Claire’s impulsiveness turned the key on each car that drove her off the estate. That same impulsiveness led her to burn the documents in her prison delivery. At least she read them before she destroyed them. That information was the seed that later grew to her impressive research and blossomed into the police department’s evidence.
Besides impulsivity, Claire proved exceptionally obedient. The note in the box told her to read the entire contents—of course—she read it all. Catherine admitted the manipulation of Claire was amusing. After she was gone and in prison, Catherine even missed it. Claire and Anton’s obliviousness throughout the whole game was the best part. This was especially true in the beginning, when he thought Claire knew him well enough to behave accordingly, and Claire feared his reaction if she misbehaved. Neither one realized Catherine was the one setting the rules. It was perfect.
If Governor Bosley hadn’t pardoned Claire, Catherine believed Claire would’ve used that information in the box to expose Anton’s secrets. The knowledge combined with the isolation would’ve energized Claire’s retaliation. After all, who wouldn’t want vengeance after what Claire experienced?
That was as far into the past that Catherine would allow her mind to wonder, because it was during that time that her plan took an unexpected turn. Anton was upset; his anger was piqued. Claire should have been angry. They should have worked to bring each other down. That wasn’t what happened. Not only were they not adversaries, their behavior with one another changed to a more even playing field.
Catherine encouraged Claire’s return to the estate for one reason: to intercede, to put things back on track; however, mild, meek Claire didn’t return. Oh, she wasn’t suddenly loud and boisterous. She also wasn’t obedient and accommodating. What she was made Catherine’s blood boil. Claire was a Nichols who had the audacity to think she was the lady of the house! She was a Nichols who was pregnant with a Rawls baby!
In 1985, that had been Catherine. She had been the one expecting a Rawls baby and waiting patiently to become the lady of the house. After all, Sharron was gone. Well, she wasn’t dead; nevertheless, she was gone. Watching that woman die slowly had been excruciating. Catherine vowed to, never again allow that to happen to anyone she loved.
Then, that same year, it was all taken away from her. Not all—she still had Nathaniel. He taught her how the world worked and showed her that she was loved. Those were gifts she’d never had from her own family. When Nathaniel presented her with the deed to her father’s car dealership, it was the greatest gift, the most anyone had ever done for her. He showed her that his love was limitless; he’d do anything to make her happy. Catherine felt the same way. There were no lengths she wouldn’t go to for Nathaniel—even today. Catherine would never allow a Nichols to live in Nathaniel’s home and produce a child. It didn’t matter that Nathaniel’s home was in New Jersey. The estate where she sat was a worthy facsimile. Catherine was truthful when she encouraged Anton’s construction of the estate and told him how proud Nathaniel would be; he wouldn’t have been disappointed.
As the tips of Catherine’s fingers ran across the top of the private files in the desk drawer, she contemplated the one thing she hadn’t done for Nathaniel. Now that she truly was where he wanted her to be, Catherine Marie owed it to him to do what he wanted. He’d wanted her to contact her daughter. He wanted Marie to raise the girl, but that ship had already sailed.
She eyed the scribed names. There were so many. How could she figure out which one was her daughter? Catherine saw her own name. Maybe there was a clue in her file. When she opened it, she feared her heart would stop pumping. The writing wasn’t Anton’s. Catherine knew his writing well enough to duplicate it with ease. This writing was Nathaniel’s.
Scribbled in the margin of a contract was the name Sophia Rossi. Catherine went through the drawer again. The only Sophia was Sophia Burke. Suddenly, she no longer remembered her husband’s love—she remembered his vendetta. Burke? Burke? There was no way her daughter could be connected to Jonathon Burke.
Catherine removed the Sophia Burke file and opened the folder. Above the typed name, Sophia Rossi, was the scribbled name Sophia Rossi Burke… Catherine searched the pages. There was a plethora of outdated information; nonetheless, written above the text on the second page was a telephone number. Catherine couldn’t resist; she used the blocked house phone.
Derek answered his wife’s cell phone. The past few weeks had been too much, and Sophia wasn’t up for solicitors or blocked numbers. “Hello?”
Initially, there was silence. Derek was about to hang up when he heard a voice. “I’m sorry; I’m looking for the beautiful baby girl I was forced to give away thirty-three years ago.”
Derek listened. He remembered that after Sophia’s parents’ funeral, she said she didn’t want to know her birth parents, yet this moment in time may be their only chance to learn the truth. “I’m sorry; my wife is indisposed right now. She’s had a difficult few weeks.”
“Yes, that’s the reason I’m calling. I never wanted to interfere with her and her adoptive parents, but now—”
Derek interjected, “Tell me the date you gave birth.”
Sophia’s eyes widened as she heard her husband’s question.
“July 19, 1980.”
Derek turned to Sophia. Her beautiful gray eyes, which had finally stopped crying over her parents, were now moist once again.
“What did she say?” Sophia whispered.
With his hand over the phone, Derek nodded. “She said your birth date. I think it might be your mother.”
“My mother died in a car accident.” Sophia straightened her neck and took the phone. “Please don’t call again. My parents are dead. I don’t know you.”
