Behind His Eyes - Convicted: The Missing Years Page 2

  It wasn’t until he saw the utter hatred in Catherine’s gray eyes that he felt Nathaniel’s words deep in his soul. How could he have trusted Catherine for so long? How could he have willingly placed Claire in her clutches? How didn’t he see what Catherine had seen all along?

  One thing was obvious. Tony needed to keep his family safe and away from Catherine Marie London.

  Unfortunately, the clarity that revealed itself on that March afternoon didn’t show Tony a safe and secure family. No, when his eyes were finally opened and he saw his lifelong friend as the monster she truly was—as a monster not only capable of killing his parents, but capable of killing his best friend—fate also showed him the two women in the entire world for whom he’d unquestionably, unequivocally, and unthinkingly lay down his life to save, and they needed him. Only moments earlier, he’d been searching the smoky hallways for Sophia Burke, until he heard Claire’s voice. For an instant he prayed that it was his imagination, but then he heard her again. Tony didn’t know why his wife was yelling; however, as he raced down the slippery marble floors toward his office, the why of her words wasn’t as important as the why of her presence. Why was she there? She was supposed to be safe with Courtney. They’d agreed upon that.

  Opening the door to his office, Tony’s world clarified and collapsed. Terror like he’d never known filled his being when he realized that it wasn’t only his wife in the presence of Catherine—no, Claire had Nichol in her arms. Tony would have done anything to reverse time, put them back in paradise, and keep his family from this horror. His deep threatening voice stilled whatever Catherine had been saying. “My God, Claire! Why are you here? Get out, the house is on fire!”

  Her taut expression morphed to relief as their eyes met. “Oh, you’re safe. I was so afraid.”

  The rush of the sprinkler system muted the sound of panicked voices in the distance, while intensifying Nichol’s cries. From the safe harbor of her mother’s arms, their daughter’s pleas for attention grew above the commotion. Within seconds, Claire’s relief changed once again. It was fear. Tony had witnessed fear in her emerald eyes before and without warning he saw it again. Following her line of vision, Tony saw the small handgun Catherine now wielded in her steady grasp. The open drawer indicated that it had come from his desk. In a moment of utter confusion, Tony wondered why or how there could be a gun in his desk. He didn’t like guns, never had. That was why he hired security. There was no reason to own a gun unless you were willing to use it. However, at that moment, Tony knew he was more than willing to use it. He’d rather kill Catherine with his bare hands, but for speed’s sake, he’d gladly use the gun. He also knew that there was no way he’d allow Catherine to be the one to pull the trigger. He needed to get Claire and Nichol out of the house. “Get out; get Nichol out!” he screamed.

  As Claire moved to obey, Catherine turned toward Tony with a malicious grin and asked, “Nichol? Nichol? You named a Rawls Nichol?”

  Instead of answering, he used her distraction to knock the gun from her hand, sending it flying toward Claire and Nichol. When it landed near Claire’s feet, Tony commanded, “Claire, get the gun!”

  Did his words refocus Catherine’s attention? He didn’t know; however, in a microsecond Catherine was scurrying toward Claire and the gun. Without thinking, Tony dove forward. As he neared the women, he realized that Catherine wasn’t going after the gun: she’d pulled a crying Nichol from Claire’s arms. The earlier clarity glowed with new radiance. His daughter’s safety was paramount to everything else. Momentarily forgetting the gun, Tony’s strong hands steadied as he secured Nichol’s small, wet, blanket-covered body and pulled her toward his chest. Though Catherine grappled for control, she was no match for Tony’s strength and determination.

  With their daughter once again safe in his arms, Tony looked to Claire with reassurance as Phil came into view. Tony hadn’t seen him enter the office, yet Phil’s intention was clear as he neared Claire, whose gaze was fixed on Catherine, completely unaware of Phil’s presence. The gun in her grasp shook violently as she lifted the barrel toward Catherine who stood in front of Tony and Nichol. Phil’s soothing tone was barely audible over the mayhem. Reaching for the gun, he said, “Claire, it’s all right. Give me the gun.”

  Placing a hand on Claire’s shoulder, Phil reached for the gun at the exact moment their world exploded with a flash and a bang. Tony instinctively twisted away in an effort to protect Nichol, as Catherine fell backward, toppling the three of them onto the wet carpet. The room filled with people, and footsteps rushed toward them.

