The Consequences Series Box Set

by Aleatha Romig

  Meredith exhaled and sat against the sofa cushions. She kept her eyes on Claire, waiting perhaps for the punch line. When none came, she spoke, “I’m a reporter and a journalist. I’ve always dreamt of infiltrating some enemy camp and learning the deep secrets of some foreign dictator. In my dream, I’d tell the world of his atrocities. My life would be threatened, and I may even endure incarceration for my stance, but in this dream, I did it. I believe in the freedom of speech.”

  Claire smiled sadly. “That sounds very idealistic and romantic, but this is real life. You have a husband and two children. I’m not saying anything will happen; I just want you to know, we’re talking about upsetting a colossal force. Are you sure you’re willing to do it?”

  “I’m willing to help you tell your story. I have no idea what it is, but my instinct’s telling me, it’s bigger than I ever imagined.”

  Claire nodded.

  Conviction grew with each word. Meredith went on, “I’d be honored to tell the world what you want them to know.”

  Ten years earlier, they shared a sorority house at Valparaiso University. With all life dealt Claire, those ten years might as well be a million, yet throughout the evening, that time span shortened. They recalled names from their past, people Meredith stayed in contact with. She knew the latest news on so many people. For a few hours, they were once again two girls, gossiping about sisters and fraternity brothers.

  Claire realized she couldn’t totally blame Tony for her lack of connectivity with these people. It started years before she became aware of him in her life. She chose to put her energy into her work and career.

  After dinner, Claire took their dirty dishes into the hallway. If she’d been more observant, perhaps she would have noticed the small sensors, connected by a thin, hair like wire linking her door with the jam. Each time her door opened, that sensor simultaneously sent a message to Phillip Roach and to a camera hidden in a potted plant across the hallway.

  The camera’s technology was impressive. It filmed continuously; however, only data received three minutes prior and post signal was recorded and stored. That information was streamed simultaneously to Phil’s laptop. An alarm sounded in his suite when the sensor activated.

  Approximately every ten minutes, Phillip would text his employer the status of Ms. Nichol’s door. Mr. Rawlings was in a car outside the hotel, waiting for Ms. Nichols’ guest to leave. Phillip confirmed Ms. Nichols’ guest was indeed Meredith Banks, Claire’s college classmate and journalist. The confirmation of his suspicions didn’t please Mr. Rawlings.

  Sitting on the sofa and reminiscing, the two women reconnected. This kind of emotional bond wasn’t necessary for men, or for many scenarios, but Claire needed it. She needed a safe, intimate environment for her memories. Harry gave her that, an invisible blanket of acceptance, no matter what she revealed. She’d never be able to trust her stories with a stranger. After all, this endeavor was more than disclosing information; she was entrusting it to someone who would then share it with the world. That was why Claire chose Meredith.

  Partway through the evening, Claire presented Meredith with a Confidentiality Agreement. If Meredith signed the CA, she agreed not to speak to anyone about the information revealed by Claire Rawlings Nichols. Once the information was approved by Ms. Nichols, it could be reviewed for editorial purposes. During the interview process, no one else could know. All the information would be kept secret until the appropriate time.

  They hadn’t talked money or substance, but as Claire opened her door, and alarms sounded in Phillips’s suite, Claire confirmed their goal. “I feel good about this, Meredith; you think about it. We can met again tomorrow night and let me know your decision.”

  Meredith hugged her sorority sister. “I know. I’m in! What time tomorrow?”

  “Here at 7:00 PM, some dinner then we’ll begin.”

  Meredith smiled sweetly and watched Claire before she asked, “The retraction isn’t coming out until tomorrow. Would you mind if I blogged tonight?”

  “You may; as long as it stays in our perimeters.”

  Meredith relaxed. “I’ll send you the copy before I post it.”

  Claire nodded her approval.

  “I can’t wait to get started on all of this. See you tomorrow.” With that, Meredith walked down the hall.