The woman on the other end of the line spoke, “I’m sorry. I won’t call you again.”
Derek watched his wife’s countenance melt. He knew it was the first time Sophia had heard her birth mother’s voice, and he couldn’t imagine the questions that were rapidly firing through her beautiful head. Why did she give her up? Has she ever regretted her decision? What kind of person was she? What did she look like? Did they look alike?
Sophia swallowed the tears threatening her speech and said, “Wait. If you could give me your number, I’ll think about it. Then, when I’m ready, I can call you.”
The woman exhaled and replied, “Yes, of course.”
Sophia’s strength was spent. It broke Derek’s heart to see her fighting this new upheaval of emotion. Wrapping her in his arms, he took the phone from her hand. His voice was neither welcoming nor rejecting, “You may give me the number. When my wife is ready—if she’s ready—she will call you. Please, do not call her phone again.”
The woman hesitated only a second and then rattled off ten numbers. Derek repeated the numbers. Not offering a closing salutation, he disconnected the line. His concern wasn’t the woman on the phone; it was the distraught woman in his arms.
Catherine grinned. She’d done what Nathaniel had wanted her to do—she’d contacted her daughter. From the information in the file, Catherine could tell that Anton had been watching Sophia. She wondered what, if anything, he’d done for her. Catherine needed more information.
Anton had a list of private detectives and others who’d proven themselves helpful in the past. Briefly, Catherine thought of Roach, Phillip Roach. He’d done an excellent job with Catherine’s directives. Of course, it helped that he’d been unhappy about losing his job with Anton. Catherine wasn’t sure she’d be able to reach him. If she did, did Catherine want to know Claire’s location?
Oh, she had so many things to consider. Truthfully, Claire could wait—she wasn’t going anywhere. Right now, Catherine wanted to know more about Sophia. It was a pretty name—not one she would have chosen, but it was pretty. There were no pictures in the file, well other than a few of a very young girl. Catherine wondered what her daughter looked like. Did she look like her? Or perhaps she looked like… Truthfully, that was why she didn’
t want to do this in the first place.
Catherine Marie London was no longer that scared, lonely, and abused teenager at the mercy of her drugged-out uncle. No, she was a strong fighter and a go-getter! She’d loved Nathaniel Rawls and outlasted Anton Rawls; both were impressive accomplishments.
Thanks to both, Catherine now had time and resources. She also had a plethora of questions. What did her daughter do for a living? Did she go to college? Were her adoptive parents good to her? Catherine told herself they were. If not, Nathaniel or Anton would’ve known, but what about Sophia’s husband? Could it be possible? Could Sophia really be married to someone associated with Jonathon Burke? And who did he think he was, talking to her the way he did, demanding her telephone number? Catherine sure as hell wasn’t intimidated. If a Rawls didn’t intimidate her, a Burke never could.
She, once again, searched the drawer of private files. As she fingered the tabs, Catherine remembered the saying, no sense reinventing the wheel. Knowing Anton better than anyone, Catherine was quite sure of his attention to meticulous detail. Surely he’d already researched Sophia’s husband. It was true, she could glean more information, but why not start with whatever Anton had already accumulated. When she passed the B’s without a Burke, her hopes began to fade. Then she saw the D’s—Derek Burke. Removing the folder, she laid it across the desk and began to read. The first page was a series of emails:
To: Anthony Rawlings
From: Cameron Andrews
Re: Ms. Rossi
Date: January 12, 2011
As I wrote in my previous email, Ms. Rossi took an unscheduled trip to Europe. I have since learned the reason for the trip was to wed. I’ll remind you, I first mentioned Derek Burke in a December 18, 2010 email. They met at a Christmas party.
I apologize for not relaying the information of their nuptials sooner. I did not expect that to be the reason for her trip; however, a red flag came up when I received notice of her application for marriage license.
Please inform me how to proceed.
CA
To: Cameron Andrews
From: Anthony Rawlings
Re: Ms. Rossi—Burke???
Date: January 14, 2011
It’s nearly midnight here, and I just saw your message. I want information and I want it yesterday! How could this have happened so quickly?
Information, pictures, details… now!
AR
To: Anthony Rawlings
From: Cameron Andrews
Re: Ms. Burke
Date: January 26, 2011
Although Ms. Burke is now living in Boston in her husband’s apartment, I’ve just confirmed that they’ve made an offer on a small cottage in Provincetown, Mass. I’ll notify you immediately if their offer is accepted.
Derek Burke’s employment record is straightforward. I’ve attached his dossier. I’ll continue to monitor. Please inform me if you would like my activities to change in any way.
CA
To: Cameron Andrews
From: Anthony Rawlings
Re: Ms. Rossi-Burke
Date: January 27, 2011
Let me know the value of the cottage and their offer.
It was reassuring to Catherine—she did know Anton, probably better than he knew himself. She could only imagine how upset he was to have Sophia elope without his knowledge! Catherine felt a sudden affection for her estranged daughter—if it wasn’t for the name of the man she chose to marry!
Leafing through the pages, Catherine found Derek’s lineage:
Father: William Burke—Grandfather: Randall Burke—Great-grandfather: Truman Burke.
