Behind His Eyes - Truth: Reading Companion to the Bestselling Consequences Series

by Aleatha Romig

  His shaky fingers didn’t want to cooperate with the small keypad. Finally, he said, “Screw this,” and dialed Roach’s cell. “I fuck’n knew that was what was happening. Keep watching her suite, and let me know the second something changes. I’m at the airstrip but should be there soon.”

  “I have a camera set on her door,” Roach replied.

  Tony paid him well enough; he should have damn cameras in the suite. “Text me every ten minutes. I want to know the exact moment that woman leaves Claire’s suite. And text me her room number.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  This damn nightmare felt like it had been going on for weeks, but in reality it only been happening since late the same morning. Shelly had sent an email with a copy of Meredith Banks’ planned retraction. It was a seemingly benign article stating that in 2010, she’d used her journalistic prowess to connect the dots of her story about Claire Nichols, and that Ms. Nichols never mentioned or alluded to her involvement with Anthony Rawlings. Apparently, Meredith submitted the short article to various publications. Thankfully, Shelly had connections—connections who understood Anthony Rawlings’ desire for privacy. Someone from Rolling Stone alerted her. She’d been able to dissuade a few avenues of publication, and the Rawlings legal team was diligently working to stop more. With each mile toward the U.S. Grant Hotel, Tony’s disappointment grew.

  It wasn’t the retraction that bothered Tony, other than the fact that it confirmed Claire’s innocence during the supposed interview nearly three years ago. He tried not to remember that night or the horrendous weeks that followed. Nevertheless, the parallels to his current situation were ironic. Once again, he was waiting, just as he’d waited for her that night in her suite. In 2010, she was at her lake, unaware of the circumstances of his rage. Tonight, she wasn’t innocent. Claire was willfully, willingly divulging private information. She was in that damn hotel, eating and talking with Meredith Banks. She was breaking his rules with no regard for the consequences!

  Last time he flew home from New York, this time it was from home to San Diego. As the sky darkened and he sat silently watching the people come and go from the grand hotel, Tony imagined the conversation occurring floors above in the luxurious suite. He wouldn’t have it—this was not debatable.

  The part of the article that upset Tony, sent off alarms, and caused the Rawlings legal team to scurry was the last paragraph. Tony had it memorized:

  She has, however, promised me exclusive rights to her story, promising an enlightening view into the world of her true relationship with one of this country’s wealthiest men, as well as the truth behind her arrest, plea, incarceration, and unconventional release. Please stay tuned. The wait will be worth it!

  The one variable that was dissimilar to 2010 was the intensity of the redness. There were moments as he waited that it deepened, blinding him to the world outside of the car, but then he would remember Claire—her lying on the floor of the suite, battered and unconscious, the doctor and nurse’s prognosis before she regained consciousness, and the bruises that took forever to fade. Each memory worked to lessen the crimson. He wouldn’t allow another accident, but he would confront her. Tony would make sure that she understood that this alliance with Meredith Banks would not continue.

  Initially, Tony had hoped that he could stop her impending rule-breaking with a call. Claire didn’t answer; however, she did return his call, barely under the time limit he’d proposed. That was what propelled his spontaneous flight west. When he first called, she was on a damn plane. He knew that Claire was in San Diego for one purpose, and Tony intended to put a stop to it, once and for all. His phone buzzed.

  “NO CHANGE”

  It was the exact same as the last eight messages. The confines of the car were closing in all around him. Stretching his weary legs, Tony got out of the car and slammed the door. Of course, Claire couldn’t have booked a room at an out-of-the-way, secluded resort. No, she was staying in the center of San Diego’s Gaslamp Quarter, a location filled with tourists. Although he wasn’t wearing his customary Armani suit, he was Anthony Rawlings, and as such, was potentially recognizable. It was a part of his life that Tony detested. More often than not, he longed for anonymity—the ability to enter a restaurant or bar without the potential of seeing it as a news piece. He imagined tomorrow’s headline: ANTHONY RAWLINGS FOLLOWS EX-WIFE ACROSS THE COUNTRY. Hell, that plus Claire’s little exposé unfolding floors above in the historic structure could ruin everything he’d taken a lifetime to accomplish. Shelly would do her best to spin it the right way, but Tony needed to stop it before it went any further.

