Walking from the car to the plane, she stumbled with unsteady footing. Once aboard, she paced, unwilling to sit. Each time Tony got near her, she pulled away and walked toward the door. Using more physical persuasion, he steered her toward the seat. When her knees bent, she spoke for the first time since the GHB took effect, “I donnnnn’t feeel well.”
He didn’t comment as he secured her seat belt. At first, she stared at the restraint. When the plane lifted off the ground, her head fell to her chest. Tony wondered if she comprehended any of what was happening.
Suddenly, her limp head sprung upward and her slurred words filled the otherwise empty cabin, “I’mmm gonna be sicccccccccccccccck.”
Losing patience, Tony noticed Claire’s sudden pallor. He unstrapped himself and walked toward her. He saw fear within her eyes as she frantically fought her seat belt.
“Stop it,” he commanded. “You’re on an airplane. You’re not going anywhere.”
She turned away, tears streaming down her cheeks, unable to move against the latched belt. He reached for her chin and turned her toward him; before he could reprimand her on the importance of maintaining eye contact, she wrenched and vomited. It covered her dress and his slacks.
“Shit!” he barked. It was disgusting!
“I told you… I was sick!” she cried.
He looked at the mess and then at Claire as she sunk against the chair.
“Don’t get the damn chair dirty, too.”
His words only increased her tears. As he reached for the seat belt and unbuckled, revulsion at the mess was somehow interspersed with sympathy.
“Come here,” he said as he held out his hand.
Retracting further against the seat, she asked, “Why am I here? What are you doing?”
Tony tried once again for compassion, “Claire, you aren’t feeling well; let me get you some water and clean you up.”
Hesitantly, she stood, allowing him to walk her to the bathroom at the back of the plane. With each command, her compliance decreased while her defiance increased. He suspected she needed more of the drug.
“I shouldn’t be here. Where are we going?”
“You’ll feel better if you have some water.”
Apprehensively, she took the cup laced with the second vial of GHB. He watched the liquid slosh within the confines of the glass as her hands trembled. Finally, afraid she’d spill it, he helped her get the glass to her lips where she took a drink.
She spit it in the sink. “It tastes funny.”
“That’s because you were sick, you need to rinse your mouth.” He filled another cup with water and she rinsed. Next, he handed her the first cup. “Now drink.”
Claire nodded and did as he said.
“We need to get you out of these filthy clothes.”
As he tugged at her dress, she reacted violently, trying with all of her might to get away from him and out of the bathroom. Her screams echoed above the hum of the engines. It was like in the hotel when the drug first entered her system; however, this time, Tony didn’t need to worry about anyone else hearing.
Blocking the door, he let her have her tantrum. Her fight intrigued him. The blows to his chest with her tiny fists were almost comical, but when she tried to scratch, he had to make it stop. He had meetings and work. Scratches would be questioned. “That’s enough!” She didn’t stop. Her nails contacted his arm and blood trickled from their trail. Seizing her hand, he slapped her. “Stop it!”
The shock showed behind her clouded eyes as she covered her face, allowing one hand to linger on her now red cheek. In a way, it was humorous; she was naked, hysterical, and attacking him—and she seemed surprised he’d retaliate.
He leaned over her quaking body. “Get in the shower, now.” When she didn’t move, he reached for her arm and pulled her under the water. Although fully clothed, he joined her in the small cubical and held her under the streaming water until the fighting stopped.
Within minutes, the drug was once again in control, and Tony was directing her movements. With trembling hands, she obeyed, removing his wet clothes and following each command. Her fight was gone. The fire he’d momentarily seen in her eyes was now detached terror.
When he turned off the water, they were both clean. As Claire huddled against the shower wall, Tony contemplated his next move. There were so many possibilities; he told himself to take it slow. His plan had been in place for too long; he wanted to savor every moment.
Stepping into the small bathroom, he added his wet clothes to the pile containing her ruined dress and handed her a towel. Apprehensively, she took his offer and wrapped it around herself. Her long, dark hair dripped down her back as the water puddled on the floor.
