The Consequences Series Box Set

by Aleatha Romig

  Laughter filled the otherwise silent vehicle. Seemingly undeterred by the threat, the driver tilted his head to the right. Harry glanced toward the passenger seat, half expecting to see someone materialize. No one did. Instead, the driver reached over and pulled down the sun visor. Taped, where the mirror should’ve been, was a picture. Staring at Harry, with big, beautiful blue eyes and light blonde hair was Jillian. The picture could’ve come from Facebook or been taken in person. Either way, it didn’t matter: Harry was living his worst nightmare, his Achilles heel, his vulnerability. This asshole was threatening Harry’s four-year-old daughter. Panic erupted in his gut as adrenaline flooded his system.

  “Where is she?” Harry growled.

  “She’s still with that pretty little ex-wife of yours.”

  “How do I know she’s safe?”

  “You don’t.” The driver lifted a well-worn stuffed bunny—pink and thread-bare. Harry had only seen the bunny once in person, when he purchased it. At the time, he wasn’t even sure Ilona would give it to their daughter; however, through the years it’d been a recurring item in many of Jillian’s pictures. Harry knew, without a doubt, it belonged to her.

  Turning the barrel around, Harry willingly handed his gun to the driver. Through the windows, Harry saw that the neighborhood was becoming seedier by the second. He pushed his fear inward and summoned his negotiating voice. “There, you’ve got my gun. Now tell me what the hell you want?”

  The driver didn’t answer. Instead, he spoke into his phone, “Yes, we’re almost there.” “No idea.” “Fuck’n FBI and clueless!”

  While the driver was talking, Harry eased his own phone out of his pocket and began to text the bureau while simultaneously turning on his GPS finder.

  “No way, asshole! Give me your phone—now!”

  When Harry hesitated, the driver tilted his head toward Jillian’s picture. Harry had the training, and he knew the protocol; none of it mattered. He’d activated the GPS but hadn’t had time to complete the text. His life no longer counted; protecting his daughter was Harry’s only thought.

  Jillian’s safety and well-being was why Harry had signed away his parental rights, and why he’d only corresponded with Ilona in secret. Jillian had a father. In reality, he was her stepfather, but she considered him her dad. One evening, about three years ago, Harry had flown east and met with Ilona and her fiancé. It wasn’t an easy meeting, but Harry knew, without a doubt, the man across the table from him would add more to Jillian’s life than he could. Seeing the gleam in Ilona’s eyes and feeling the ache in the pit of his stomach, Harry knew the man had already done more for his ex-wife than Harry ever had.

  The legal arrangement didn’t stop Harry’s interest. He watched his daughter’s childhood from a distance: each birthday and Christmas, each recital and soccer game. Social media was a wonderful thing, and thankfully, Ilona allowed Harry’s voyeurism. After Harry signed the documents surrendering his rights, Jillian’s last name changed. Today it was George, the same as her mother and father’s.

  Harry believed his own happiness was inconsequential to Jillian’s safety. Now, the man slowing the SUV near a seemingly abandoned building made all of Harry’s sacrifices worthless. For some reason, Jillian was in danger. In Harry’s opinion, during their short conversation, the driver had even made veiled threats against Ilona.

  Damn, Harry wasn’t prepared. Usually, he wore an extra revolver in a leg holster; however, since part of his trip was on a commercial flight, the gun was packed away in a sealed container. Easing the shoestring from his boot, Harry gripped it firmly in each fist and quickly brought it down over the man’s head. With all his strength, he pulled it tight against his throat. As garbled sounds came from the driver, the SUV spun wildly. Gasping for air, the driver simultaneously slammed his feet against the brake and gas pedals and released the steering wheel. His hands fought Harry’s grip as he clawed backwards.

  When the SUV finally came to a stop, the driver’s head fell to one side and his hands quit the fight. Harry’s relief was short-lived. The doors to the vehicle flew open, and he was pulled to the ground. The concrete was wet as he assessed his situation. Three large men were shouting things he couldn’t understand. Harry’s linguistics training told him the language was Middle-Eastern, but he didn’t recognize the dialect. His heart raced even faster when the sound of a woman’s crying came into range. Harry didn’t need to see the woman to recognize the voice calling out to him between sobs.

