“I talked to Mr. Rawlings about my aunt a week ago. He gave me a few days to visit her.”
Catherine sat again and nodded. “I see, an aunt. Have you mentioned her before?”
“I’ve mentioned her many times. I don’t recall you being present during those conversations. Where is Mr. Rawlings? Mr. Simmons said they’d be back.”
Catherine leaned back against the soft leather chair as her cheeks rose in a smile. In Eric’s opinion, it was neither warm nor comforting. She began, “That’s why I was looking for you. Haven’t you listened to the news?”
Eric relaxed his stance. “Why so many questions about my personal habits? No, I usually avoid anything that isn’t music or silence.” He went on, “Before you ask, there’s no real reason; I like quiet.”
She motioned toward the chairs near the desk. “Have a seat. We need to discuss a few things.”
Suspiciously, Eric eyed the chairs. “Before I sit, tell me what’s going on Catherine.”
Sitting straighter and squaring her shoulders, Catherine exhaled, “From now on, you and anyone else who wishes to maintain their position here on the estate will address me as Ms. London.” When Eric didn’t speak, Catherine’s eyebrow raised. “Tell me, do you wish to maintain your position?”
Honestly, he had enough money to walk away and live contently for the rest of his life. He’d invested well and had little to no living expense; however, Mr. Rawlings told him to go back to Iowa and act normal. Maintaining his current position would be normal. “Yes, Ms. London.” The title only hurt the first time. Eric Hensley was a man of service; as such, he’d accommodate whomever necessary. “I would like to retain my position.” With that, he made his way to the chair and listened as Ms. London informed him of Mr. Rawlings’ disappearance.
While she spoke about the plane and the emergency landing, he did his best to maintain his facade, while showing the appropriate amount of concern and shock. The best part of being a man of service was that silence was considered accommodating. He didn’t need to agree or disagree with Catherine. He only needed to maintain eye contact, nod occasionally, and say, “Yes, Ms. London.” He had years of practice.
The text Harry received was exactly what he’d wanted. He looked up and glanced toward the young waitress. With a sly grin, he nodded. Oh, he’d already paid her for her photography skills, and now he had his proof. On his phone were two pictures of him with Claire. There was one of the two of them in the booth talking, and there was the one of them in the same booth with, her hand in his. She was in disguise, but to the knowing eye, it was Claire Nichols. Within seconds, Harry forwarded the non-contact picture to his superiors in the FBI with a text message:
“CLAIRE NICHOLS FOUND AND SAFE.” After he hit SEND, he saved both photos to his card. He didn’t know if they would be useful.
His confident grin began to fade as he realized Claire hadn’t returned. It was true: a woman in her condition needed to use the restroom, frequently, but looking at his watch, he thought it seemed odd she hadn’t returned. It wasn’t until the waitress returned with his beer and no tea that Harry questioned her absence. “Where is my friend’s tea?”
“Oh, I’m sorry, Signore. I assumed, since she left…”
He didn’t wait for the rest of the story. Harry pulled a few euros from his pocket, placed them on the table, and hurried towards the restrooms. Seeing the rear exit, he quickly reached the door. Harry couldn’t believe she’d left. He never assumed she’d slip away that fast. As the cool autumn air filled his lungs, Harry scanned the crowds. Since she’d left the booth over five minutes ago, he truly didn’t expect to see her.
After a brisk walk through the Piazza, Harry leaned against a pillar and pulled out his phone. Hitting a few buttons, he found the beacon. According to the locating device he’d successfully dropped in the pocket of her jacket, Claire wasn’t far away or moving. Following the pulsating dot, Harry headed toward what he assumed to be Claire’s hotel.
Phil helped Claire with her coat and led her to the sofa. He must have felt her trembling as he said, “Calm down and tell me everything.”
