The Consequences Series Box Set

by Aleatha Romig

  Finally, Brent asked the question he could no longer contain, “What do you see? All I see is the man on the left sending a text.”

  Agent number two replied. Brent gave up trying to learn all the different names of the different agents. Most of them looked alike. That’s what made last night’s charade so believable. He didn’t really look at the men. He momentarily thought of the movie Men in Black; they had it right by naming their agents with letters. J and K were much easier to remember.

  Number Two replied, “Look at that phone. What’s the time on the feed?”

  Jackson read the bottom of the screen, “01:36:58”

  Suddenly, Number Two was typing feverishly on a nearby keyboard.

  “Is someone going to tell me what you’re thinking? Will this help find Tony?”

  Exasperation showed in Jackson’s expression. He exhaled and said, “See his phone. That isn’t an FBI-issued phone. It isn’t even a smart phone.”

  Immediately, Brent recognized what Jackson was seeing. Looking at the phone in the agent’s hand upon the stilled image, he saw the same kind of phone Courtney used to use to communicate with Claire. Brent nodded, “Yes! It’s one of those throw away phones. Why would an agent have one of those? Or why would he use it?”

  “Exactly—why indeed? While we may not be able to answer why with one hundred percent certainty, but I can, with one hundred percent certainty, say he isn’t texting the bureau.”

  “Here it is!”

  Brent and Jackson turned toward Number Two, who exclaimed, “At exactly 01:36:59, the nearest tower received and forwarded a text message!” He continued to type, then he added, “It originated from a disposable phone, purchased at a convenience store on the east side of Boston, from the coordinates of the hotel.”

  “And it went to..?” Jackson asked.

  Number Two exhaled. “Another disposable phone, purchased at the same store, same time, with cash.”

  “Can you see the text receiver’s location?”

  “Give me a minute.”

  Brent sat back and lifted his cup again, trying to locate any remnants of coffee lingering in the depths of Styrofoam. He marveled at the FBI’s resources. Their impressive and intrusive technology gave him confidence they’d soon learn more about these fake agents. That both soothed and worried Brent. Despite the fact, he repeatedly told the story of the late night visit, each time emphasizing Tony’s surprise and agitation, they actually alluded to the possibility Tony arranged for the fake visit and his own disappearance.

  As the two agents talked, Number Two typed and typed, and Brent’s thoughts went back to last night in the suite. He recalled Tony’s declaration, saying that he didn’t believe the FBI and feared Claire had been coerced to leave the country. Brent wanted to believe his friend. He wanted to believe that the Tony of 2010 was gone; nevertheless, the fact he once existed lingered in Brent’s thoughts.

  He knew Claire’s theory on why Tony chose her all those years ago—a lifelong vendetta having to do with their grandfathers. Regardless of the reason, in 2010, Tony risked everything: money, appearance, everything, to kidnap and have Claire Nichols. To the outsider, it didn’t make sense. Anthony Rawlings was incredibly wealthy and not bad looking. No one would believe he’d jeopardize all he’d worked to accomplish, to kidnap a woman from Atlanta, Georgia. As Brent’s thoughts came together, he felt the rush of understanding. Suddenly, the picture made sense. It was like watching cards fall just right to close an inside straight. If Tony had been willing to bet everything to take Claire, then surely he’d be willing to gamble it all again, if he believed she needed rescue.

  Closing his eyes and rubbing his temples, Brent allowed his thoughts to volley. One minute, he worried someone dangerous had taken Tony: the someone Claire told the FBI about. The next minute, he believed Tony arranged the escape, in an effort to find Claire on his own. If that were the case, his friend and his boss, Anthony Rawlings, was now a fugitive. If that were the case, Brent couldn’t have been prouder!

  With the sleep-deprived pounding behind Brent’s closed eyes, he made a decision. He wouldn’t quit, and he hadn’t been fired; however, without a doubt—he wasn’t getting paid enough to put up with this shit! He deserved a raise, and if Tony weren’t around, then damn, that was something Brent could facilitate on his own! This shit deserved more money!