  SAC Williams touched Agent Baldwin’s arm, bringing him back to present. “Agent, what can you tell us?”

  Harry’s right eye opened wide with concern. “Liz?” His voice cracked. “Is she all right?”

  “Yes, son, she wasn’t harmed. Apparently, Ms. Matherly’s presence was meant only as a witness. She’s filled us in on her story and is anxious to see you, but first, we need your version.”

  Harry inhaled, taking the throbbing in his ribs as penitence for the pain he’d caused those he loved and cared about. After he explained the pick-up and ride, Harry went on, “I got up off the concrete and asked what they wanted, what it was all about. Instead of answering, they taunted, punched me, and yelled. I fought back, more than once, I connected.” Harry looked down at his hands. The right one was covered in bandages. “They said I needed to stop. I asked stop what? They kept saying leave the past alone. It won’t change anything now. Just stop digging around where you don’t belong. When I asked who they were working for, they laughed and said I mustn’t be a very good FBI agent if I couldn’t figure that out.”

  Harry’s voice lowered with determination. “SAC, I know it was Rawlings. I know it was! I saw his face in Geneva. When he left that pub, he was mad! He’s the one who’s responsible for this. I’m getting too close to something in my research.”

  Williams pulled the chair beside Harry’s bed. “Did you tell Rawlings about your research?”

  With his head and ribs throbbing, Harry reached up and touched his left cheekbone and confirmed his suspicions. The skin was tender and felt swollen.

  Williams nodded. “You have quite a shiner. Ms. Matherly said you put up a good fight, but once the driver came to, you were outnumbered four to one.”

  Harry remembered. He was thrown to the ground, and the driver started to kick him. Finally, one of the other guys pulled the driver off. Liz was crying. The men all got back into the SUV and left. “Did Liz get help?”

  “Yes, the men took your phone, but Ms. Matherly still had hers. She called 911. Once the police arrived, she called the bureau. Son, do you remember any more details? Did you tell Rawlings about your research?”

  Harry shook his head. “No, I didn’t have the chance to tell him, but somehow he found out. It’s the only thing that makes sense.” He paused. “My phone? Did you say they took my phone?”

  “Yes, the bureau tracked it, and it was found with your other belongings in an alley dumpster about a half of a mile from where you were attacked. Your phone was destroyed.”

  Harry exhaled. “Good.” He knew the saved information was backed up on the bureau’s servers. Suddenly, he had a thought. “Was the SD card still in the phone?”

  “I don’t remember seeing it, but the phone was pretty mangled. Besides, everything should be on the server.”

  Harry tried not to reveal too much emotion in his voice. “Not everything, sir. There’s a picture of Claire Nichols with me on that card.”

  SAC Williams sat straighter. “With you?”

  “No, not like that. Just sitting together in a booth in Venice.”

  “We received that picture.”

  “There were two. The one I sent and another one.” He swallowed. “Now I’m concerned about her safety too.”

  “We haven’t located her yet, but according to the messages we accessed from your phone, it sounds like she’s with Rawlings. If you think he’s responsible, and he sees that picture, then she may be in danger.”

  Harry nodded. He wasn’t ready to tell his
supervisor that Rawlings had already seen the picture. “I need my phone back. It’s the number Clai-Ms. Nichols called. It’s her only way to get in touch with me or the FBI.”

  “We have your number being monitored. If she or Rawlings calls, it’ll be answered.”

  “Yes, sir.” Harry wanted to be the one to answer either one of those calls; however, he understood. Right now, he wasn’t in the best condition to do that. “Can I see Liz now?”

  SAC Williams smiled. “We have more to discuss, but I don’t see any harm in that. First, I believe you need to be checked out by the doctor. They made me promise I’d alert them when you woke.” As he began to leave the room, he paused and said, “Oh, Agent, your sister’s here too.”

  Harry grinned. “Good, I’d like to see both of them as soon as the doctor’s done.”

