John spoke as they made their way toward the cars. “You know he’s a wanted man. Did you know where he was? How can we trust you?”
“You can’t. However, things are different when it comes to Mrs. Rawlings. I wouldn’t do anything to harm her or allow her to be harmed. She really is the one you should be talking to.”
“So,” Emily pushed, “she wanted you with her because she was afraid of him harming her again?”
“Mrs. Vandersol, you are misinterpreting—” Phil’s explanation was cut short as an Iowa City policeman reached for his arm.
“Sir, we need to ask you a few questions. You were in the office at the time of the shooting…”
Phil replied to the officer as John and Emily carried Nichol away. Unexpectedly, John turned around and walked back. “Is there an infant car seat?”
The officer nodded as Phil took John to the car Claire had driven, the one belonging to Courtney Simmons. Phil wished with all his might that he could keep Claire’s friend out of the turmoil that would come from helping Tony and Claire. He might have been able to, had Claire not driven Courtney’s car. His mind spun. As soon as John walked away, the policeman asked, “Whose car is this?”
“It belongs to another of my employers. He allowed me to use it.”
“You? You drove Miss Nichols here?”
“Her name is Rawlings. She and Mr. Rawlings were remarried, and I believe I should have an attorney present before I divulge any more information.”
That became Phil’s answer to each question. He’d already said more to the Vandersols than he should have. He wanted them to know, however, that despite Claire and Tony’s past they were raising Nichol together. Undoubtedly, all of the hiding from the FBI would come back to haunt Rawlings, but Phil hoped Claire’s family would understand. Both Rawlings and Claire would need their support.
Finally, the officer became bored with Phil’s response, or lack of one. “Mr. Roach, what do you do and who do you work for?”
“I’m an independent contractor. I do many things and work for many people.”
“Maybe we should take a drive downtown and check your résumé a little closer.”
“Although that sounds like a fun afternoon, I’m rather busy. Do you believe that you have a reason to charge me with something? If you do, let’s drive. If you don’t, I have more work I need to do. The first thing is checking on Mrs. Rawlings.”
“Mr. Roach, how do you know that she and Anthony Rawlings are remarried?”
“Officer, when I speak with my attorney, we’ll let you know.” Phil hesitated. When the officer didn’t respond, he continued, “I will assume we’re done for now?”
“For now. Do not leave the state—for business or personal reasons without contacting the ICPD first.”
Phil shrugged. “Independent contractors are in constant demand all over the world. If you need me, you have my number.” With that, he turned and walked toward Courtney’s car. When he’d retrieved the car seat, Phil saw a purse on the floorboard. He hoped, for appearance sake, that the key was there. As soon as he sat in the car, his phone buzzed with a text from Eric.
“I’M STILL IN THE SECURITY CENTER. I’VE MADE BACKUPS OF EVERYTHING. WHERE DID THEY TAKE EVERYONE?”
Phil responded. “LONDON AND CLAIRE TO THE HOSPITAL AND RAWLINGS TO THE POLICE STATION. HE SAID FOR YOU TO CALL RAWLINGS INDUSTRIES AND GET HIS LEGAL TEAM THERE ASAP. I WOULD HAVE COMMUNICATED EARLIER BUT THINGS ARE CRAZY.”
“NICHOL?”
“EMILY VANDERSOL. I’M OFF TO CHECK ON CLAIRE. YOU’LL GET RAWLINGS HELP?”
“YES.” Eric replied.
Phil riffled through the purse and found a key fob. Within seconds he was headed away from the Rawlings estate toward Iowa City.
IT HADN'T OCCURED to him that there were multiple hospitals in Iowa City, and it would have been an issue, except when Phil handed John Vandersol the car seat, he placed an inconspicuous GPS tracker under the soft fabric. Rawlings had put Phil in charge of Nichol’s care, and he had no intentions of losing track of her location. After a few swipes on his phone, the blinking light led him exactly to where he needed to be. Phil didn’t consider contacting Courtney as he parked and locked her car. She was too busy with the news of her husband to be concerned about Claire, Nichol, or her car. Phil tried not to think about Brent. There were many people in Phil’s life who’d come and gone; nevertheless, the lingering sadness at the thought of Brent Simmons’ untimely death was another example of how Phil’s life had radically changed since Brent contacted him a year ago. He was getting soft.