  “Claire! Claire!” Tony screamed as he assessed Nichol, made it to his knees, and fought to get to his wife. Easing himself and Nichol away from Catherine’s body as she twisted and moaned, Tony’s dark eyes searched through the smoke and artificial rain. He called out again, “Claire!”

  Tony needed to get to Claire and let her know that he and Nichol were all right. He wanted to touch her and hold her, to hold both of his ladies and have them safe in his embrace. He saw her across the room, lying limp where only seconds earlier she’d been standing. Tony and Phil both rushed to her side. With Nichol still in his arms, Tony picked up the gun. Suddenly, the room filled with people.

  “Help me! They tried to kill me!” Catherine’s voice begged for attention.

  Tony ran his hand over Claire’s cheek.

  “I’m not sure what happened,” Phil replied to Tony’s unasked question. “She just collapsed. I don’t know if she hit her head. I wasn’t fast enough to catch her.”

  Unexpectedly, someone turned up the volume. What only seconds earlier had been a dull roar of activity grew to an explosion of voices. The sound of his name came into range. “Mr. Rawlings. Mr. Rawlings.”

  It was a member of the Iowa City Police Department. Tony recognized him, though he didn’t know his name. Was he one of the officers who’d searched the house after Claire disappeared? Tony couldn’t remember. He turned toward the officer and spoke, “Yes, my wife needs help.”

  The officer spoke calmly, “Mr. Rawlings, give me the gun.”

  It wasn’t that he didn’t know he’d been holding it: he did. It was that he didn’t care. The only thing that mattered was Claire and Nichol. They were safe and the police were there. They’d take Catherine away and his family would be safe. Holding out the gun, Tony implored, “Here, take it. Someone help my wife.”

  Another officer took the gun away, while the man with the name Hastings stitched on a patch above his badge stepped between Tony and Claire and said, “Your wife? Who’s your wife, Mr. Rawlings? Ms. Nichols is your ex-wife.”

  Thankfully, the sprinklers had stopped and the smoke had begun to dissipate. Tony stood. Hastings’ words were ridiculous. Shaking his head, Tony freed droplets of water from his saturated hair, causing them to descend down his forehead and blur his vision. Continuing to hold Nichol tight, Tony said, “Get out of my way. I don’t know what you’re saying. Claire Rawlings is my wife.” His voice rose in volume. “Get out of my way!”

  Two individuals began to assess Claire as a female police officer came forward. “Mr. Rawlings, is that Ms. Nichols’ daughter?”

  “This is our daughter.” He spoke as his attention went to a gurney being lowered on a scissor-like contraption with wheels next to Claire. Simultaneously another similar contraption was wheeled next to Catherine, as more people with dark blue coats surrounded her.

  The female’s voice empathized, “Please, Mr. Rawlings, let me take your daughter out of this chaos. Let me get her in the fresh air.”

  “No.” Tony stood resolute. “No, I’ll take her. But first she needs to see her mother. Claire needs to know we’re all right.”

  “Ms. Nichols will be taken away to some place where we can assess her needs, and then she’ll be held while we determine what happened here.”

  “Mrs. Rawlings! Her name is Claire Rawlings. Stop calling her Nichols!” As Tony’s voice grew louder, Nichol’s tiny face contorted, and her cries resume
d. “What do you mean held? Claire didn’t do anything wrong. We were acting in self-defense.” Tony stopped. “I’m not saying anymore until I have my attorneys.” He stood helplessly as an unconscious Claire was moved to the gurney. “Where are you taking her? Is she hurt? If she is, she needs medical attention.” Turning his attention away from the two police officers, Tony searched for Phil. “Roach? Roach?! Where are you?”

  Officer Hastings spoke, “Mr. Rawlings, why would Ms. Nichols be hurt? Did you hurt her?”

  Tony stared incredulously. “Of course I didn’t hurt her. Stop. Calling. Her. Nichols. Her. Name. Is. Rawlings.”

  “Mr. Rawlings, I must insist that you hand the child over to Officer O’Brien.”

  Ignoring Hastings’ command, Tony saw Phil heading out of the office with Claire’s gurney. “Roach! Roach?”