  By the time the nurses were done checking Harry out from every angle—yes, he knew that wasn’t their intent, but he sure felt like it was—he was exhausted. He wondered how he could be tired after being unconscious for over ten hours. Next, the doctor came in and probed and prodded; then he asked Harry questions. The doctor didn’t ask how Harry received his injuries. Harry couldn’t have answered if he did; however, he asked questions like, does this hurt? How many fingers am I holding up? Do you know who the president is? All in all, Harry believed he passed.

  He was just about to doze off when his door opened again. Each time someone passed the threshold, Harry saw the uniformed officers posted outside of his door. Their presence gave him comfort. If Rawlings was bold enough to have him attacked in broad daylight, anything was possible.

  The expressions on Liz and Amber’s faces told him more about his appearance than SAC Williams or any of the nurses or doctors. He must really look like shit! “So, do I really look that bad?” His attempt at levity was lost as both women began to cry.

  It was Amber who reached his bedside first. She started to hug him and stopped. “Oh my God, will I hurt you if I hug you?”

  Harry lifted his arms and Amber leaned in. When she backed away, she asked, “Why Harry? Why would someone do this?”

  He heard her question, but it was Liz standing near the wall with her arms crossed over her chest who had his attention. She was looking his direction with her lower lip sucked into her mouth as she tried to control the sobs she muffled. His heart broke. He couldn’t imagine how scared she must have been when those men took her. He reached out his hand. It seemed like she was moving in slow motion; however, after an eternity her hand finally touched his. “I’m so sorry they involved you in this. You must have been petrified!”

  Liz nodded. “I didn’t know what they were going to do to me…” She allowed the ragged breaths to overtake her words. Amber got up from the side of Harry’s bed and Liz sat down. He pulled her close. As she collapsed across his chest, Harry’s ribs screamed out in pain; however, he didn’t wince. He wrapped his arm over her shoulder.

  “Shhh, you’re all right. Williams said they didn’t hurt you.” His voice changed hardened, slowed, deepened. “They didn’t hurt you… did they?”

  Liz looked up. Her eyes were red and puffy. “No, but I couldn’t help you. I wanted to save you… they made me watch…” Her voice trailed away as she buried her head into his chest.

  “Hey, I’m fine. No saving necessary.”

  Amber laughed sarcastically. “Yeah, bro, you look great! Maybe now you’ll decide to take that SiJo job for real?”

  He looked at his sister like she had three heads. “What are you talking about?”

  “If being in the FBI is going to do this to you and Liz, you need to have a safer job.”

  “No freak’n way! This wasn’t about the FBI. It’s about my research. Rawlings wants me to stop, but I’m not doing it.”

  Liz lifted her head. “Please, Harry, think about this. He didn’t stop at anything when he wanted Claire back. You already know he’s capable of murder. Think about Jillian. You have to end this madness—now!”

  “Jillian is safe and so is Ilona.” He took a deep, painful breath. “And so are we. All three of us will have around the clock surveillance until Rawlings is found.”

  “Three?” Amber asked. “I don’t need to be watched by the FBI. I’ll have SiJo take care of me.”

  Harry shrugged. “I don’t think it’s my call, sis. It’s pretty standard procedure in cases like this. Why do you think I have those nice greeters at my door?”

  Amber asked, “How do you know Jillian is safe?”

  “I really can’t say. I just do.”

  “Well, I’m going to call Ilona.”

  “No, you’re not.”

  Amber’s eyes narrowed. “The FBI has them, don’t they?”

  “I can’t say.” Of course, that was all he needed to say.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  It takes two to speak the truth: one to speak, and another to hear.

  —Henry David Thoreau

  Claire woke up to darkness. She wasn’t wearing her mask; the darkness was the time of day, or more accurately, night. This was her new routine; waking two to three times a night to accommodate their growing baby. Sometimes, when she looked in the mirror, Claire wondered if her skin could possibly stretch any farther. The changes to her body only confirmed the miracle living within her—well that, and the reaffirming movements of their child. She enjoyed the sensation of their baby’s movements. Claire told herself, if she were still alone, she’d feel the same way about her growing midsection; however, Tony’s constant reassurance made each pound and stretch mark easier to bear. It amazed her how he could sit for hours with his hands on their child. Often, she’d be in front of him on a lounge chair with her back against his chest. Sometimes they talked; often she napped; at times they read, but they were always connected.