Without looking up, she asked, “Are you going to hurt me?”
He’d read about the GHB. He knew these scenes would be forever erased from her memory. He could do whatever he wanted, and she’d never remember.
The sensual tone of seduction was gone; in its place was the authoritative tone of someone with an agenda. Tony refused to allow her fear or emotions to alter his plans. “That isn’t my plan. We’ll see how well you can follow directions.”
Tony pulled on the edge of Claire’s towel as she stepped back against the wall. Her clouded eyes opened wide and quickly looked away. He wondered if she could subconsciously fight the effects of the drug. He watched as she worked to form the right words. Finally, she mumbled, “Please.”
He stepped closer, his nude body still wet and his desire visible. “Please, what?”
“Please, don’t hurt me.”
“I have rules, Claire.” He gently pushed her wet hair away from her face. “Can you follow my rules?”
Avoiding eye contact, she nodded.
Abruptly, he raised her chin. “Don’t look away. I asked you a question. I expect an answer.”
“Yes, I can follow your rules.”
“Rule number one is to do as I say. I suggest you learn to follow that rule, if you want to make the best of this.”
Keeping her eyes downcast, her shoulders quaked as she silently sobbed. Once again, his hand struck her cheek.
“I told you not to look away.”
Her eyes immediately flashed toward his. Instantaneously, the clouds returned as pools of tears spilled onto her cheeks. “I’ll do as you say; please stop hitting me.”
The memories made Tony’s stomach turn. Of course, none of that was in Claire’s testimony. The GHB hid those memories from her, as well as other memories of the things he did during that flight and once they returned to Iowa.
Her testimony picked up the next day, when the drug was fully out of her system. It wasn’t until then that she started to understand the magnitude of her situation; nevertheless, the truth hit Tony between the eyes. Perspiration drenched his face and the illness he’d felt in the pit of his empty stomach erupted into full-blown nausea. No matter what he did to make Claire’s life better or show her he’d changed, these memories would always linger in the recesses of his mind. For the rest of his life, he’d know what he’d done.
Tony hated himself for all of it. Hell, he always had the end justifies the means argument, but even he didn’t believe that anymore. Not now. Not now that he knew Claire and loved Claire. The thought of someone doing to her what he’d done filled him with rage. If it were another person whom she described, Tony would want him dead. He’d leave no stone unturned to make him pay for his sins.
Tears coated his cheeks before he realized Brent was standing right in front of him.
“I take it you’ve read Claire’s testimony?”
Tony nodded. He didn’t want Brent knowing about this. Now Courtney would know. He should deny it and argue, but the image of Claire—not from her testimony, but from his memory—on his plane, wrapped in that towel, trembling and scared wouldn’t let him lie.
“If the shit in that binder’s true, you’re one sick bastard.” Brent turned a circle. “I’m your personal attorney and friend. Tell me what
we’re up against.”
Tony remained silent, his eyes so clouded with memories he could barely see the room around him.
“Damn it, Tony!” The table vibrated with the slap of Brent’s hand as his fury and anger filled the air. “Tell me the truth!”
The ferocity within the room grew as Tony’s anguish also began to build. Springing from the chair, he pushed past Brent and paced. “Where the hell did they get this? What the fuck does it mean? Is Claire alive? Do they know where she is? Did she press charges? Is that what this whole damn day is about?”
Brent seized Tony’s shoulders, as he demanded. “Fuck’n tell me if it’s true.”
Never had Brent spoken to Tony with that tone. Tony couldn’t help but retaliate, “Let go of me, or I swear to God, I’ll punch you in the face!”
“Do it! Do it! Go ahead. Then maybe I’ll understand more of what Claire endured.”
Tony staggered backward. Brent’s words cut deeper than any knife and were more painful than a fist to the jaw. “It was before.” Tony’s fight evaporated as his knees buckled against the chair. “It was a long time ago. Things are, or were, different this time. I didn’t have anything to do with her recent disappearance.”