Claire stared into his eyes. She’d expected him to be upset. Obviously, he was unhappy when she left him at the cafe; however, instead of anger, she saw concern as golden flecks shone from the depths of his green eyes. Taking unexpected solace in his calming presence, Claire began, “I was sitting on a concrete bench, in St. Mark’s Square, looking out at the water…” As she told Phil about her unlikely encounter with Harry, he remained quiet and supportive. She also told him about Tony’s plane. When she finally finished, she said, “I’m so sorry. All this work you’ve done to keep me and my baby safe and in one afternoon I throw it all away.”
Phil stood, leaving Claire alone on the sofa, and paced the width of their suite. Claire watched as he contemplated her story. Finally, he answered, “First, you didn’t throw it all away. You and your baby are still safe. Also…” He turned towards her and smiled. “…your instincts are getting better, I’m glad you’re learning to listen to them.”
Claire opened her eyes in question.
“Claire, you’ve been far too trusting of too many people for way too long.”
She nodded. “I realize that. I suppose it’s the way I was raised. I never expected my life to be like this. Truthfully, I can’t even remember what I expected.” She shrugged. “Something like my parents, I guess. Isn’t that the basis of everyone’s expectations? You either want the same as them or better. My parents were married twenty-six years when they died—together. I never once dreamt that I’d be twenty-nine, divorced, and pregnant with my ex-husband’s/fiancé’s/ex-fiancé’s child. Nor did I imagine that I’d be hiding from some crazy woman who’s a threat to me and my child. Or that I’d be filthy rich, because I stole my child’s father’s secret money.” Claire shook her head and grinned. “I don’t think I could’ve even made up that scenario!”
Phil sat back down. Claire marveled at the emotions she saw in his expression. It wasn’t that long ago that he was her shadow, her voyeur; now she considered him a trusted friend. Phil’s voice reflected his earlier concern. “No one signs up for this. It is what it is, and life goes on, or it doesn’t. I’ve made choices I regret. I’d assume everyone has. I also made the decision that life would go on. Perhaps some of the things I’ve done are less than scrupulous; however, my more recent endeavor, despite the legalities, could be considered one of my most honorable. I will not fail. You and your child will be safe. I realize you’re paying me, well, as you stated, but even you should understand this is about more to me than money.”
Claire fought the urge to look away. She knew what he meant. Claire knew she meant more to Phil than anyone ever had. Over the weeks they’d been together, she learned a lot about Phil. She knew about his military background and some of his special ops. She knew he had no family and no connections. From the time he was very young, he succeeded in his assignments and moved on. This was the first, the only time, he’d made personal contact with anyone. Claire also knew he respected her enough to keep their friendly relationship professional. Or was it, their professional relationship friendly? Either way, it was more than he’d ever had, and she was grateful for his commitment.
“I don’t know what it was about this afternoon,” Claire said. “Something didn’t feel right. I have no reason to be suspicious of Harry. He’s never been anything but nice to me. It’s just… I mean, I know how hard you’ve worked to keep our location secret, and with the help of some California policemen, he tracked me down?”
“See, that’s the kind of intuition that’ll keep you and that baby safe.” Phil sat straighter. “I should also tell you, I’ve known about Mr. Rawlings’ plane since it happened, or since they released the information. I thought you knew and weren’t saying anything.”
“No, I’ve been avoiding news from the States lately. I’m so tired of hearing about Emily’s quest to find me. It makes me feel guilty.” She looked back to Phi
l. “If we’re confessing, I should tell you, I left something for Tony in the safety deposit box in Geneva.”
Phil’s brows creased.
“It wasn’t like I told him where we’re going. I hoped that after Marcus Evergreen, or the FBI, contacted him, he’d know to get away from Catherine. I assumed he’d eventually get to Geneva, to the safety deposit box. I figured after he opened it, he’d want to contact me.” She snickered. “He won’t be happy to find his money is mostly gone.”
Incredulous, Phil asked, “You left something in the box that allows him to contact you?”
“I promise, he’s the only one who’ll know. I have a back-up plan if someone else gets in the box.”
“Is that why you’ve been so hesitant to leave Europe?”
She shrugged. “It was; however, after this afternoon, I’m ready.”