  He considered going to Claire’s suite, interrupting the interview, and putting an end to the foolishness, but better judgment told him to stay clear. Meredith was a reporter. She’d plaster that shit all over the media in seconds.

  A walk up Broadway and back loosened his overly tense muscles. Tony settled back into the plush leather driver’s seat and continued to wait: One hour. Two hours. Three hours. Finally, the text arrived:

  “MS. BANKS JUST EXITED MS. NICHOLS’ SUITE.”

  Again, Tony responded with a call. “You’re done for the day. I’ve got it from here.”

  “If there’s anything you—”

  “I said you’re done!” Tony growled into the phone before hitting DISCONNECT. No one approached him as he entered the stunning lobby and made his way across the tile floor. Each step was more determined than the last. His reasoning for calm dissipated with each floor as the elevator went up and up. By the time the doors opened, memories of Claire’s accident were muted by the displeasure of her current blatant disobedience. He knocked once upon her door. Within seconds she opened it wide. He glared as her stance morphed before him. Seconds earlier she’d worn a smile; now he saw a woman who knew damn well she’d made a disastrous mistake. Through clenched teeth, he managed, “Let me in. We need to talk.”

  “I don’t think we have anything to discuss. You made an unnecessary trip. Please go.”

  He blinked as Claire’s words registered. Had she just refused him? Tony took a step in her direction; his eyes narrowed. “We are not having this discussion in the hallway. I’m coming in.”

  Her lips pressed together in protest, but as he stepped across the threshold, Claire silently backed away, allowing him to enter. Tony immediately closed the door. This would be private; he didn’t want their confrontation on tomorrow’s news. Briefly he took in her accommodations and the stunning view of San Diego through the large windows. She sure as hell was reaping the benefits of selling her rings—his rings, the rings he’d bought—twice.

  Claire’s strengthening voice refocused him. “We’re not married, and I’m not your prisoner. You can’t just bully your way in here.”

  Dumbfounded, he stared. Didn’t she understand that her behavior was unacceptable—that there would be consequences? Hadn’t she learned anything during their time together?

  She continued, “I want you to leave.”

  Tony circled the living room, his mind a tornado of thoughts. He came for one reason—flew across the country for it—and he wasn’t leaving without reassurance that this farce was done. Tony turned around and made eye contact. “What are you doing with her?”

  Claire shrugged—she fuck’n shrugged!—and casually replied, “I’m having an overdue reunion with an old college friend. Besides,” she added flippantly, “it’s really none of your business. You shouldn’t even be here.”

  For a moment he stared at the woman who’d been his wife. He was teetering on the edge of sanity, and she was spurring him on, pushing him, when she knew damn well what he was capable of doing. She was either incredibly stupid or incredibly brave. He decided to learn which. In a microsecond, he was before her, seizing her shoulders, and invading her space. Their faces nearly touched when he growled, “Do you think I’m stupid? You’re talking to her about me, and I won’t have it.”

  Claire stared, fire burning in her damn green eyes. He’d asked a question. Co
mmon sense would tell her to answer, but no. Instead her glare burned his soul, daring him to push her further.

  “Damn it, Claire, you infuriate me!” He released her shoulders and stomped toward the windows. With his back towards her, he closed his eyes and exhaled. Exhaustion overpowered his anger as he tried to explain. “I flew across the damn country and have been sitting in a damn car, waiting for your little reunion to conclude.”

  “Tony,” her voice was still strong, “you need help. I can’t believe you’re watching me that closely. Get over it!”

  Her words made no sense. How could she even pretend that he could stop? “Don’t you understand?” he asked with all sincerity. “I can’t. You know from your prison delivery that I’ve been watching you for a very long time.”

  “And I think it’s beyond creepy. Why? Tell me why. You didn’t answer my question before.”

  The tension in his jaw severed as the corner of his lips inched upward. “Creepy? I’ve been called many things, but I think that’s the first time someone has called me creepy.”