Brent fell into a chair and fought to control his words. Finally, he asked, “So you’re telling me this is true? You did this shit to a woman you claimed to love, a woman you married, a woman you charged with attempted murder and later wanted to reconcile with? You did this sick-ass-shit to the mother of your child?”
“No!” Tony stared at Brent. He felt the black fill his eyes as red filled his vision. “I’m not saying that. I’d never do that to the mother of my child or the woman I was reconciling with. Like I said, it was different.” He rubbed the stubble on his cheeks. Suddenly, his face weighed too much for his neck. Tony collapsed against the back of the chair allowing his head to rest against the cinderblock wall. “The only person who understands me or any of this is Claire.” Indignation returned and his neck strengthened. “Tell me this isn’t relevant. Tell me you can suppress this evidence.” Tony stood as the volume of his voice rose. “I paid a lot of money to have this disappear!”
Brent shook his head. “Shit! Did you just tell me, an attorney, that you paid to have evidence suppressed? Jesus, tell me you didn’t just say that!”
Tony felt the blood drain from his face, as his limbs suddenly felt heavy. “I-I…” Perspiration appeared on his brow as he contemplated his answer and sunk back against the cool cement wall. “…what I meant to say is that this evidence is old. Things change, people change. Please…” It may have been the first time he’d ever used that word with Brent, but that didn’t make it any less heartfelt. “Please, tell me you can convince them I didn’t hurt her.”
Brent stared.
“This time.” Tony’s tone hardened as he pushed back the emotions he refused to reveal. His words slowed, “I didn’t hurt her this time.” He paused momentarily and gathered his thoughts. “This time she came to Iowa of her own free will. We were having a baby.” Shaking his head he corrected himself. “No, we are having a baby. She accepted her engagement ring.” He held Brent’s gaze. “You are my friend as well as my personal attorney; tell me you believe me.”
Brent’s shoulders relaxed and he said, “We should eat.”
“No! Food doesn’t matter.”
Leaning forward, Brent steadied his tone. “Tony, listen to me—I know that’s not your forte, but shut up and let me help you.”
The air left Tony’s lungs. “You’re still willing to help me?”
“I’ll be honest with you. We have been friends and maybe we still are, but right now I’m pissed as hell and friendship isn’t why I’m willing to do this for you.” He sat straighter while maintaining eye contact. “When this is all done, you can fire me, but going in, you should know, I’m not doing this for you. I’m doing this for Claire. If she trusted you again, after all this shit…” He pointed to the binder. “…I will too.”
Tony’s neck gave way as his face fell forward. Rubbing his hand through his hair, he exhaled. “You’re not fired. What can you do?”
“I’ll make some calls. If the FBI isn’t pressing charges, I think I can get you released, at least momentarily. When we’re back in Iowa, we’re gonna talk about this…”
Chapter Four
Only those you trust can betray you
—Nathan Rahl
“Mr. Simmons, we believe it’s in the best interest of your client to keep him here for at least forty-eight hours.”
Brent tried to clarify an earlier statement, “You’re saying you believe Mr. Rawlings is in danger? Yet you won’t tell us what threats or evidence you have to support this claim.”
“I’m not at liberty to divulge that information.” Hearing the mechanisms of the door, everyone turned to see another agent enter. Agent Jackson introduced the newest member of their conversation, “This is Special Agent in Charge Easton.”
SAC Easton stepped toward the table. Tony searched his expression; deep lines embedded in his forehead displaying years of concentration and stress. Though Tony looked for some sign of accommodation, Easton’s grimace, instead, warned of impending doom.
Clearing his throat, Easton began, “Agent Jackson, thank you for your diligence. Mr. Rawlings, it’s come to our attention that you’re to be released.” He straightened his stance, and added, “At this time we’re not prepared to formally charge you with any crimes.”