  Catherine answered the door to the estate, knowing who’d be on the other side. Large iron gates greatly reduced the odds of surprise visitors. When Marcus Evergreen checked in, security informed him that Mr. Rawlings wasn’t home. He asked to come up to the estate anyway. Without Anton home, Catherine reasoned, she was the one to handle whatever the prosecutor wanted to discuss.

  “Hello, Mr. Evergreen, please come in.”

  “Ms. London, I wanted to come out here personally. I hope you don’t mind the intrusion?”

  Leading him into the sitting room, Catherine answered, “I don’t mind; however, I’m not sure what you want. Mr. Rawlings is still out of town. I haven’t heard from him since he left Friday.”

  “Yes, that’s what I’m here to discuss.”

  They sat, facing one another as Catherine replied, “Mr. Evergreen, perhaps you should talk to Mr. Rawlings’ assistant, Patricia. She’s usually much more abreast of his schedule than I. I’m sure if he’s supposed to meet with you, he will. There’s no reason he wouldn’t.” Catherine’s words flowed faster as she spoke.

  “Mr. Rawlings has no family, does he?”

  “No, sir. Why are you asking?”

  “You’ve worked for him for a long time, isn’t that true?”

  “Yes, I’ve known Mr. Rawlings for a long time. I’m sorry, but I don’t understand where you’re going with this.”

  “Ms. London, I received a call from the Boston bureau of the FBI yesterday. They instructed me to not release any information until everything was confirmed. This morning, they called and informed me that the news media would soon be reporting the incident.”

  Catherine’s anxiety grew with each passing second. She didn’t know what was about to be said, and the uncertainty made her inhale deeply. “Mr. Evergreen, what are you trying to say?”

  “Mr. Rawlings chartered a private plane during the early hours of the morning, Sunday. That plane made an emergency landing in the Appalachian Mountains.” He quickly added, “It didn’t crash—it landed, and no one has been found.”

  Unexpectedly, tears formed in Catherine’s gray eyes. Stoically, she pushed forward. “Why? How? That doesn’t make sense. He has his own plane and access to many more. Why would he charter a plane?”

  “All I know is that the FBI had reason to believe Mr. Rawlings’ life was in danger.”

  Catherine’s hand quickly moved to her throat. “In danger? By whom?”

  “They haven’t revealed that information to me. They said they’re not making any declarations. Your employer is neither considered dead nor missing. They hope to locate him. Ms. London, if you hear from him, I’m imploring you, please contact my office immediately.”

  Catherine nodded. “Yes, Mr. Evergreen, of course. So, they think he’s alive?”

  “The FBI isn’t being very forthcoming. I’m sure this’ll result in all kinds of speculations.” The prosecutor stood. “I need to get back to the office. I wanted to do something and informing you seemed like the best option. I realize he was your employer; however, after so many years of devoted service, I felt you deserved to hear the information firsthand.”

  “Mr. Evergreen, the FBI? Does this also involve Ms. Nichols?”

  “I wish I could tell you more. I wish I knew more. As of now, both Ms. Nichols and Mr. Rawlings are both unofficially considered missing.”

  Keeping her eyes downcast, Catherine led her visitor back toward the door. “Thank you, Mr. Evergreen. I appreciate the personal message. I’ll contact your office if I hear anything.”

  “One more thing, Mr. Rawlings’ driver, Eric Hensley?”

  “Yes, that’s h
is name.”

  “Is he here?”

  “Yes,” Catherine replied. “He left with Mr. Rawlings Friday evening, but returned on Saturday alone. We haven’t spoken; I’m not sure why he came home alone.”

  “You haven’t spoken?”

  “Mr. Evergreen, this is a large home and estate. We all have our duties and when we have the chance for some uninterrupted time, we take it.”

  Marcus nodded.

  It was true the prosecutor made a decent salary, but the way of life in the world of the extremely wealthy was a mystery to those who didn’t live it. Catherine believed her answer made sense, and Mr. Evergreen had no reason to doubt her.

  He added, “Thank you, Ms. London. I, too, will let you know of any new developments which I am privy to share. Would you like me to be the one to inform Mr. Hensley?”