  “To your face,” she retorted.

  His grin felt foreign after the tension of the past few hours; nevertheless, it was real. In a matter of seconds, Claire had taken him from fury to fancy. Her ability both amazed and scared him. “Touché. That may be true.”

  “I guarantee it. Now, if you’re going to burst into my hotel room, answer my question. I don’t owe you answers if you’re not going to give them to me.”

  He looked toward the sofa and back to Claire. “If you’re asking me questions, does that mean you aren’t throwing me out?”

  Her arms folded across her chest, and her lips pursed as she contemplated. Finally, she said, “I don’t recall ever having the ability to throw you out of anywhere. Maybe times do change?”

  “People change, too,” he murmured as he sat. Suddenly, there was a knock on the door. “Are you expecting company?”

  “I ordered wine from room service.”

  When she peered through the peephole, he smirked, “That must be why you opened the door earlier. You obviously didn’t look the last time.”

  “You’re right; it’s a habit I need to work on.”

  He exhaled and leaned his head against the plush upholstery. It’d been one long day, and he didn’t see it ending anytime soon. When he looked up, Claire was signing the receipt and handing the waiter a tip. In the past, he’d always been the one to handle everything. Sitting back and watching was odd, yet surprisingly refreshing. Before the waiter left, he opened the bottle. Tony nodded when the waiter looked in his direction. How did the two of them appear to this man? A husband and wife? A couple dating? A man on the verge of insanity and the woman who put him there? For once, Tony didn’t care.

  Tony started to stand when Claire’s gaze captured his attention. She was giggling—giggling? He shook his head and asked, “Did you order two glasses?”

  Through muffled laughter, she replied, “No, but since they’re here, would you like some Merlot?”

  He stepped toward her. “You know, you’re the only person who can have me pissed off one minute and completely dazzled the next. Why are you laughing?”

  Claire shook her head. “I don’t know, shock, absurdity? It seems I never know what’s coming. As much as I plan, I’m continually blown away.”

  Tony poured wine and spoke without a filter. He’d spent much of the past five hours recalling their past; the wine returned one particular scene to his mind. Handing her a glass, he asked, “Do you remember when we had wine at the Red Wing?”

  Claire closed her eyes and nodded. “I do.”

  “I’d been watching you for years. I was so nervous that night. I thought I was planning your acquisition.” He looked into his glass. Was it the wine that was making him confess or his need for Claire to understand? Either way, it was liberating.

  “If you’re using business metaphors, may I suggest hostile takeover. It’s more appropriate.”

  He took a sip of wine and exhaled. “Yes, Claire.” Standing close, he looked solemnly down into her emerald eyes. “And I have apologized for that.” He paused for a moment, silently encouraging himself to go further, to tell her exactly what he was thinking. “What I didn’t know, as we sat talking, despite all my research, was you. I mean, I knew everything about you.” He shook his head reflectively, walked back to the sofa, and sat down. “Yet, I didn’t know you. Truthfully, at first, I had no desire to.”

  “Oh, really? Because I recall some pretty up-close-and-personal contact.”

  Tony smirked. She wasn’t going to make this easy. “Yes, I wanted that. I didn’t want to know you—the real you. I fought it for months, but you were this light that kept sucking me in. It wasn’t supposed to be that way. We weren’t supposed to happen.”

  “What was supposed to happen?”

  He shuddered at the fleeting thought of Claire being another name crossed off of their list. Even before he knew the depth of his feelings, Tony knew he never wanted that. “Well, the takeover was supposed to stop you. I never expected anyone to flourish under such circumstances.” She eyed him suspiciously, yet all he saw was the strongest, most beautiful woman he’d ever known. “You didn’t just flourish, you conquered.” He took another drink of his liquid courage, though he’d rather it have been bourbon. “I’ve continually underestimated you, or perhaps I should say, you’ve continually exceeded my expectations. You still do. You’re the only person who has ever derailed me, and more than anyone, you know me, not Anthony Rawlings—me.”

