whispered, “I love my surprise.”
Sophia’s smile radiated her entire face. “Good, I’m glad. I’ve missed you.”
“I’ve missed you, too.”
“Tell me about your job prospect; I listening, I promise.” Her toe wandered up his warm leg.
“Hmmm, I think you’re trying to distract me.”
Sophia beamed, “No, but if I wanted to distract you, I could.”
Derek’s cheeks rose, as admiration radiated from his gaze. Without a doubt, if there was one thing Sophia was good at doing, it was distracting him. Actually, she was good at many things. Beholding her now, hair beautifully tousled and wearing only a white robe, he prayed being understanding was among her list of attributes. “The company is one of the biggest players out there. They have potential to be even bigger.”
“And you want it?”
Derek looked down. This was easier on the phone, not seeing her beautiful trusting eyes before him. “I do.”
“Then tell them yes.”
“But, what about us? What about living arrangements? Traveling?”
Sophia left her food untouched, fell to her knees, and sat back on her heels before her husband. “I love you. Did you say I could stay in Provincetown and that you’d be there every weekend?”
“Yes, unless…”
“Unless you need to be out of the country.”
“Yes.”
“Where will you live during the week?”
“I guess I’ll have an apartment or condo in Santa Clara.” He smoothed her blonde hair. This was going so much better than he’d expected.
Sophia continued, “And didn’t you say they offered you transportation back and forth?”
“Yes, but it will be a lot of time apart.”
She lifted herself to encircle his neck. “If you want this, if it’s your dream, and if we’ll be able to afford both homes, I can travel too. I can spend some of my weeks in Santa Clara and some weekends too. We can both spend time in Provincetown. I can paint, draw, and sketch—anywhere.”
Derek dropped his head to hers, sighing audibly. “I didn’t think you’d take it this well.” She kissed his cheek. He asked, “You’d be willing to travel?”
“I’m willing to do whatever I need to do for us to be together.”
“I anticipate working long hours, during the week.”
“Have you ever known me to shy away from late nights, or early mornings?” Sophia asked with a sultry smirk.
Derek smiled. “Late nights no. Early mornings, not really your thing.”
“So, I guess I’ll just consider early mornings to be later nights. It all blends together. Besides, if you’re some big wig, you need a wife by your side.”
He lifted her body as he stood. “Mrs. Burke, you’re right, as always.” His hands began to roam under her thick robe as his lips found the place where her neck and shoulders met, the spot that sent tingles throughout her body.
“What about dinner?” She murmured, “I ordered your favorites.”
“I think I need some more of my surprise appetizer.”
Sophia didn’t argue, or agree. Her mind was lost in her husband’s touch.
The next morning, they awoke to their new reality. They were moving to Santa Clara, and they needed a place to live. Stepping into the spacious glass shower, she thought about their impending adventure. Although Sophia traveled all over Europe, she’d never been to California. Being born and raised in New Jersey, the East Coast was always home.
Her parents lived in the same house where she was raised. They’d lived there for over forty years. Feeling the warm water coat her body and inhaling the fresh clean scent of body wash, Sophia realized home was a feeling, not a place. She liked that feeling. It made her feel safe, loved, and wanted.
Rinsing the floral scented cream rinse from her long hair, she suddenly shivered as cool air penetrated her warm moist haven. Before she could turn or comment, Derek caressed her trim waist and hips. He was her home. He gave her that feeling. It even transcended her art, allowing Sophia to use bolder colors, attempt more abstract drawings, and create beyond previous boundaries. If he could do that for her, moving to the West Coast was a small price to pay.
Wrapped in a thick luxurious towel, Sophia combed her wet hair. Droplets of water rolled down her bare back as she contemplated drying it. She didn’t like using a hairdryer. It was bad for her hair, and used a lot of energy, but the cold April wind didn’t support wet hair. Smiling, she thought about her parents and heard her mother’s voice, “Don’t go outside with wet hair; you’ll catch your death of cold.” At first, her parents may not like the idea of her moving west; however, once she explained the two homes and her ability to visit while Derek travels, Sophia anticipated understanding. After all, that’s what they had always provided—understanding.
Derek pulled her from her thoughts as he entered the glass tile bathroom. “I just went down to the front desk to pay the bill, but it was already paid.”
“I gave them our credit card.”
“No.” He shook his head. “Shedis-tics paid it.”
Sophia smiled. “That’s nice.” Then, her expression darkened. “But weird, how’d they know we were even here? I mean, you didn’t even find out until last night.”
“I don’t know.” Derek smiled. “But man, this company has perks!”
Sophia tried to push the uneasiness away. Obviously Derek saw this as a positive. She wouldn’t be the one to bring him down. “I guess that means more money for breakfast.”
Derek encircled her waist, spooned his wife, smiled into the mirror, and mused, “Mrs. Burke, I don’t think you can eat that much.”
Sophia removed her phone from her purse as Derek slipped their car into Boston traffic. The icon indicated missed calls. She listened to the messages, two were from her mother.
Sophia’s expression said it all; something was amiss. Derek waited while she listened. Finally, he spoke, “What is it?”
“It’s my pop. He’s been in a car accident. Mom thinks he’ll be okay, but I need to call.”
Derek nodded and reached out to squeeze his wife’s hand. As he watched her fumble with the screen of her phone, he changed the direction of the car. No longer were they headed to the Cape. He turned onto Highway I-84 West. Before Sophia realized where the
y were, they were in Connecticut headed toward New York and on to New Jersey.
“Thank you. I’ll feel better seeing him in person.”
“What happened?”
“Mom isn’t sure. She kept saying, I was supposed to be with him; I should’ve been with him. She’d stayed home with a migraine. She’s blaming herself. His car went off the road near Sourland Mountain Reserve. He’s driven those roads a million times. The police speculate wet roads caused the accident.” She turned to her husband’s profile. “You know I’m proud of you and your new job, right? But maybe we shouldn’t mention it to them—not yet at least.”
Derek nodded. “Your pop will be fine. He has your mom to look after him.”
Sophia fought her emotion as tears moistened her cheeks. “You know, I didn’t think about others. I got so wrapped up in myself and us.” Her chest heaved. “I never considered them when thinking about moving to California. If we were in Santa Clara, we couldn’t just jump in a car and be there.”
“No, we’d jump on a plane,” he reassured and continued, “which, considering this traffic, might be quicker.”
Sophia smiled. “Private planes, right… something to get used to!” Sighing, she leaned her head against the seat, watched the world pass by, and settled in for the five hour drive.
The gray clouds settled over Princeton, raining down and draining color from the urban landscape. Sophia considered drawing the scene, thinking about chalk. She’d only need black—devoid of color, the sketch could come to life in shades of gray.
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