Phil patted her hand as it rested upon her knee. “Good, we’ll leave soon.” Standing once again, he asked, “And where, Ms. Nichols, are we going?”
Claire smiled, and this time, despite the colored contacts, even her eyes joined the celebration. “You swear it’s a real medical facility?” Phil nodded. “Then, Mr. Roach, I trust you, and we…” She paused and widened her grin. “…the Alexanders, are going to paradise!”
Chapter Eight
I cannot say whether things will get better if we change; what I can say is they must change if they are to get better.
—Georg C. Lichtenberg
Derek listened as Sophia talked about her unusual encounter with Mr. Rawlings. Although she held all the information, her expression was that of a doe in headlights, wide-eyed with wonder. He couldn’t understand why the CEO of his parent company would travel all the way to Provincetown and visit Sophia’s small studio.
“I agreed to meet him for dinner, but he never showed. I guess that’s when he went missing. I’ve thought about calling the authorities and letting them know he was in my studio that Saturday morning…”
“I don’t know if that’s necessary. I asked Roger a few more questions and did a few online searches. Apparently, prior to his disappearance, he was in FBI custody. All I’ve been able to figure is that it has something to do with Claire Nichols.”
Sophia took a sip of her wine as they watched the waves of the Pacific Ocean crest and crash along the strip of shoreline. It was one of their favorite places to visit. Sophia would bring a blanket, and Derek would bring the picnic basket with wine and food. On this autumn day, the beach was virtually empty with the exception of a few dog owners allowing their pets the rare opportunity to exert energy. Sophia assumed the weather was too cool for the Californians. For a woman from the East Coast, the warm sunshine and brisk wind were perfect; sharing it with her husband made it heavenly.
Thoughtfully, she asked, “Didn’t you tell me she’s missing too? When did she disappear? Don’t you think it’s strange that they’re both missing?”
“She disappeared a little over two weeks before him, and her family thinks he’s responsible. They’re making all sorts of noise to anyone who’ll listen. Stocks in all of Rawlings holdings are dropping fast now that the news has gone viral.”
Snuggling against her husband’s shoulder, Sophia sighed. “I’m sure this will be huge for you and everyone employed by one of his companies, but I’m tired of talking about it.” Turning her face toward his, their noses touched. She smiled and whispered, “I’ve missed you so much.”
Derek may have answered verbally, but with the sound of the waves and the wind combined with the pressure of his body laying her back on the blanket, she didn’t hear him. Concerns for Ms. Nichols, for Mr. Rawlings, and for anyone or anything outside the two of them were forgotten. Yes, Sophia loved her studio in Provincetown; nevertheless, home was definitely wherever she could be with her husband.
For the second day in a row, Harry followed his electronic breadcrumbs along Venice’s characteristic slab streets to the Hotel Danieli. The luxurious hotel was made up of three beautiful Venetian palazzi. Staring at the magnificent historic structure, he wondered how Claire could afford her accommodations. All of the information he’d read regarding her disappearance claimed she left without accessing any of her available funds. She didn’t take her credit cards or any known cash. As Harry read that information, he remembered thinking, well, at least this time Rawlings gave her access to funds, or so it appeared; then Harry reminded himself, appearances have been known to be deceiving.
Harry knew the beacon on his phone wasn’t deceiving or misleading as it had led him to the same structure two days in a row. Claire Nichols was within the walls of this well-known, beautiful hotel. Yesterday, with help from the bureau, he learned she wasn’t registered—at least, not under her name. The hotel had 225 guest rooms and suites; 72 rooms were registered under only a man’s name, 23 were registered under a woman’s name, and the rest had Mr. and Mrs. in the registration. The rooms and suites registered to residents of the United States were immediately eliminated for one reason or the other. That left only 174 rooms/suites as possibilities. When he remembered Claire’s near perfect Italian retort in St. Mark’s Square, Harry asked for a search of either single women or couples from Italy. Once again, the results were excessive.