  Hearing Tony’s call, Phil stopped and looked his way. Obviously torn between staying with Claire or returning to Tony, Phil hesitated for only a second before he walked back to Tony. Not waiting for a question, he explained, “They said they’re going to take her to the hospital first and assess her for injuries.”

  Tony tried to make sense of it all, yet nothing made sense.

  “Mr. Rawling—” Hastings began. Tony pulled his arm away from Hastings’ reach. “Mr. Rawlings, you are under arrest for the attempted murder of Ms. London.”

  “Mr. Rawlings,” Officer O’Brien pleaded, “please, allow me to take your daughter.”

  “No! No, you’re not touching my daughter. She needs to see her mother.” Tony looked toward Phil. “You take Nichol to Claire. Keep her with Claire until Claire can care for her. I’ll get this settled in no time. I didn’t attempt to murder Ms. London. If I had, I would’ve succeeded.”

  Before handing Nichol to Phil, Tony gently placed a kiss on her forehead and tugged her closer to his chest. Three months of memories swarmed his mind, from the first time Madeline laid his daughter in his arms to their nightly private rock and chat sessions. He imagined the sweet smell of her after a bath, the way her little legs kicked in the warm water, and the way her eyelids became heavy after she’d eaten. The thought of being separated from his daughter for even a minute hurt like no physical pain ever could.

  Inhaling her sweet baby scent, Tony calmed his voice and whispered, “It will be all right, my princess. Momma will be with you soon, and Daddy will be back to you just as soon as he can.” Gazing into her big brown eyes, he continued, “Take care of your momma and don’t forget me.”

  One more kiss to her forehead and Tony handed Nichol to Phil. Once Tony’s arms were free of Nichol, Officer O’Brien placed handcuffs on Tony’s wrist.

  “Mr. Rawlings,” the first officer said, “you have the right to remain silent. Anything you say—”

  “Roach,” Tony interrupted. “Have Eric contact Rawlings Industries. I want my legal team to meet me at the police station.”

  Phil nodded as they led Anthony Rawlings away, continuing his Miranda rights.

  The next few minutes were a blur. Once they got Tony to the police station, his litany of crimes would come to light. It was Claire’s nightmare, the reason she hadn’t wanted him to travel to the United States. Their one-year reprieve would be null and void. The FBI would never swoop in and save them. They wouldn’t allow their family to return to paradise for the remaining nine months. Tony knew in the pit of his stomach that his time was up—at least for a while. He silently prayed that it wouldn’t take too long. He had money. He’d spend every last dime to get back to Claire and Nichol as soon as possible.

  Tony’s normally quiet estate bustled with people and vehicles. Fire trucks ran long hoses through the corridors, creating an obstacle course as Officer Hastings led Tony toward the outside. His house staff stood huddled together on the bricked driveway, silently watching their runaway boss. He’d been missing for months and now he was being forced into the back of a police car—arrested. It didn’t matter that he hadn’t tried to kill Catherine: if it weren’t for the damn videotapes, he’d confess to being the one who shot her, anything to save Claire. He couldn’t bear the thought of his wife spending one day or even one hour in a prison cell. He’d done that to her once; he would move heaven and hell to stop it from happening again.

  Just before settling into the back of the police car, Tony saw Emily rush toward Roach. Hatred seeped with reddening intensity as Tony took in his sister-in-law. This was all her fault. He and his family would be safe in paradise if she hadn’t been so damned determined to learn Claire’s secrets from Catherine. And now she was reaching for Nichol. Tony closed his eyes and prayed—silently demanded—for Claire to wake. She needed to be there for their daughter.

  Tony stiffened his shoulders as he searched for answers. How could everything go so terribly wrong in such a short period of time? Despite the cool March Iowa air, perspiration beaded upon Tony’s brow and a wave of nausea sucked the breath from his lungs.

  Brent.

  Brent Simmons. Was. Dead.

  Claire would wake. Tony would undoubtedly have a price to pay, but Brent was dead. Tony couldn’t buy back his friend’s life. He couldn’t alleviate the pain that Courtney must be enduring. It was all Catherine’s doing!

  What about Derek Burke? What about Sophia? Red grew. Questions multiplied and lurched forward in his mind. It was all happening too fast to register. Did they find Sophia asleep upstairs? Did anyone even go look? How was she dealing with the loss of her husband? It was too much! More questions than answers raced at untold speed. The vendetta continued to snowball out of control.

