Convicted (36 page)

Claire couldn’t control the tears any more than she could change the past. From the man with the dark eyes, in the suite, on his estate, to the man with his head resting on their child was undoubtedly a change.
Was she responsible, or was it life?
After all, she wasn’t the same woman who stood in the blue dress and blue heels trembling in fear.
Was that Tony’s doing, or was it life?
The man with the eyes devoid of color and emotion wouldn’t have wanted the woman Claire was today, and the woman in the blue dress wouldn’t have wanted anything to do with the man caressing his unborn child. So, to say they changed each other may be incorrect, yet to say they had changed—was an understatement.

Standing in the glow of the setting sun with her toes in the sand, Claire gazed lovingly into the deepest, darkest eyes. The dark no longer proclaimed anger. The darkness from years ago was different—void, or more accurately—devoid—without. At that time, his eyes were windows to a tormented core whose only outlet was rage and cruelty, but the dark brown that returned her gaze today wasn’t empty. It reeled with emotions that the void eyes wouldn’t have understood. The new darkness swirled with an all-consuming passion that could ignite Claire in impossible ways with a single glance. They churned with love and adoration, pride and understanding, sorrow and regret. These eyes drank her in, claimed her, and fulfilled her every desire. They were the windows to a man—who once upon a time, signed a napkin that he knew was a contract. As an esteemed businessman, he forgot one very important rule—he forgot to read the fine print. It wasn’t an acquisition to own another person as he’d previously assumed. It was an agreement to acquire a soul.

The acquisition was long and painful. There were contract disputes and labor issues, but in the end, the soul found residence—within the businessman. No longer were the rules clear or was the world black and white. Now, color prevailed—especially shades of green.

Francis’ rich, deep voice echoed into the breeze. Claire remembered the day in 2010 when she was asked the same question:
do you take this man to be your lawfully wedded husband, to have and to hold, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish until death do you part?
Her answer hadn’t changed. Despite the traumas and her desire to forfeit that promise made three years ago, Claire suspected that in her heart, she never did. This ceremony was a reaffirmation of that prior commitment and a promise of a better relationship. With her long white sundress blowing around her legs—perhaps she was subconsciously planning this when she ordered her clothes—Claire inhaled without effort. The salty breeze penetrated deep into her lungs as the sensation of suffocation was gone.

While Francis prayed, Claire did too. It was a prayer of praise and gratitude. She admitted to disliking parts of the journey, but the destination was true paradise. As Francis announced their union, Claire and Tony kissed. When he backed away, she saw his devilish grin and heard him whisper, “Mrs. Rawlings, you are mine once again.”

Her retort teetered on the tip of her tongue. Finally, she swallowed the words and smiled at her handsome husband, deciding that a smart mouthed response wasn’t appropriate in the middle of her wedding. It didn’t matter. The gleam in Tony’s eyes told her he knew—he knew what she wanted to say and loved her as much for her restraint as for her cheekiness.

Madeline somehow had found time to bake a cake. Since Claire couldn’t drink alcohol, it wasn’t even discussed. The four of them celebrated their wedding, with cake and lemonade. Claire wondered if October 27
th
was now their anniversary, and whether it meant that December 18
th
no longer was. Perhaps they could find reason to celebrate both dates. After the
reception
, Francis and Madeline excused themselves to leave the newlyweds alone.

Within their suite, they found chilled fruit and sparkling grape juice. That, however, wasn’t the discovery that made Claire giggle and Tony’s devilish grin emerge. It was when he pulled the black satin mask from the pocket of his linen shorts and lifted a brow. That was when she couldn’t hold back her snicker. He’d kept it with him throughout the entire ceremony.

“I thought you wanted me to go into this marriage with my eyes wide open?”

Each one of his graceful steps lessened the distance between them and pulled an invisible cord, tightening Claire’s insides. Her sensitive nipples ached as their chests touched and he pulled her close. Slowly widening his grin, Tony answered, “That, Mrs. Rawlings, was meant metaphorically.”

Looking up to his handsome face, Claire opened her eyes wide and replied, “Oh, see, I thought you meant it literally.”

Bending down, he neared his lips to hers, and when she closed her eyes, she felt the sweet connection of their kiss. Before she could inhale, Tony’s teeth caught her lower lip, and Claire gasped.

He gently tugged and released. His lips moved to the nape of her neck and up to her ear. After he gently nipped at her lobe, his raspy voice sent shivers down her spine. “I knew it couldn’t stay hidden for too long.”

She opened her eyes wide, displaying her most innocent expression. It was too late—Tony’s seductive tone resonated through the suite. “No, my dear, no look of innocence, no deer in the headlights, you know exactly what I’m saying.” Once again tracing her lips with his finger, he added, “I believe it’s time we find something better for that smart mouth to do.”