Entering the very impressive lobby filled with glass chandeliers, pink marble columns, antique carpets, and gilded ceilings, Harry knew the hotel was too large to hope for another chance meeting. He also suspected that after yesterday afternoon, Claire would remain within the confines of her room. Taking in the opulence of his surroundings, Harry decided to go another direction. Obviously, Claire had funds. Once again, he called the bureau. This time, he asked for information on the suites at the Hotel Danieli, particularly the executive suites. If Claire were staying in one of the top hotels, Harry reasoned she was also staying in one of the best rooms. Within seconds, he learned all were occupied by couples; however, there was only one that caught the attention of the agent on the other end of the line. It had been retained by a couple, Mr. and Mrs. Alexander of Paderno del Grappa, Italy, for the last ten nights. There was a note on the registry indicating that Signore Alexander had recently informed the front desk that they’d be leaving first thing in the morning.
Writing down the suite number, Harry grinned. His instincts told him that he’d found her; then, without warning, his satisfaction waned. If she were registered as Signora Alexander, and Signore Alexander called the front desk, who was Signore Alexander? She acted genuinely surprised by the news of Rawlings’ emergency landing. Her reaction caused Agent Baldwin to assume she wasn’t here with Rawlings, but then he remembered the pictures at the San Francisco bureau and wondered, could the person in question be Roach, and if it was—was their cohabitation all an act? Or could it be real?
Claire packed her luggage while trying to convince herself that leaving civilization for a while was the best move. Although Phil asked her to limit her baggage, she wondered how she’d get the things she needed in paradise. It wasn’t like she imagined paradise with a drugstore on the corner or a boutique just a boat ride away.
Her thoughts went back to Fiji. Claire remembered the suitcases of clothes she took with her on her honeymoon and how very few of them were ever worn. The memories warmed her and—despite her sweater and slacks—left her chilled at the same time. Sadly, Claire’s anticipation for this trip to paradise was significantly different; instead of love and romance, she sought peace and tranquility. It wasn’t the allure of moonlit strolls on the beach or the stone shower reprieves from the sultry humidity that Claire envisioned. It was the calmness that came with knowing you can go inside or outside without fear of danger. It was the knowledge that she had done everything—sacrificed everything—to ensure the child growing within her would be able to live in peace.
Grasping the long gold chain that hung from her neck, Claire’s knees buckled as she sat on the edge of the king-sized bed and shed a tear—or two. With all her heart, she wanted to hear from Tony. She wanted to tell him that she
hadn’t left him; she’d left because of Catherine. Claire longed to explain, to have him acknowledge her fear as real; however, part of her, a part that grew every day, also feared him. It wasn’t the fear of physical retaliation: right or wrong, she’d compartmentalized that away. No, it was the fear that he wouldn’t accept her reasoning, wouldn’t acknowledge Catherine as a threat, and wouldn’t forgive her for wavering in the trust she promised to give to him. After all, her leaving was the first flake resulting in an avalanche of problems.
Sobbing quietly behind her closed door, Claire decided, no. Catherine was the one who covered their world with the deadly depths of snow. Claire’s leaving was only the final flake to start the tumble. A simple flake, that became a small snowball, and lead to the avalanche which threatened to cover them all—forever. The last time Claire looked, stocks in Rawlings holdings were still falling, the publisher was threatening to publish her book, and Emily and John were stirring up noise and doubt at every turn. Placing her hand over her midsection, Claire felt the fluttering of butterfly wings.
Did her child understand what she was doing? Did her little one know that this was all for him or her? Claire vowed that she’d do anything and everything to keep this baby safe. By the time Phil knocked on Claire’s door, she had two suitcases filled. The rest of her things would remain in the suite. After all, the difference in climate alone didn’t necessitate much of her attire. Claire knew she’d be glad to be rid of jackets and coats!
Acknowledging Claire’s puffy eyes, Phil asked, “Do you want to go down to one of the restaurants, one last time?”
Claire looked toward the dinner dresses she’d left hanging in the closet. “Thanks, but no. I’m still freaked out about yesterday. Would you please call, and have dinner brought up here?”
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