  “If you feel the need to speak to him personally, by all means.”

  “No, if you want to break the news to him, I won’t intrude. Once again, I’m sorry to be the one to inform you of this disturbing news.”

  “Thank you for taking the time.” Catherine closed the door and leaned against it. Taking in the grand stairs and large glistening foyer, a smile crept upon her face. She’d give this some time. Although, she wasn’t sure what that amount of time should be; nevertheless, when that acceptable mourning time was over, she’d meet with Mr. Simmons or Mr. Miller. Catherine remembered the legal documents she’d signed years ago naming her the executor of Anton’s estate. They would have been null and void if Anton had family: a wife or children, but he didn’t. He was divorced, and Claire was also missing, as was the child she claimed was his. That all worked together to make those documents now valid.

  Catherine’s smile grew as she made her way to his office. It was so nice of Marcus Evergreen to come all the way out to the estate to speak with her personally. She couldn’t have planned this better herself!

  The café was outside. After almost two weeks in Venice, Claire couldn’t stand to be held up inside their hotel suite another minute. Yes, the Hotel Danieli was stunning; nevertheless, Claire had experience at being held prisoner in beautiful places, and she needed air. If that meant more of the disguises, she’d do it. Sipping her warm tea, Claire leafed through the pictures one more time. The blue water and white sand reminded her of her honeymoon. The private island was amazing, but could it be home? She knew she needed to make a decision. Phil had been patient, but this was taking too long; even the two of them, being out in public made him uneasy. Claire knew he wanted an answer.

  “I’m not sure. I mean it reminds me of Fiji, but what about my baby? Is there medical care?” She added with emphasis, “Real medical care nearby?”

  “Yes, we discussed this. There’s a town a mere boat ride away. In that town there’s a UK-educated doctor. If more extensive medical care is necessary, the town has an air field. You can afford the necessary flight. In less than two hours you can be at a state-of-the-art facility with specialists.”

  Claire looked down. Maybe she wasn’t ready to make this move. She hadn’t checked the American news feed in a few days, honestly, she hadn’t checked anything. As the adrenaline from her escape waned, the hidden fortune and impending move seemed burdensome. Claire was tired of making wrong decisions.

  Phil leaned across the small table and covered her hand with his. The care and compassion she’d seen in his eyes was slowly turning to irritation. His voice was but a whisper in the din of conversation occurring on all sides of them. “Listen, it’s your choice and your money, but if you don’t make a decision soon, at the very least we need to leave Venice. I realize traveling is difficult for you; however, this is my job, to keep you safe—whether you accept it willingly or not.” His last phrase held a bit more determination than Claire appreciated.

  With the hairs on the back of her neck springing to attention, Claire’s lingering sadness at what she’d lost gave way to her new independence. Sitting straight, she removed her hand from his and said, “You’re doing your job because I’m paying you—very well, I might add. It is my decision and I’m sick and tired of making the wrong ones.”

  “Yes, you’re paying me, and I’ve earned less for more. The fact remains, my job is to keep you safe.” His voice lowered again. “All the damn disguises in the world won’t keep you outside the radar on a public street in Venice. Despite the fact the FBI is probably looking for you, your ex-husband’s reward makes everyone a possible threat.”

  As Claire moved to stand, so did Phil.

  “Stop,” she declared.

  He lifted a brow.

  In a hushed but determined tone, she said, “I’m going for a walk. I don’t need a babysitter. I have my phone and I need to think. I’ll be back when I get back.” This time, she leaned toward him. “If you don’t respect my privacy, I’ll find another babysitter. I need a break.”

  She saw the turmoil in his eyes. She wasn’t just a job to him: he genuinely cared about her. Claire knew that; nevertheless, she needed to think. Walking helped her do that. When he didn’t respond, Claire nodded and turned away. Though the sky was clear, the temperature was brisk, especially with the breeze blowing between the buildings. Claire reasoned it had to do with impending autumn and all the water.