  Claire shut the large double door and looked around the luxurious living room. Near the table where they’d eaten dinner, was an antique High boy, complete with various shaped glasses and a bucket of ice. Inhaling the sweet serene quiet of her resolve, Claire moved toward the mini-bar. She hadn’t ordered wine with dinner; she wanted to be in complete control of her senses, but now that the evening was done, she sighed, Yes, I deserve a glass of wine.

  Gazing at the small, one serving bottles, she decided a real bottle was in order and called room service. Claire reasoned, she may not finish an entire bottle, but with the stress of her first face-to-face with Meredith, she deserved it and would give it a good start! Considering a snack, Claire decided wine was sufficient. The server, on the other end of the line, promised prompt service with delivery in five minutes. Claire smiled. Hotels were always so willing to accommodate their nicer suites.

  Settling on the plush sofa, Claire kicked off her shoes and mentally reviewed her time with Meredith. As she replayed each interaction, she felt satisfied. It was exactly what she’d hoped for, maybe more. Meredith seemed competent and eager, and Claire had to admit, it was fun to hear about so many people from her past. Her bright disposition clouded with the thought of their articles, how would people react to the information? Did she truly want the world knowing her private misery? After a moment of self-reflection, she reassured herself, this isn’t about me. This is to inform the world about Tony. She was the victim. He’s the villain. She needed to get that information out!

  Her thoughts turned to Harry. She was eternally grateful for the way he reacted to her private confessions. That, plus the memories of Courtney and Brent, continued to fortify her resolve. Unconsciously, she wrapped her arms around her chest and felt a twinge of loneliness. Harry asked to accompany her to this meeting. Claire just believed she’d be more effective with Meredith one-on-one, and now that the first meeting was complete, she knew she’d been right. The entire evening was better than she could have ever anticipated.

  Claire reached for her iPhone to call Harry, when a knock came from the door. Instead, she reached for her purse and pulled out a ten dollar bill; the bottle of wine would go on her hotel tab, but she wanted to tip the waiter. Leaving her phone and her purse on the table, she went to the door.

  Even though Mr. Rawlings released him for the evening, Phillip Roach remained online with his video surveillance. It was like the night at the French restaurant in Palo Alto. Even though Claire gave him the gift certificate, Mr. Rawlings made it clear Phil didn’t need to continue his observation within the restaurant. Actually, Mr. Rawlings specifically told Phil to wait outside until Ms. Nichols left the establishment, follow her, and report when she made it home. On more than one occasion, Phillip felt more like a babysitter than a private detective.

  Tonight, he didn’t know which title he should accept. He’d informed Mr. Rawlings of Ms. Nichols’ early departure from San Francisco. He decided truth about his minor slip, would help him avoid another devious exchange with Ms. Nichols. He then followed her to San Diego. Thankfully, she actually stayed at the hotel where she’d made reservations. It was there Phil wired her door and set up the necessary cameras.

  Now, watching the video feed, he saw his employer, dressed in casual khaki slacks and a button down shirt, patiently waiting for Ms. Nichols’ door to open. He glanced at his watch, almost 10:30 PM. Although Mr. Rawlings looked calm, Phil knew differently. Throughout the day and their multiple conversations, it was obvious Mr. Rawlings wasn’t happy about whatever Claire was doing with Meredith Banks. Phillip Roach, seasoned private detective, knew he should turn off the video feed and stop watching, but he couldn’t. Cla
ire Nichols was now his obsession, admittedly, as much as Anthony Rawlings’. Phil didn’t understand his fascination, other than the obvious money he earned watching her. It was just that sometimes he worried about her, with Rawlings. It wasn’t his place to make assessments. Not to mention, it’s highly out of character; however, Phil reasoned, he was usually in and out of a job in days, but he’d been watching Claire for almost two months.

  Glancing from the monitor, he noticed the time, 10:28:07. His eyes returned to the screen, seeing Ms. Nichols open the door to her suite. Phillip saw her immediate change in body language. Her normal carefree presence transformed instantaneously, and she immediately stiffened. The intensity of her stare caught Phillip’s attention. The normal sparkle in her eyes morphed to a glare.

