A driver waited at the Des Moines private airport to whisk Tony and Brent to Ms. Allyson's downtown office. Once they were inside the car, Tony asked, "What about travel? Could she have left the country? I still have her passport."
"Roach doesn't believe that she could get a passport this fast. Homeland Security would never allow her to leave the country without one. Well, he said they would never allow her to reenter the country without one; leaving is a possibility."
Tony shrugged. "Has anyone spoken to Bosley?"
"No. He's undergoing chemotherapy. According to his assistant, the cancer has metastasized to his bones. The treatment is extremely taxing, and he's not available for comment."
"I want to know why in the hell he signed that pardon. I supported his campaign. He was at my wedding!" Each statement became more emphatic. With the last comment, he realized, it was her wedding, too. "I want to know every name associated with this injustice."
Brent nodded. "We'll have more answers soon."
When they arrived to Ms. Allyson's office, a little before 10:00 AM, Quinn immediately called her boss. "Ms. Allyson, Mr. Rawlings is here, accompanied by his attorney, Mr. Simmons." After a moment, she smiled and said, "Please, follow me gentlemen, Ms. Allyson will see you now."
Claire's former attorney met them at her office door and ushered them inside. "Hello, Mr. Rawlings, Mr. Simmons, please have a seat."
Tony and Brent sat opposite her desk.
Before they could speak, she said, "Now gentlemen, to what do I owe this honor?"
Brent spoke first. "It has just recently come to my client's attention that on March 8th you filed a petition with then Governor Bosley, requesting a pardon for Claire Nichols."
"Yes, that's correct."
"My client would like to know why this was filed, on what grounds, and who approached you to make this request."
"Gentlemen, Ms. Nichols was never convicted of a crime. She pled no contest. That was not an admission of guilt. She's had an impeccable record during incarceration..."
Her words faded into the all-encompassing red. Tony didn't give a damn for Ms. Allyson's legal drivel. When she paused, he asked, "Why was I not notified?"
"Why would you need to be notified?"
He wanted to slap the smug expression from her face. "For my safety. She tried to kill me!"
"Have you been threatened since her release?"
"No." Tony bristled. "I just learned of her release last night."
"It appears as though you needn't be concerned. She's had two weeks to finish what you claim she started, and it seems that you're still with us."
Mentally, Tony gripped the arms of the chair. The words flowing through his head wouldn't be beneficial to the conversation. Perhaps Brent sensed Tony's demeanor, since he continued the inquiry. "Do you know where Ms. Nichols relocated? For my client's safety, he should be informed."
"I do not. As I'm sure you're aware, with a pardon, the criminal record is expunged. Ms. Nichols does not owe the court a thing. She is free to go wherever she chooses. Furthermore, she is not required to keep the court or the state of Iowa informed of her whereabouts. I took her to the airport and left her at the gate. There is nothing more I can tell you."
"She had a ticket for San Francisco," Brent said, "but prior to boarding the plane, her reservation was cancelled. Do you know where she went instead?"
Jane appeared genuinely surprised. "I don't know anything about her reservation being cancelled, and as I said before, I don't know where she is now."
"Ms. Allyson, she had a first-class ticket. Do you know how Ms. Nichols could afford such a ticket?"
"As I mentioned, some things are confidential." Standing, Jane said, "Now, gentlemen, if that is all? I have work-"
How dare she? Tony hadn't flown to Des Moines to be flippantly dismissed. He stood to meet her glare. "Ms. Allyson, I'm not happy with the recent turn of events. I plan to learn of all individuals involved in this miscarriage of justice, and it's obvious that you played a role."
Her gaze never faltered. "Mr. Rawlings, I was your ex-wife's co-counsel during her trial. I represented her then, and I would gladly do so again. If you have complaints about her pardon then I recommend you take them up with Richard Bosley. His signature alone opened the door of her cell, and I'm certain that a man of your stature did not intend for his concern regarding self-preservation to be misinterpreted as a threat. That wouldn't coincide with your benevolent image and-I'll add-is illegal."
Standing to join the rest, Brent interceded, "You're correct, Ms. Allyson. My client is obviously distraught over the recent turn of events. You can understand his alarm. After all, Ms. Nichols tried to harm him once. It's only natural for him to be concerned she may try to do it again."
"Yes, Mr. Simmons, I see how your client would be concerned that my client would cause him harm."