  With the tirade of thoughts swirling through Claire’s mind, the world around her was a blur. Unconsciously, her feet moved toward St. Mark’s Square, and her eyes watched the pigeons while directing her body to avoid other pedestrians. Though surrounded in all directions, none of the historical beauty registered. Her mind was busy searching for answers. She thought about Tony. They hadn’t seen one another for almost a month. Momentarily, memories of their last encounter filled her vision. She remembered him asking her again to go to Europe. The irony of the fact that she was now where he’d wanted her wasn’t lost. If only she’d gone with him, perhaps she’d be enjoying the sightseeing, instead of hiding for her life. Berating herself, Claire recognized another bad decision.

  She didn’t want her move to be impulsive. Did she even want to move away—forever? Claire questioned: was Catherine truly that much of a threat? Then she remembered Tony’s parents and her parents. Could Catherine have been responsible for her parents’ accident as well? What about Simon? No, that didn’t make sense. Why would Catherine care about Simon Johnson? Claire knew in her heart, if Simon’s death wasn’t a real accident, the guilt belonged with Tony. If Tony was responsible for Simon, was he also responsible for her parents?

  Her entire body ached with indecision. How could the woman she’d grown to love as a mother be responsible for so much? How could the man she loved also be guilty? Claire shuddered against the cool breeze as she remembered scenes she’d compartmentalized away. The images from 2010 streamed through her memories. They weren’t as vivid as they used to be—time does that. It takes away the color and dims the sound, yet as she wrapped her arms around herself and felt the tears fill her eyes, she knew, in early 2010, color hadn’t been necessary. The only thing that mattered was black.

  This unwanted realization struck hard. No matter how much she wanted to love and trust Tony, that black veil of fear would always be nearby. She’d suppressed it and compartmentalized it away; however, its presence was what Catherine used to her advantage. Conceding to this revelation momentarily immobilized her. She sat upon a concrete bench facing the lagoon and watched the number of pigeons multiply at her feet. She didn’t see the other people, although they were all around. It wasn’t until she heard his voice that she even knew he was present.

  Of course, she recognized it. Looking up, she saw his blue eyes penetrating her black veil. Her world was no longer concealed, yet it didn’t make sense. How could Harry be there in Venice? Why was he there? Was he really there? New questions flooded her already saturated mind.

  Chapter Six

  Listen to your intuition. It will tell you everything you need to know.

  —Anthony J. D’Angelo

  The familiar ring beckoned Sophi
a to the kitchen of their Provincetown home. She recognized the melody, telling her of her husband’s waiting call. Hurriedly, clicking the ANSWER button, Sophia allowed her smile to radiate through the screen. They hadn’t spoken in almost a week and her excitement at the handsome profile picture was hard to contain. Waiting for their conversation to connect, Sophia stared at his smiling face knowing that soon she’d see him, as if he were right there with her.

  “Hi, honey,” she answered as the video feed fought to catch up to the audio. Her thoughts and concerns from earlier in the day disappeared as her husband’s soft brown eyes transcended miles, continents, and oceans.

  “Hey, beautiful.” After almost a week apart, merely the sound of his voice made Sophia melt into her chair. “Tell me you’ve heard the news.”

  Sophia’s mind searched for recent information. She’d been so busy with her parents’ affairs, art studio, old friends, and preparations to return to the West Coast, she hadn’t looked at a newspaper or even her homepage in a couple of days. That was part of the charm of living on the Cape: it was a world of its own. Grinning at her husband’s image, Sophia answered, “Oh, you know me, always up on the latest headlines!”

  Derek grinned and shook his head.

  Sophia continued, “I don’t think I have. Whatever it is, it must be pretty big if it got to you in Beijing.”

  “Yeah, I’d say it’s big. It’s big enough that I’m heading back to Santa Clara tomorrow.”

  “I’m getting there tomorrow too! I already have my flight booked.” Excitement about their reunion dimmed as Sophia pondered the possibilities of Derek’s agenda change. “I’m thrilled, but why? You aren’t scheduled to come home for another week. What happened? Does it have something to do with travel? Has there been a safety alert? Are you all right?”

  “No, travel is fine. I’m fine, but Anthony Rawlings is missing!”