  When Claire returned to bed, it was empty. Looking to the clock, she saw it was only 3:18 AM “Tony?” She called to the open air. No answer. “Tony?” She called again as she stepped onto the lanai.

  He was standing near the railing, looking out to the lagoon. In the distant sky, lightning flashed, and seconds later, the low rumble of thunder rolled through the night air. Wrapping her arms around his back, Claire laid her cheek against his warm bare back.

  “Hmmmm,” he said as he seized her arms and pulled her in front of him. “You need your sleep.” His lips brushed her lips. “You should go back to bed.”

  “I don’t like being alone.”

  Placing a quick kiss on her stomach, Tony smiled. “You’re not.”

  “Why are you out here?”

  With his arm around her waist, he caressed the satin of her nightgown as his palm dipped down over her round behind. “I heard the thunder. Do you think the storm will make it here?”

  Claire shrugged. “I don’t know. Francis talked about the storms and rough seas, but so far, all I’ve experienced have been afternoon showers. They seem to pop up out of nowhere and disappear just as fast.”

  “Come now, Mrs. Rawlings, you’re a meteorologist; will that storm make it to our island?”

  “Well, you see, if I had a computer with the right programs where I could assess wind speed, direction, and see the different fronts—”

  His lips seized hers, stopping her words. When he spoke again, it wasn’t about weather, “You really do need to go back to bed.”

  There was something in his voice. Claire couldn’t determine the meaning or decipher its origin. “What’s the matter?”

  “Nothing.” He smiled and stood taller. “Good night, Mrs. Rawlings.”

  Claire took his hand and led him back to their room. When they were both under the soft, satin sheet, Claire cuddled close and asked, “Please tell me what woke you, and I know it wasn’t a low distant rumble of thunder.”

  “You woke me when you got out of bed.”

  She lifted her head to her elbow and looked down at her husband. His skin was darker from only a few weeks on the island. It was his eyes that held her attention. They contained the mul
ti-tasking look she knew too well. “Fine, I woke you. Sorry. What made you go outside?”

  The tips of his lips moved upward. “Will you take the answer, thunder?”

  Claire shook her head. “No, I won’t. Remember our promise?”

  “I have a lot on my mind.”

  “A lot that you don’t want to share?”

  Tony exhaled. “I don’t want to tell you anything you’re not ready to hear; however, talking about everything has brought back memories I’d forgotten. Sometimes I feel like I’m talking about another person.” He paused. “A person I’m no longer proud to have been.”

  Claire rested her head on his shoulder and gently wove her fingers through his chest hair. Tony’s eyes stared up to the dark ceiling as his voice resonated distantly, overflowing with pain. Although there were times Tony’s confessions upset her, Claire knew in her heart that there was nothing she could say that would punish him more than he was already punishing himself.

  He spoke slowly, revisiting the subject of him watching her through the years. He explained how, at first, it was done as a means of identification. He and Catherine had a list: the children of the children. In the early years, Tony was busy creating CSR with his business partner Jonas Smithers. Later, his energies were used creating and building Rawlings Industries. He supported his grandfather’s vendetta, but Catherine did, or had most of the research done. He emphasized that he wasn’t blaming her. “I never tried to stop her. It never occurred to me. I mean, it’s what my grandfather wanted. He mentioned it to me; Catherine knew more of his plans, so I went along.” He stressed, “Claire, I more than went along. She would never have been able to afford to have the people, like you, watched, or have things occur, if I hadn’t bankrolled everything. I knew what I was supporting.”

  Claire nodded into his chest. It was her way of encouraging his words, without interrupting his thoughts.

  “You were different.” His arm tightened around her shoulder, pulling her closer. “You were the first person who personally interested me. You were so young. I was curious if I could actually influence someone’s life without them knowing it. The first thing I did… well, it wasn’t really to you. It was—”