Slipping into the overcrowded emergency room, Phil nodded at the nurse sitting behind the desk and crossed the threshold to the draped examination rooms. In no time at all, Nichol announced their location. Before he could decide if he wanted to be seen, Emily emerged from a sliding glass door of a concealed room and their eyes met.
“I didn’t get your name,” she said matter-of-factly.
“Roach, Phillip Roach. How is Claire?”
Emily bristled. “My sister’s information is private.”
“I can assure you, Mrs. Vandersol, I’m privy to your sister’s private information. It’s my job; I need to know. Keeping her safe is what I’m supposed to do. I can’t do that if I’m unable to be near her.”
Nichol’s cries grew in strength.
“As you can see, she has a police guard. I don’t believe your services are needed.”
“Why is she still crying?” Phil asked, moving his gaze toward Nichol.
“I’d assume she’s hungry. I’m on my way to get formula from the pediatric unit.”
“But…Claire won’t be happy—”
“Thank you, Mr. Roach. Obviously, if your job was to assure my sister’s safety, you’ve failed. She has her family now. We’ll take care of her and Nichol. If you’re owed any money, see him. I mean according to you, he’s her husband. Please don’t bother my sister again.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Vandersol, I will gladly resign my position when my employer, your sister, relieves me of my duties, and not a minute before.”
“My sister is in shock from whatever occurred. When she recovers, the police will question her. If you have any information you’d like to share, please contact me. They’ve already done some kind of test and know for a fact that she fired a gun. Luckily, I don’t believe Ms. London is gravely injured. I just wish my sister had had better aim and it was him who was shot.”
“You don’t have the necessary facts to make the assumptions—”
“I need to get Nichol fed. I have instructed the police guards as to who may or may not enter her room. Goodbye, Mr. Roach.”
Clenching his teeth, Phil nodded. Tony had said more than once that he disliked Claire’s sister. Phil concurred.
If he couldn’t see Claire in person, he’d hack into the hospital’s records and learn about her that way. Turning around, he walked toward Courtney’s car.
Chapter Three
March 2014
Brent
Why should we look to the past in order to prepare for the future? Because there is nowhere else to look.
—James Burke
BRENT SIMMONS SIGHED as he settled against the leather airplane seat and enjoyed a minute of relaxation. It seemed that more recently his life was a whirlwind: as soon as he extinguished one fire, another went from smoldering to blazing. Was it his profession? That could be expected with law. Or was it the company he kept? During his tenure with Rawlings Industries, he either spent his time ascertaining whether protocol was followed or steering the offending policy back on an even keel. Brent was a rule follower. He didn’t make waves. No, he was the one who calmed the passengers as the storms of life blew them about. That was probably why his and Tony’s relationship had worked from the beginning. Tony created rules, and Brent followed them. That was until now.
Closing his eyes, he contemplated his current illegal status. He and Courtney were willingly harboring a fugitive. For the first time
in his memory, Brent Simmons was knowingly breaking the law, the same law that he had taken an oath to uphold. He hadn’t stumbled into his new world of law-breaking: he’d volunteered. When Roach informed him that Tony and Claire wanted to return, temporarily, to the United States, Brent suggested without hesitation, that they come to his home. Brent knew without a doubt that Courtney would agree. After all, it wasn’t the first time he and Courtney had risked consequences to help Claire. What made this unique was that now they both also wanted to help Tony.
Although Brent and Tony had been friends for years, their relationship wouldn’t have been considered equal—perhaps it never will be. But the last time Brent saw Tony, before last night, they’d had words, words that evened their friendship in a way as never before. Actually, that night in Boston, Brent said things he never thought he’d ever say to his friend, and it felt good. Anthony Rawlings had a way about him, an arrogance. It worked for business, but not for his personal life. Being both a friend and an employee, Brent spent most of his life walking a damn tightrope. It had gone on for too long. He’d known about Tony and Claire’s history since before their divorce. When presented with the FBI account of their past, Brent couldn’t—no, he wouldn’t—maintain his silence any longer. He had to lay it on the line.