  This was his job. Phillip Roach watched. Perhaps his correct title was voyeur.

  Claire stared in disbelief; words failed her. The expression glowering down at her was not the same one she’d seen a few weeks ago. This was one she’d seen before—one she preferred to keep compartmentalized away. It contained all the signature features of the man she wanted to avoid; eyes black as night, a tightly clenched jaw, and the visibly strained neck muscles. Angst filled her chest, sending a rush of alarm through her veins. Without thinking, she went into defense mode, straightened her neck, and returned his glare.

  Through clenched teeth, Tony said, “Let me in. We need to talk.”

  “I don’t think we have anything to discuss. You made an unnecessary trip. Please go.” Her voice sounded small, yet strong.

  Tony stepped toward the entry. “We are not having this discussion in the hallway. I’m coming in.” With that, he pushed past her into the suite. Claire immediately stepped back, avoiding contact. He closed the door behind him. Tension filled the suite as they stared at one another. She contemplated her strategy while evaluating his movements; then, the reality hit her, and her momentary intimidation changed to indignation.

  “We’re not married, and I’m not your prisoner. You can’t just bully your way in here.” His glare would stop most people in their tracks. Claire was sure it had. It’d stopped her before, but not today. “I want you to leave.” Each phrase grew stronger.

  Ignoring her demands, Tony circled the living room of Claire’s suite, like a lion sizing up its prey. His presence dwarfed the once large room. Unknowingly, she held her breath as she watched his still clenched jaw and listened as his words came as a low growl, “What are you doing with her?”

  “I’m having an overdue reunion with an old college friend.” Feeling slightly more confident, she continued, “Besides, it’s really none of your business. You shouldn’t even be here.” She observed the dark deepen in his gaze. Watching from a new perspective, Claire decided the darkness wasn’t just his eyes, but it was his entire expression, the way his brow furrowed and his jaw tightened. While her eyes saw only him, his ferocity filled her other senses. She waited for the sound of his reply. So much could be interpreted by the tone, tenor, and speed of his words. The room also filled with his scent. The cologne she’d dreamt about was once again penetrating her senses, yet her thoughts weren’t sensual. Seeing him stalk toward her, she remembered fear, reconsidering her boldness.

  Without warning, his hands forcibly seized her shoulders. His words came with hot needy breaths upon her face. Her gaze never wavered, and with each syllable, she continued to stare into the darkness. “You think I’m stupid? You’re talking to her about me, and I won’t have it.” Claire chose not to reply. Tony exhaled and growled, “Damn it, Claire, you infuriate me!”

  Before she could register his words and actions with enough sensibility to form her thoughts, he released her shoulders and stomped toward the windows. The dark San Diego sky turned the multiple glass panes into a mirror. She watched his eyes close in the reflection and his shoulders sag from behind. The distance gave her needed clarity. The fact, he wasn’t wearing a suit suddenly caught her attention. Her heartbeat calmed, and she listened to his words, “I flew across the damn country and have been sitting in a damn car, waiting for your little reunion to conclude.”

  Claire shivered at the idea of him monitoring her movements so thoroughly. “Tony, you need help. I can’t believe you’re watching me that closely. Get over it!”

  He looked at her with disbelief, his voice no longer harsh. What did she hear? “Don’t you understand? I can’t. You know from your prison delivery that I’ve been watching you for a very long time.”

  “And I think it’s beyond creepy. Why? Tell me why. You didn’t answer my question before.”

  Visibly calming, Tony’s clenching ceased. He ran his hands over the back of a chair as a mischievous grin slowly formed, shattering his angry expression and mellowing his gaze. “Creepy? I’ve been called many things, but I think that’s the first time someone has called me creepy.”

  Claire tried to hide her smile. “To your face.”

  After a moment, his amusement reached his eyes, bringing light to darkness. “Touché.” He nodded. “That may be true.”

  “I guarantee it. Now, if you’re going to bust into my hotel room, answer my question. I don’t owe you answers if you’re not going to give them to me.”

  Tony looked at the sofa and back to Claire. “If you’re asking me questions, does that mean you aren’t throwing me out?”