Tony exhaled. His gratitude quickly evaporated as irritation prevailed. Incredulously, he stood and glared at the federal officials. Before he could speak, SAC Easton continued, “Nevertheless, your safety is a concern and we want to again—”
Tony interrupted, “My safety? What about Claire? What about her safety?”
“Sir,” Easton shifted uncomfortably from foot to foot. “Your ex-wife is the informant who alerted us to this danger.”
Tony’s lungs deflated as he turned his gaze toward Brent. Sinking back into the chair, he whispered, “She’s alive. Thank God, she’s alive.” As quickly as the oxygen left, it returned, with a rush of blood to his cheeks making his face a bright shade of crimson in the poorly lit room. With each word, his volume increased and his stance straightened, “She’s alive. My fiancée, the mother of my child, is alive and you’ve had me here for hours playing some sick mind games!”
Brent silenced Tony with a touch of Tony’s sleeve. “Special Agent Easton, Agent Jackson, I believe you just said my client is free to go?”
“Yes, counselor; however, it is the recommendation of the—”
Brent continued, “Thank you. We’ll be spending the night here in Boston. You have my number. If we don’t hear from you by tomorrow morning at 9:00 AM, we plan to return to Iowa. If you need to speak with my client again, you may do so through me.”
There was so much Tony wanted to say, so much he wanted to know, yet Brent’s slight pressure on his arm told him to leave the room. Escape now before the FBI changed its mind. Momentarily, Tony’s body refused to move. What else did these men know? Trying with all his might, he swallowed his words and walked toward the door; nevertheless, before he reached the point of exodus, he turned back around. “Where is she? Is she in danger?”
SAC Easton met his eyes. “Mr. Rawlings, she’s the one who made contact with authorities. It’s our understanding that she left the country, your home, of her own free will.”
“Country? Did you say she left the country? Where is she?”
“Of. Her. Own. Free. Will. Mr. Rawlings. She doesn’t wish her whereabouts to be disclosed. The danger she’s alerting you to is still present.”
The agent’s words reverberated through Tony’s thoughts Out of the country. Own free will. Did Claire leave him? Did she leave in a way to purposely create a public scandal? Had she been playing him? Some kind of sick revenge. Was it all a charade to get back at him? No! Tony knew that wasn’t the case. He refused to spend another second entertaining that notion.<
br />
Brent’s tug brought Tony back to present, as his counsel addressed the assembly, “Thank you agents, we’ll collect Mr. Rawlings’ things.”
Tony glared one last time, momentarily speechless.
At a front desk, Tony signed for his belongings, which included his brief case and cell phone. He could almost taste the blood as he bit his lip, holding back the words he couldn’t bear to think much less say. When they stepped from the building, the fresh air filled his lungs as the late hour registered. The FBI had come to Tony’s hotel room almost twelve hours earlier. Turning on his phone, he managed, “I’ll call Eric and get us to a hotel.”
Brent shook his head. “No, I sent Eric back to Iowa. I didn’t know how long this would last. I’ll call for a taxi.”
Tony nodded as he saw the number of messages and missed calls mount on his screen. He tried to remember a time when he’d been unwillingly inaccessible to the world for twelve hours. While it was incomprehensible to think the FBI had removed him from his life, with total disregard for his personal or public obligations, he couldn’t shake the agent’s words. Of her own free will.
During the taxi ride to the hotel, neither man uttered more than a word or two as they both busily returned emails and text messages. The emotion of the day was finally gone—swallowed back into an unyielding hole. Unconsciously, Tony contemplated the possibility he’d been played. Of her own free will? The hairs prickled on the back of his neck.
It wasn’t until they were checked into a two-bedroom suite that they began talking. “I don’t believe them.” Conviction came through Tony’s voice stronger with each word.
“You don’t believe the FBI?”
“If Claire left willingly, she was coerced.”
“Why would the FBI insinuate otherwise?”
The Consequences Series Box Set Page 121