Then Tony disappeared.
In the weeks and months that followed, Brent relived their argument a hundred times. His satisfaction at clearing the air wavered with the reality of never seeing Tony or Claire again. Brent and Courtney talked their way through a million scenarios. They hoped and prayed that both of their friends were safe. The part they weren’t sure about, what neither one knew what to pray for, was if Tony and Claire should be together. Brent knew in his heart that Tony wasn’t injured in an emergency plane landing. He knew that the man he’d worked beside and gotten to know as an esteemed businessman and his best friend was out searching for the woman he loved. Through endless hours of deliberation, he and Courtney debated about the missing piece of the puzzle. Why had Claire left?
Neither Brent nor Courtney wanted to believe the story Claire’s sister and brother-in-law spun. They didn’t want to believe that Claire was once again motivated by fear of Tony, yet, with the publication of Meredith Banks’ book, that lingering concern loomed ever-present in both of their minds.
On a whim, Brent contacted Phil Roach. After all, Brent had been the one to hire him in the first place. Being a consummate professional, since Brent was not his client, Roach didn’t divulge anything. And then the call came. Roach had discussed it with Tony, and the lines of communication were opened. Roach explained to Brent, and thus to Courtney, the intricacies of the Rawlingses’ temporary departure. The Simmonses became privy to the real story of their disappearance and Catherine’s role in it all.
Over the years, as situations deemed necessary, Brent mastered the skill of being less than forthcoming. Depending upon the circumstance, the level of difficulty varied. One of the hardest scenarios was Claire’s pardon. To work every day beside Tony and know the answers to all of Tony’s questions, yet remain detached, warranted Brent an Academy Award. There were even a few times when Courtney deserved, at the very least, a nomination for Best Supporting Actress in a drama series. Although the role was sometimes tedious, what fueled Brent’s motivation were the words of Claire’s testimony. He’d remember the frightened young woman who accompanied Tony on a business trip to New York, or the beautiful bride who lived a hidden life of domination. It made Brent physically ill to think of the things that she’d endured at the hands of his friend, the things that occurred right before their eyes, while they’d done nothing to help.
Maybe it was Claire who deserved an Academy Award? After all, neither he nor Courtney knew what was happening behind the iron gates of the Rawlings estate.
Even more difficult than facing Tony day to day while he ranted and raved about Claire’s pardon, had been the past few months of facing Catherine London. Knowing what Brent knew, each inquiry that Ms. London made into Rawlings’ personal financial matters or Rawlings Industries, each time she used her position as executor of Tony’s estate to influence something or the other, Brent’s blood boiled. He had to force himself to return her calls. Sometimes he wouldn’t do it for days, claiming an overwhelming workload or forgetfulness. Each interaction was loathsome. Normally a gentle man, Brent couldn’t interact with her without wishing her physical pain. Her smug countenance grated on him as he contemplated her role in the upheaval of his friends’ lives. After so much time, Brent had come to the conclusion that Tony and Claire were both people he’d grown to love.
The flight attendant refocused Brent’s attention. If there hadn’t been a glitch in the finalization of the proposal, he’d have been home already with Courtney and Claire. He would know what was happening with Roach and Tony at the estate. He might not be in need of more antacid!
The glitch wasn’t big; nonetheless, by spending a few more minutes—that turned into an hour—with the appropriate people, Brent preempted the need to return to Chicago to rectify the potential contractual misinterpretation. He didn’t mind. Taking a commercial flight gave Brent the opportunity to regroup and think about all that was happening. No doubt, if he’d flown back with Sharon Michaels and Derek Burke, they’d have spent the entire flight rehashing the proposal, crunching numbers, and verifying statutes. This alternative gave Brent a moment of uncustomary peace and anonymity.