  Claire folded her arms across her chest and debated. A second ago, she wanted him out, but his fight toward calm was a step in the right direction. “I don’t recall ever having the ability to throw you out of anywhere. Maybe times do change?”

  “People change, too.”

  He sat. Before she could join him in the sitting area, another knock came upon the door. Tony looked at her with surprise. “Are you expecting company?”

  “I ordered wine from room service,” she said as she walked to the door. This time, she looked through the peephole.

  “That must be why you opened the door earlier. You obviously didn’t look the last time.” He smirked.

  “You’re right; it’s a habit I need to work on.” She opened the door. A young man dressed in a burgundy uniform entered, pushing a linen covered cart. Upon the cart was a bottle of Merlot and two glasses. He smiled politely at them.

  “Ms. Nichols,” he acknowledged. Claire confirmed. She realized the scene looked far different than reality. The young man requested, “Please sign this.” He presented her with a small black folder, a smile, and a slight bow.

  Claire took the binder and opened the small folder. To her surprise the paper within wasn’t a receipt; it was a note:

  Ms. Nichols, I’m entrusting your silence: Just making sure you are all right. P.

  She looked to the waiter, who watched expectantly. Nervously, her gaze went to Tony who too was watching. She took the pen and wrote:

  Yes—Thanks C

  and closed the folder. Finding the ten-dollar bill, she handed both to the waiter.

  “Thank you.”

  “Thank you, ma’am. May I open the bottle?”

  Claire nodded. After releasing the cork, he bowed again. Claire thanked him, and he left with his small black folder.

  Claire returned her gaze to Tony as she thought, Your creepy stalker, Phil Roach, is concerned. It’s almost comical. She didn’t know if this declaration was good or bad. The ludicrousness made her giggle. If she’d been alone, it may have bordered on hysteria, but as it was, Tony’s voice returned her to present.

  “Did you order two glasses?”

  She shook her head and tried to focus, her words came through muffled laughter, “No, but since they’re here, would you like some Merlot?”

  He approached her warily. “You know, you’re the only person who can have me pissed off one minute and completely dazzled the next. Why are you laughing?”

  Claire shook her head. “I don’t know, shock, absurdity? It seems I never know what’s coming. As much as I plan, I’m continually blown away.”

  Tony poured wine into each glass a
nd handed one to Claire. “Do you remember when we had wine at the Red Wing?”

  Claire closed her eyes, recalling the scene from a lifetime ago, and nodded. “I do.”

  “I’d been watching you for years. I was so nervous that night. I thought I was planning your acquisition.” He looked into his red liquid.

  Her stance straightened. “If you’re using business metaphors, may I suggest hostile takeover. It’s more appropriate.”

  He took a sip of wine and exhaled. “Yes, Claire.” Standing close, he looked solemnly down into her emerald eyes. “And I have apologized for that.” He paused for a moment, collecting his thoughts. “What I didn’t know, despite all my research, as we sat talking was you. I mean, I knew everything about you.” He shook his head reflectively, walked back to the sofa and sat down. His long legs stretched out in front of him. Claire noticed for the first time, how tired he looked. It was after all, almost 2:00 AM. “Yet I didn’t know you. Truthfully, at first, I had no desire to.”

  “Oh, really?” She asked with intended sarcasm. “Because I recall some pretty up close and personal contact.”

  Tony smirked. “Yes, I wanted that. I didn’t want to know you—like the real you. I fought it for months, but you were this light that kept sucking me in. It wasn’t supposed to be that way. We weren’t supposed to happen.”

  “What was supposed to happen?”

  “Well, the takeover…” He emphasized the use of her term. “…was supposed to stop you. I never expected anyone to flourish under such circumstances.” He looked at Claire with a gaze of admiration as he continued, “You didn’t just flourish you conquered.” He took another drink of his wine. “I’ve continually underestimated you or perhaps I should say you’ve continually exceeded my expectations. You still do. You’re the only person who has ever derailed me, and more than anyone, you know me, not Anthony Rawlings—me.”