  “The real you. Would that be Anton?”

  Something in his chest clenched. It wasn’t the anger he’d been feeling earlier; this was painful and solemn. He detested hearing that name from her lips. He exhaled. “I suppose, yes, but not anymore. I had it legally changed. So, you see, I didn’t lie. My legal name is Anthony Rawlings, and it has been for a long time.”

  Claire stood as she responded, each phrase hitting him with painfully accurate aim. “You share this with me now, but not when we were married. That tells me that you never trusted me, the only person to really know you. Plus, you threw me away and left me to rot in prison.” Her hands slapped her sides with exaggerated movements as her volume increased. “You say you love or loved me, past or present. You don’t know what love is. You have an obsession, and it really needs to stop. Stop watching me. Stop having me watched. Your fun is done. It’s over.”

  He couldn’t continue meeting her stare. If he did, he’d surely confess more than he was ready to admit. Instead, Tony concentrated on the swirling red liquid in his glass and weighed his response. His tone held none of the anger she’d directed at him. “I don’t know how to explain it. It was a loophole. Don’t you understand?”

  Her eyes widened, filling his vision with green.

  When she didn’t respond, he elaborated, “I tried to help you. Anyone else would have jumped at the insanity plea. I had a hospital all set; your commitment time would’ve been negotiable. But no.” Energy returned with each word. He stood and walked back toward the windows. “No! You refused! By doing that, you took your sentence away from me and gave it to the state of Iowa. I no longer had influence over your release.” He turned to face her, and his volume increased, “Why did you have to be so damn obstinate?”

  “Me? You’re accusing me of being obstinate? I didn’t want you in control of my life any longer. I was willing to let the state of Iowa decide, rather than you.”

  He tilted his head. “It was the only way to save you.”

  “I have no idea what you’re saying.” She closed her eyes and sighed. “Save me from what?”

  “Me.”

  Claire resumed her seat as his one-word confession silently loomed larger than life, saturating the suite like a gas, filling the room, seeping into every crevice, and stealing the very air from their lungs. Tony had just admitted that the man he’d once been was someone he no longer wanted to be. What would Claire do with this revelation? His entire wor
ld hung by a string as he awaited her reply. Suddenly, their bubble shattered; her phone vibrated and flashed on the table before them. Without thinking, Tony read the screen: HARRY CELL.

  His heart twisted. “Are the news stories accurate?”

  “You should know the accuracy of news reports.”

  The phone continued to vibrate. “Perhaps I should answer it?” he offered, the earlier sentiment in his tone now replaced with clipped sarcasm.

  “No, thank you. I’ll be just a minute.” Claire reached for the cell phone and stepped into the bedroom. Before the door closed completely, he heard her say, “Hi.”

  The difference in her tone was painfully obvious. With only one word, she’d thrust a knife deep into his chest. It was his fault, all of it. He’d done terrible things. How could he ever expect her to understand?

  Tony poured another glass of wine and walked back to the dark windows. He’d come to San Diego for one reason. Neither reminiscing about the Red Wing nor making monumental confessions had been on his agenda. Besides, Roach had confirmed that Baldwin was still in Palo Alto; therefore, if Claire told him that Tony was there, their private time would more than likely be cut short. A part of Tony relished the idea of confronting the mighty president of security at a two-bit gaming company. It wouldn’t even be a contest; nevertheless, that confrontation was also not why he’d come to California. Tony heard the bedroom door open and watched Claire’s reflection in the window as she walked toward him.

  “I apologize for the interruption,” she said as she neared him.

  “Do you now, Ms. Nichols?”

  Her fiery gaze penetrated his composure. “I do. You’re correct; I am Ms. Nichols, not Mrs. Rawlings.”

  Tony faced his ex-wife. The knife in his chest twisted. Her name was his doing and he knew it. Although she was merely inches away, the expanse suddenly seemed massive. At this late hour, he didn’t have the energy to attempt to lessen it. He replied, “I’m sure you’re busy. If I were he, I’d be getting on a jet right now. According to my calculations, that gives us about ninety minutes to discuss what I came to discuss.”