Tony didn't appreciate Ms. Allyson's thinly veiled implication. He wasn't going to allow her to bring up Claire's accusations in front of Brent. Inhaling deeply, Tony summoned his most affable voice. "Thank you, Ms. Allyson. I'm glad you understand my concern, and I hope you didn't misinterpret my alarm. If you remember anything else regarding Ms. Nichols' departure or learn of her location, I would appreciate being informed." Well-ingrained manners took over as Tony extended his hand.
Shaking it firmly, Ms. Allyson replied, "Mr. Rawlings, you will be among the first I call. Are we done?"
"Yes," Tony said, with a genuine smile. "I believe we are." As they exited her office, Tony's lips remained turned upward as he contemplated various possibilities of derailing Ms. Allyson's career. Someone would take the fall for this travesty, and right now, she was at the top of his list.
With nightfall, Tony's energy plummeted. The surge that had been propelling him for nearly twenty-four hours was gone. He stared once again at the text message he'd received from Phillip Roach.
"I'M CONFIDENT THAT THIS IS MS. NICHOLS' NUMBER. AMONG OTHER NUMBERS, IT HAS BEEN IN CONTACT WITH EMILY VANDERSOL, ON MULTIPLE DAILY CALLS, SINCE THE MIDDLE OF MARCH. I'VE NARROWED THE ORIGIN OF THE CALLS TO PALO ALTO, CALIFORNIA. THE NUMBER IS: XXX-XXX-XXXX. I WILL CONTACT YOU AGAIN WHEN I LEARN MORE."
Tony had waited all day for more information and was tired of waiting. He'd learn for himself. Walking the corridor back to his suite, Tony entered his private haven, his sanctuary. He didn't want to be interrupted-or overheard-like the night before.
His suite held more memories than Tony cared to recall. There were those that he should abandon, both literally and figuratively, and ones that he treasured. The literal memories were items relegated to a box in the back of his closet. Some of the items, his ex-wife never knew he possessed. There were the photographs he'd taken from her Atlanta apartment, and her old laptop. He doubted the old dinosaur even worked. It hadn't been booted up in almost three years. Tony searched the box for the one item he treasured. It was one of Claire's belongings, one that he couldn't bear to include in the auction. Catherine had encouraged him to purge it all, break free and move on. She even insisted on redecorating Claire's suite. He wanted to move on, but he couldn't get rid of this item. Anthony Rawlings may be a lot of things; however, he wasn't a man who would donate his wife's-or ex-wife's-most sentimental possession to a fund-raising auction. Riffling through private investigative reports, pictures, and papers, Tony found the black velvet box and grinned. Peering inside, he gently touched the delicate white gold chain and cream-colored pearl. The necklace had belonged to Claire's grandmother. Closing his eyes, he remembered the night he gave it back to her-the night of the symphony.
Glancing at the numerous pictures from his years of surveillance, Tony wondered if he and Claire had come full circle. Would it be like this again? Would his only connection to her be through this new investigator? Would he only see Claire in two dimensions? Tony searched for their contract, the beginning of their personal journey together. He knew it wouldn't be that easy again. If he were to get her back to Iowa and into his life, it wouldn't be because of a signature on a napkin.
Then he shook his head. He didn't want her back, did he? Hell, the lack of sleep was making him sentimental. He stopped his search. The damn contract was no longer valid; it never had been-legally. Pushing the box back into its hideaway, he contemplated throwing it all away. Having her back wasn't his goal; learning her location was. She had no right to disappear.
With the necklace in his hand, Tony settled upon the soft leather sofa in front of his fireplace. If Phillip Roach were correct, in a few moments he'd hear the voice that used to fill his suite and his house. When her voice came through his phone, Tony wanted to feel her presence. He imagined the sound as he looked up at her wedding portrait and saw the emerald green that haunted his dreams. What did he want to hear? He wanted to know she was safe and unharmed. He wanted to know where she was, and he also wanted to bring her back to Iowa-because that was where she belonged.
It didn't make sense. To the world she was the woman who tried to kill him. To Tony she was more than that. The past twenty hours had proven it. She was his drug. Claire Nichols ran through his system like ecstasy, sending him on otherwise unobtainable highs. He reasoned that lows followed highs, and she'd given him those, too; they'd given them to each other. Nevertheless, without the right stimulant, the euphoria could never again be achieved. Whether it was elation or misery, neither would be obtainable without the exhilarating potency of Claire. He didn't want an empty envelope. He wanted her. Nathaniel was wrong: Claire wasn't gone; she was just misplaced.
