Behind His Eyes - Truth: Reading Companion to the Bestselling Consequences Series Page 3

  “I didn’t come for her. I don’t know why I’m here.” On the front of the envelope, in Claire’s handwriting, he read For Anthony Rawlings. It wasn’t prison-issued stationery. No, the thick linen envelope was lavish with an embossed “N.” Tony tried to reason, an “N”? Shouldn’t it be an “R”? “Where did she get such nice—” Tony looked up and the man was gone. He hadn’t heard the door, but he was definitely alone.

  Sliding his finger under the flap, Tony opened his message and peered inside. There was nothing. As if to be proven wrong, Tony tore the expensive paper searching for something—still nothing.

  He looked up and gasped.

  “Boy, you got what you gave.” Nathaniel’s pallor was evident under the cheap lighting.

  Tony’s neck straightened. “Sir, that’s not true. I di—”

  “Are you calling me a liar?” Nathaniel bellowed.

  “No, sir.” Instead of a confident, successful businessman, he was suddenly Anton, young and seeking approval. “I did what you expected, what would make you proud.”

  “Then, my boy, you failed. They took my family and now you’ve allowed them to take yours. That empty envelope and your empty life are your consequences.”

  “No! Sir, I didn’t fail. I don’t fail! I don’t…”

  Tony woke to the sound of his own voice. With his body drenched in perspiration, he threw back the covers. “It wasn’t real. It was a dream,” he whispered.

  There was no one to hear.

  With sleep an impossible goal, he made his way through the dark corridors, past the indoor pool, to his gym. If he were going to sweat like a damn pig in his own bed, he might as well get a workout in the process.

  Tony couldn’t talk to Catherine about his dream, and he sure as hell couldn’t talk to anyone else. While running mile after mile on his treadmill, he attempted to decipher its meaning. He hadn’t failed his grandfather. Tony’s whole life proved that he’d succeeded. Anthony Rawlings was wealthier and more influential than Nathaniel Rawls had ever been. Rawlings Industries was legitimate in all of its dealings. It would never face the public scrutiny that Rawls Corporation had endured. He’d listened to Nathaniel’s advice and kept up appearances, and he’d stayed true to his word. How could he have failed?

  Tony’s eyes darkened and his jaw clenched with the memories. He couldn’t recall having a more vivid dream. He’d felt the damn chair, heard the fluorescent light and the voices, tasted his shame at his grandfather’s words, yet, intellectually, Tony knew that it wasn’t real. As they neared Des Moines, Tony pushed the dream away and concentrated on the present. How could Bosley pardon Claire? If the man weren’t dying of cancer, Tony would make sure that his career was over—Anthony Rawlings was capable of making and breaking people. Then, there was Jane Allyson. It wasn’t good for his thoughts to linger on her for too long. Tony wanted someone to blame—a head on a platter, so to speak. That counsel had been a thorn in his side ever since he laid eyes on her at Claire’s pre-examination at the Iowa City courthouse. Since he would be meeting with Esquire Allyson in a matter of minutes, Tony needed to remain calm.

  Of course, the blame could also be shared by his ex-wife. When it came to thoughts resulting in rage, Claire wasn’t immune; she never was. There was something about her—something that ignited him like no one else. His entire body stirred with an energy he fought to control. Despite the negativity, for the first time in a long time, he felt alive.

  Tony didn’t want to admit it, but along with the anger and disappointment, he was concerned—maybe that was part of his dream? Was Claire all right? How was she living? Was she destitute? Those thoughts would temporarily derail the anger until he’d remember that this—all of this—was all her fault. She left him. Now she’d done it again. How could she be so stupid? He would find her. Then, he would—he didn’t know, but he knew he would find her.

  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.”