  Crimson covered his world!

  Claire. Nichol. Brent. Courtney. Sophia.

  The mental toll needed an outlet: physical release took hold. He lunged forward and purged the red as vomit splattered the floor-mat to the right of Tony’s feet.

  The mystery of human existence lies not in just staying alive, but in finding something to live for.

  —Fyodor Dostoyevsky

  Despite the way his training screamed at Phil to disappear into the chaos, he couldn’t do it, especially not after Rawlings so trustingly placed Nichol in his arms. Phil didn’t know anything about babies, but common sense told him that the little girl with her daddy’s eyes and lungs was not happy. The saturated blanket wrapped around her tiny body had been her only protection from the icy water that had rained moments earlier from the sprinkler system as mayhem erupted all around her. Removing the wet blanket, Phil unzipped his jacket and pulled Nichol to his warm chest. Covering her again with the warm dry material, he pulled the zipper over her, all the while being cautious to avoid her fine dark hair. Almost instantly, her loud cries mellowed, her little fist found its way to her mouth, and her eyes contently closed.

  Fleetingly, Phil wondered how he’d thought to hold her against his body. He was warm: she was cold. It made sense. Only a few times in his life had he been this close to a child, and every time was with Nichol. He wasn’t the type of man to show affection. It wasn’t in his DNA. Without a doubt, his comfort level was higher in setting his sights on a marked man than cradling a baby under his jacket. The other times that Phil had held Nichol were at Claire’s insistence. Shielding Nichol from the stiff breeze, he made his way out of the estate as memories surfaced of the first time Claire had placed her daughter in his arms. Nichol was only a day old and Phil had done his best to avoid Claire, Rawlings, and Nichol; however, there were only so many places to hide on an island.

  Overwhelmingly, Phil had been relieved by Claire’s condition. When he risked his life to get the damn doctor to the island—if he’d been forced to admit the truth, it wasn’t to save Nichol. Phil was worried out of his mind about Claire. Getting in that boat and braving the rough seas wasn’t selfless. No, it was selfish. He couldn’t stand to stay near Claire with no ability to ease her distress. After all, he’d agreed to protect her and her child, and while on the run, he’d succeeded. The idea that his efforts had been for naught, thwarted by a tragic medical accident outside
of his control, was agonizing.

  On the day after Nichol’s birth, Claire was in the shade on the lanai when Phil came around the corner. He hadn’t expected her to be up and out of her room. Though tired, she looked amazing. He stood and watched as she held Nichol, seemingly in a world by herself. Contentment resonated all around her. Perhaps it was curiosity: Phil had never seen such a young baby, or just maybe it was a desire to share in a miracle of this magnitude. The reason wasn’t clear, but instead of going on to the kitchen for a bite to eat, Phil walked toward Claire and Nichol and made his presence known. He remembered her happy expression as he sat on the chaise longue near her outstretched legs.

  “Thank you for getting the doctor yesterday,” she said with her green eyes open wide.

  “I wish you’d stop thanking me for doing my job.”

  “Risking your life is not your job.”

  “My job is to keep you safe. And now look at you.”

  Pink returned to Claire’s cheeks. “Yes, thank you for that. Let me introduce our daughter…” she shifted the bundle in her arms. The tiny face and scrunched eyes were like nothing Phil had ever seen. In a way, she reminded him of a pale raisin. “…Nichol Courtney Rawlings.”

  He leaned closer. “You made quite an entrance, little lady. You should really take it easy on your mom. She had a rough night.”

  “She’s been as good as gold since she last ate.” Claire’s eyes widened. “Would you like to hold her?”

  Phil sat upward. “No.”

  Claire giggled. “You answered that pretty fast.”

  “Remember, I said that I don’t do diapers.”

  Claire reached for some hand sanitizer and pushed it toward Phil. “No one’s asking you to change diapers. Here, rub this on your hands and you can hold her.” Maybe it was his blank stare, perhaps it was the flushing of his face as blood drained, but Claire continued, “You’re supposed to protect me? Well, I need to get up for a minute and take care of something. Nichol is part of me, so I need you to protect her until I return.”