For the last twenty-four hours, his entire being had surged with anticipation. Claire may not understand it-hell, Tony didn't understand it, but he couldn't deny it. Now that she was gone, he needed her back in his life, and he would have her.
Tony shook his head. He was acting like a heartsick schoolboy. He squared his shoulders and exhaled. The telephone number from Roach was already programmed into his phone, and of course, his number was blocked. The clock read 9:47 PM. Tony honestly didn't know for sure where he was calling. Roach suspected California, and if that were the case, it would be two hours earlier there. Momentarily, Tony contemplated a drink to calm his nerves. No, the only drug he wanted was unknowingly waiting for his call.
The small cream-colored pearl swung from his finger like a pendulum, keeping rhythm with the ringing phone. When the ringing stopped, time stood still. The anticipation was over. Claire's voice came through loud and clear.
"Hello?"
It electrified him from head to toe.
Relief. Hurt. Love. Loss.
Her greeting was a torpedo hitting the dam he'd built around his memories. His mind flooded. He was back in time to her first coherent night at the estate. Even in her shocked condition, Claire stood tall-for her-and defiant. No longer was Tony seeing the woman in the designer wedding gown. No, behind his closed eyes, he saw Claire Nichols-his acquisition.
"Good evening, Claire." He greeted her in a tone drenched in debonair swagger. As he awaited Claire's response, Tony heard other voices. When she didn't respond, he continued, "Now Claire, we've been through this before. It is customary for one person to respond to the greeting of another. I said, good evening."
"Hello."
He grinned at the change in her tone. Undoubtedly, his call took her by surprise. "Very good," Tony praised. "I thought perhaps we would need to review common pleasantries."
Momentary silence gave way to her stronger declaration. "Good-bye, Tony."
His cheeks rose higher, listening to her rediscovered strength. Tony pictured his ex-wife squaring her shoulders with fire blazing in the depths of her emerald eyes. She wasn't broken. "Claire, you should know that I learned of your release less than twenty-four hours ago. As you can hear, I already have your telephone number. How long do you think it will take for me to learn your location?"
"It seems as though you have lost the ability to perceive meaning. Good-bye means this conversation is over. For the record, that includes future conversations. I'm sure you remember, once a discussion is closed, reopening it is not an option."
A hearty laugh resonated through his suite. Tony couldn't contain his amusement. "I have always admired your strength. Such a brave speech from someone hiding across the country..." He didn't know for sure when she disconnected her phone. All Tony knew was that the line went dead. In a previous life, at a different time, he would've been irate that Claire-or anyone-would have had the audacity to hang up on him. Times change; Claire's action was a challenge, one he gleefully accepted.
Once again, Tony dialed the number. This time it went to voice mail. No, her spirit wasn't broken. If anything, she was stronger than before. He sent a text.
"ONLY I CLOSE DISCUSSIONS. THIS ONE IS STILL OPEN. I LOOK FORWARD TO RESUMING IT IN PERSON..."
And oh, he did! Tony didn't know when, but he knew for sure that one day soon he'd be seeing the fire in those beautiful eyes and not in a picture. He would witness it firsthand.
Sighing, he reviewed their findings: the cancelled airline ticket to San Francisco and a California area code on the cell number. Tony scrolled through his recent calls for Phillip Roach's number and called. The investigator answered on the first ring.
"Mr. Rawlings?"
"Mr. Roach, I wanted to confirm that the number you gave me is indeed Ms. Nichols'. It seems that the trail is pointing west. I'll cover all your expenses. I want you to find Claire Nichols, and I want her found yesterday."
Disconnecting the line, Tony sat silently and stared at the portrait. He hadn't expected her early release from prison, but now that she was out, he was ready to reclaim what was his. Smirking, he considered her cell number, her cell number. Could she have her own computer or car? Perhaps she's accumulating debt? That tool had worked well before. He mused, "My, only two weeks removed from prison and so independent."
[B].
Step One: Admitting that one cannot control one's addiction or compulsion.
-Twelve-Step Program, Alcoholic Anonymous "Mr. Rawlings, I sent you an email. I can resend," Cameron Andrews, private investigator, said.
"Yes, do that. Sometimes things are blocked." Tony knew that probably wasn't the case. He hadn't been paying attention.