Even though he wasn’t initially scheduled to be involved with the negotiations, Brent believed the meeting in Chicago had gone exceptionally well. It was his first opportunity to personally witness Derek in action. In hindsight, Brent wondered about the promotion that brought the young man to corporate. It seemed strange that Ms. London had found the necessary requests on Tony’s home computer, but regardless of the mode of hire, Derek Burke appeared to be an asset to Rawlings Industries. Brent wasn’t sure when, or if, Tony would once again be personally involved in the day-to-day workings of Rawlings Industries, but he made a mental note to tell Tony about Burke. He was a natural: professional, eloquent, and a wonder to watch. The young man’s negotiating skills were stellar. With his potential, Brent believed that he had a bright future with Rawlings Industries.
With time to allow his mind to wander, one thought led to another. Thinking about his own day’s duties and telling Tony about Derek reminded Brent of Tony’s plans for the day. More than once, fleeting thoughts manifested themselves as Brent wondered what was transpiring at the estate. He was concerned: could things—for once—go the way they were meant to go for Tony and Claire? It seemed that the deck had been stacked against them since before they knew one another. Truth be told, it was. Tony had confirmed it months ago, as had Claire to Courtney. As much as they both loathed their friends’ history, seeing them last night with their beautiful daughter helped to confirm Brent and Courtney’s wishes for their future. After all Tony and Claire had endured, they both deserved better. Brent hoped that their coming back to the United States and helping John and Emily wouldn’t dampen their future. With Nichol in the game, the stakes were much higher.
After the captain announced their altitude and the little bell dinged, Brent leaned his chair back and opened the eBook app on his phone. He’d placed it on airplane mode much earlier than necessary. It helped with the relaxation. Despite the fact that Brent had been actively involved in the attempts to stop the publication of Meredith Banks’ book My Life as It Didn’t Appear, he still purchased the book out of morbid curiosity the day it came out. He wondered how Ms. Banks would sensationalize what Brent had read in a more clinical legal brief.
Brent wasn’t blind or deaf. He heard whispers and murmurs. He knew that he wasn’t the only member of the Rawlings Industries legal team to buy the book. Everyone was intrigued. However, as a close friend of both Tony and Claire, when asked, Brent maintained his stance, continually professing that he had no desire to add to Ms. Banks’ rankings or bank account. Perhaps it was a misleading statement, but it
was not an outright lie.
When Brent first downloaded the book, he was only able to read as far as the author’s introduction that explained Meredith and Claire’s relationship, setting the stage for the details to come. Brent had tried to read Claire’s words, but couldn’t. Knowing without doubt that what he was about to read was completely accurate made it too painful. Nevertheless, curiosity is a strange beast. Despite best intentions or convictions, it doesn’t fall asleep and quietly fade away. No. If left unfed, curiosity becomes a hunger that grows in strength and voracity until it monopolizes unconscious thoughts and dreams.
Seeing his friends last night gave Brent the sustenance he needed to move past Meredith’s introduction. Seeing firsthand that Tony and Claire’s relationship had matured, and watching them with Nichol, gave him the necessary strength to continue reading. He was ready to read the words, knowing that through Meredith, Claire spoke of the past—a dark past, but nonetheless, a time that was gone, never to be repeated.
Brent also justified his reading as company research. If the world had a perception of Anthony Rawlings, as his personal attorney, Brent needed to understand it. Sitting in a commercial airplane at thirty thousand feet gave Brent that opportunity. It was undoubtedly a better place to read Meredith’s story than on a Rawlings Industries plane.
My Life as It Didn’t Appear: Chapter 1…
IMAGINE, IF YOU will, that you are suddenly keeping company with one of the country’s most eligible bachelors. What would you expect? Perhaps flowers and romance? Maybe candlelight and soft music?
I’m Claire Nichols, formally Rawlings, and I wish I could say that was what I experienced. I wish I could tell you how Anthony Rawlings wooed me, seduced me, and romantically worked his way into my heart. Unfortunately, my reality was starkly different.
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