It was the notation under Truman’s name, the one scribbled in Anton’s writing that caught Catherine’s attention: two sons: Randall and Jonathon. There was the connection!
Catherine’s daughter was married to the great-nephew of Jonathon Burke!
Catherine continued to read:
Derek Burke hired in 2013—Shedis-tics Corporation, Palo Alto, California (Rawlings subsidiary).
When there was nothing else for her to learn, she turned on Anton’s computer and accessed his private list of contacts. This list was how she’d found Phillip Roach, in the first place. When she last spoke to Anton, he quipped something about Catherine knowing everything that went on in the house. Smiling at her access to his private information, Catherine doubted Anton had any idea how truly right he’d been.
Although she may know everything within these walls, Catherine wanted to know more. One of the names on this list would be just the person to help her accomplish that goal.
Sophia wiped her eyes. “Thank you. You’d think I’d be all cried out.”
“I don’t think there’s anything wrong with being emotional about this. I mean, you were just saying a few weeks ago that you didn’t want to get to know any parents other than the great people who raised you, and if you still feel that way, then you have my support. If you’ve changed your mind, then I’ll support that too.”
Sophia shrugged. “I don’t know what I want.”
Derek’s grinned. “Then don’t decide right now. There’s no rush.”
Leaning into her husband’s embrace, Sophia crooned, “Whatever I did to deserve you is beyond me. Thank you, for everything.”
With her head under his chin, Derek sighed. His only desire was for Sophia to be happy. Lingering in the pit of his stomach was the feeling of trepidation. He worried that by engaging in that conversation, he’d set her up for more disappointment. The last thing he desired for his wife was heartache. She’d already had too much.
The Rossi’s were wonderful, loving parents, and there was a part of Derek that wished he’d hung up on Sophia’s birth mother before the conversation even started.
Chapter Eighteen
Perhaps all the dragons in our lives are princes who are only waiting to see us act, just once, with beauty and courage. Perhaps everything that frightens us is, in its deepest essence, something helpless that wants our love.
—Rainer Maria Rilke
During dinner, Francis offered Tony and Phil clothes. It seemed that over the years, a large accumulation of items had been left and stored away on the island; these clothes would suffice until ones more to their liking could be ordered and sent into town. Mumbling under her breath, Claire mentioned, “I was planning on ordering some, but a call changed my mind.”
The only person who heard her comment was the man at her side. Truthfully, he was the only one she wanted to hear. With a table of onlookers, Tony didn’t verbally respond; however, he did reach over and squeeze her hand.
After dinner, Francis and Madeline left Tony, Claire, and Phil alone, and Tony explained his current status. He told Claire about the questioning and the FBI’s ultimatum. He explained how he’d been instructed to stay in contact with the bureau otherwise he’d be considered a fugitive—based on charges of domestic battery.
Claire shook her head vehemently. “No! That’s not what I said to Evergreen. I told him I was running, but not from you! I never said anything about pressing charges.”
“I know.” Tony didn’t sound upset. This wasn’t new territory to any of them; they all knew Claire and Tony’s history. “Roach told me what you said to Evergreen. It’s some ploy of theirs. Brent said it was to get more information.”
“Brent?” Claire asked. “Do Brent and Courtney know the truth? Do they know we’re all right?”
Tony shook his head. “No. It’s safer for them that way.”
Claire lowered her eyes and looked at her lap. She understood; however, it didn’t lessen the pain of knowing she’d lied to her closest friends—again.
Tony described how Eric helped him leave the United States, and how he traveled around Europe. When he talked about specific stops along his journey, they were shocked to learn how close their paths had been. Tony also asked questions: How did Claire find the island? Where exactly were they? Had Claire been in contact with anyone since arriving?
Claire deferred so
me of his questions to Phil, while she responded to others. “I haven’t been in contact with anyone. I do have a non-traceable phone Phil left here, and I have Har… a number for an FBI contact.”
Tony sat straighter and looked at Phil. Speaking to no one in particular, Phil asked, “Is that my cue to leave this discussion?”
Claire answered first, “No, you know the answers to more of his questions than I do, but before you two discuss the coordinates of our location, I should tell you, Tony, I saw Harry in Italy.”
“So did I.” His voice lowered a pitch. “He told me he’d been with you. Actually, he showed me a picture.”
“A picture!?” Claire stood. “What sort of picture did he show you? And what are you, or was he, implying with him? I saw him. I wasn’t with him!”
Tony reached out and took her hand. The hardness she’d heard seconds before disappeared as his thumb rubbed the top of her hand. “It wasn’t anything, just confirmation he’d seen you.”
“Well, did he tell you that he’s a FBI agent? I didn’t get the impression it was a recent change in profession.”
Tony nodded. “He did. Apparently, he’s supposed to be my contact.” Grinning again, he added, “I’m not supposed to leave Switzerland without contacting him first.”
Phil interjected, “Damn,” Also with a smile. “I knew we forgot to do something.”
“Do you think he’ll trace you here?” Claire couldn’t hide the panic from her voice.
Phil answered, “As many twists and turns and name changes as we’ve had? I’ll be lucky if I can explain where we are.”
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