Andrews continued to report, "Mrs. Burke closed her art studio in Provincetown and moved to Santa Clara."
Tony shook his head against the phone. "Closed it?!"
"Temporarily. That's what the sign said."
If Sophia were willing to follow her husband across the country, she obviously didn't recognize the future she had in the art world. Not every artist received an invitation to exhibit her work at the Florence Academy of Art. Tony remembered Italy, watching her from afar. Her poise and confidence were evident as both art enthusiasts and patrons praised her work and her new, bolder pieces. Tony couldn't understand why she'd put that life aside to take a backseat to Derek's ambitions; after all, Tony had spent a lot of money paving her way to fame and fortune. Derek's job opportunity of a lifetime was supposed to emphasize their differences, not bring them together.
"When did she move?" Tony asked.
"Yesterday," Andrews replied.
"Keep an eye on her." Tony's mind swirled. There were more options; he just needed to concentrate. "Get me a list of names. I want to know all the art curators in the Santa Clara area. Perhaps we can get her connected to that local art world."
"Yes, sir, I'll get back to you with that."
"I don't believe she's in danger. She doesn't need constant monitoring. Just keep me up to date. And Andrews?"
"Yes?"
"Run some financial background checks on those curators and their studios. Let's see if anyone is having difficulties during this recovering economy." Tony added with a smirk, "I've always wanted to diversify into the world of art."
Andrews chuckled. "Yes, I'm sure that will be a great investment. I'll get back to you with some numbers in a day or two."
"That'll be fine." Tony disconnected his phone and pinched the bridge of his nose. Damn, after all the time and money he'd spent on Catherine's daughter, it seemed like every time he looked away for a minute, her life spun in another direction. Derek's job offer was no surprise; Tony had weaved that bit of manipulation personally. When the parent company's CEO made a suggestion, presidents and vice presidents of subsidiaries listened, at least ones who enjoyed employment. Apparently, Roger Cunningham fell into that category. Sophia moving to California was a surprise. The last thing Tony had heard, Shedis-tics offered Burke the opportunity to fly east most weekends.
To Tony, it seemed like the perfect scenario: Burke alone in a new city with a pretty little assistant who was willing to make extra money. Tony never considered the possibility that his plan would fail.
Sophia deserved better than a Burke. Even if he was only a distant cousin from the Burkes on their list, he was still a Burke. She also deserved to flourish in her chosen career. Tony didn't know much about art, but he knew how he felt about the portrait that graced his suite. Sophia had captured Claire's eyes perfectly. Tony should know: he'd spent hours looking at her work. On more than one occasion, when the sweet burn of Blue Label couldn't stop the bottomless pit of memories, he would stare at Claire's wedding portrait and recall scene after scene, some good, some not.
Then he would remember her failure. Tony had experienced loss-most significantly, his family. He had seen his parents, covered in their own blood; however, the video footage of Claire driving away tore at him like nothing he'd ever known. His parents didn't willfully leave him. The reports of murder/suicide were false. His grandfather didn't willfully die in a hellhole of a prison with inept medical facilities. No, that blame fell on Jonathon Burke and Sherman Nichols. Claire willfully seized the first opportunity she found and left him. She failed his ultimate test.
Over the past year, on the rare occasions when Tony allowed the memories and thoughts to flow, he waged an internal war-love versus hate. At one time, he thought he loved her. What the hell was love? It wasn't something he'd ever witnessed in real life, except perhaps on occasion between Marie and Nathaniel. He recalled moments-when they didn't know he was present-when Tony saw an unfamiliar side of his grandfather.
Usually the man was in total control of everyone and everything, except during those moments. Did Tony ever give that to Claire-control? He'd never given that to anyone. With Claire, he needed control. He yearned for it, and she'd flourished under it. Obviously, when given a choice, she'd failed. Claire needed his guidance.
While she was in prison, Tony knew she was safe, secure, and unable to make poor decisions.
Now things were different and public.
Her damn picture wasn't just showing up in his inbox from Roach. No, she was gracing magazine after magazine. In the new world of Internet frenzy, she was fuck'n trending. Tony didn't know what to believe. Many articles claimed that she was penniless and destitute. Tony knew for a fact that wasn't true. Roach reported a $100,000 windfall. It'd come from a cashier's check that Roach traced back to a bank in New York. Unfortunately, it had been purchased with cash and the trail died. Who would give Claire that kind of money? Whoever it was didn't have the balls to man up. If they had, Tony would have found a way to cut them off.
Tony's anger at the initial source of funds was minimal compared to his rage when he learned that Claire had sold her jewelry-more specifically, her wedding rings. The sentence in Roach's email seemed so benign, yet the moment the words registered, Tony was filled with unprecedented fury. Thankfully, the email came while he was in the privacy of his home: I have traced the source of Ms. Nichols' newfound wealth to a reputable jewelry broker in San Francisco. He has kept her sale confidential, out of the media, and well hidden. He utilizes offshore accounts to pay his customers, but after a few dead ends, I was confident that Mr. Pulvara was the source of Ms. Nichols' nearly $800,000 windfall. To that end, I paid Mr. Pulvara a visit. After some persuasion, he admitted that he purchased a necklace, earrings, and wedding rings from Ms. Nichols.
The room exploded in red. In the love-hate battle, Tony's barometer shot toward hate. How could she so casually sell the representation of their union, their visible contract? After the mental chaos faded and Tony's mind cleared, he thought about her rings. He couldn't-no, wouldn't-allow another woman to wear those rings. They'd been designed and purchased for Claire. The thought of anyone else wearing them infuriated him more than the idea of her selling them. Tony didn't respond to the email in kind; instead, he picked up his phone and barked orders. Saying them aloud helped to dull his overwhelming sense of impotency. "I want the damn rings, and I don't care how much you have to pay to get them. If this Pulvara man sold them, find the buyer and get them. Don't disappoint me. I want them in Iowa tomorrow!"
Roach didn't disappoint; he even delivered the rings in person to Tony's office. Now, within the confines of his suite, Tony possessed her rings and her grandmother's necklace. During less lucid moments, he'd imagine returning the rings to their rightful owner. He'd envision her smiling, emerald gaze as she'd extend her petite hand. The eyes in his imagination swirled with a combination of desire and happiness, as he'd slip the platinum band and sparkling diamond back onto her finger. Those were the moments when love overpowered hate.
Tony looked through his inbox and found Cameron Andrew's emails. He clicked and reread the last few weeks of reports. If he hadn't been so preoccupied with his ex-wife's release and new life, he'd have known about Sophia's move. Would it have mattered? Maybe this move would streamline his life. Tony chuckled as he pulled up a map of Silicon Valley. Perhaps he should fire one of his private investigators. The red arrows said it all: Sophia and Claire were living mere miles apart.
Exhaling, Tony minimized his screen. He was going to California. After over eight years of-on again and off again-watching Claire from afar, he wasn't going to do it any longer. He clicked on Roach's most recent email and exhaled at the displeasure of seeing Claire's life unfold in pictures. With a fresh tumbler of bourbon, he stared at the screen. Before him he saw Claire and Harrison Baldwin dining at some restaurant. The hair on the back of Tony's neck bristled as he observed their level of comfort. Roach had many attributes: one was the ability to take pictures in rapid succession. By activating the slideshow program, Tony could watch as if it were a movie, and like a real video from his surveillance, he could also pause and stare at each frame.
Weeks ago, Roach had sent background information on Amber McCoy and Harrison Baldwin. It was pretty straightforward: they were siblings-same mother with different fathers-who were both were on the payroll of SiJo, and both lived in the same condominium complex in Palo Alto. What his research didn't answer was... why? Why would Claire turn to Amber McCoy, Simon Johnson's fiancee, for help? How did they become friends? Tony met Amber at Simon Johnson's funeral, the same time Claire met her. It didn't make sense.
He paused the slide show at the sound of Catherine's knock. As he looked up, she entered. "Have you learned anything new?"
Tony didn't want to discuss Claire with Catherine. Claire was his, and he didn't want to share; however, he acquiesced, knowing it was he who had brought Claire into Catherine's life. "I just opened an email."
Catherine walked around the desk and peered over Tony's shoulder. "Hmm, I don't think you need to worry." She smirked. "She seems to be rebuilding her life quite well."
Tony minimized the screen and turned to glare. "I could use less innuendo."
Sitting down, Catherine shrugged. "I didn't realize I was insinuating. I'm being honest. She looks happy."
He hated to admit that Catherine was right. "Roach said they're friends. He hasn't seen anything to indicate-"
"That's not what the articles are saying. I saw one that said she was living with-"