Nothing can prevent you from learning the truth so much as the belief that you already know it.

—Jon K. Hart

Sophia walked through their Santa Clara condominium one last time and took inventory of the moving boxes. Calling over her shoulder, she asked for the umpteenth time, “You’re sure Rawlings Industries will get all of this to Iowa for us?”

Derek came from the bedroom, magic marker in hand. “They said they would. We only need to have everything packed and labeled. They’ll even put the boxes in the appropriate rooms in our new house.”

Sophia contemplated his words:
House—it sounded wonderful!
Iowa didn’t. There wasn’t an ocean near Iowa City—no beaches—well, unless you included the rivers. Sophia had never imagined herself living in the middle of the country, surrounded by corn. Her husband’s embrace refocused Sophia’s thoughts. He whispered in her ear, “Tonight, they’re putting us up in an amazing hotel in San Francisco. Tomorrow, we’re flying by private jet to Rawlings Industries Corporate Headquarters. Timothy Bronson, the acting CEO, wants to meet both of us.” He nibbled her ear. “Baby, you can paint from anywhere; you’ve told me that before. This is a big break—Corporate Headquarters!”

“I’m happy for you, I am. I just don’t understand how this happened so fast. You said
Anthony Rawlings
wanted you there? Honey, that’s great, but he’s been missing since September. What happened?”

Exhaling, Derek peered deep into his wife’s beautiful gray eyes. “I’ve told you all I know, all that HR told me. When they scanned Mr. Rawlings’ home computer, they found a file about me. He even had a job proposal started. Timothy Bronson was made aware of the file, so he took it to the board of directors. They felt it was something Mr. Rawlings wanted, and together they reviewed my dossier and called. Mr. Bronson believes I can help in the effort to pull Rawlings Industries from its downward spiral.”

Sophia’s mind whirled. “Who scanned his home computers? Why would they do that?”

“Baby, I don’t know. This is a huge promotion; not just the money, or the title, but the responsibility. I’m going from a junior peon in a small subsidiary—to a junior peon at
corporate
!”

Sophia sighed. “Honey, I’m proud of you. I’m just not used to living so far inland. I’ve always lived near a coast, and the whole thing seems strange. I mean, after Mr. Rawlings was at my studio...I’m sorry—I just have a strange feeling.”

His arms tightened around her small waist, allowing his hands to linger on her firm, round behind. “Mrs. Burke, we’ll be busy! I learned one of the corporate lawyers—Miller, I think his name is—his wife has a design firm in Bettendorf, and”—his volume increased—“Timothy Bronson, who I keep mentioning. His wife used to work at an art museum in Davenport. They’re a little younger than us. Sue’s pregnant with their second child, but I’d bet you two would get along very well!”

Sophia closed her eyes and dropped her head to Derek’s shoulder.

He grasped her shoulders and pushed her back, trying to see her face. “Baby, what’s the matter? You weren’t happy about California at first, but now look at you.”

Sophia nodded. “You’re right. I wasn’t. I guess, since my parents died, this has been home.” She feigned a smile. “No—home is with you. You’re right; I can paint from anywhere, but please do me a favor?”

“Anything.”

Sophia squared her shoulders. “Let me develop my own relationships. I’ll paint and I’ll move, but don’t pair me off like a preschooler looking for friends.”

Derek embraced her once again. “I’m sorry. That’s not what I’m trying to do. I know how hard the move to Santa Clara was for you, so I was trying to make it better.”

She kissed his lips. “Don’t—it’ll be alright as long as I have you.” Quickly, Sophia added, “I know you’ll be busy and that there will be late nights. I’m more than willing to do the wife thing at events.” Under her breath, she added, “I’m not sure what kind of events occur in Iowa.” Once again louder, “Nevertheless, I will—because I love you, but you have to let me adjust at my own speed.”

“Mrs. Burke, you’re amazing. You do whatever it is you need to do. Just know that I love you, and when you’re on my arm at the
Iowa City Corn Husker’s Convention
, I’ll be the proudest husband in the room!”

Sophia smirked. “Oh, jeeze! Please tell me you just made that up.”

His lips brushed hers. “I did. Now, if everything is packed then I believe I have reservations in San Francisco with the most amazing woman!”

She kissed his cheek. “You do? Well, don’t let me interrupt your plans.”

Derek’s lips lingered near her ear, purposely exhaling on her exposed neck, creating goose bumps up and down her arms. “I may have even called ahead and asked for a few things to be delivered to our room. You can come too; maybe you’d like to watch?”

Sophia giggled. “I think you know me better than that. Watching has never been my thing.” Grasping his hand, she offered, “I’m much more of a participant!”

Derek smiled. “Then let’s go participate.”

As Harry’s plane taxied toward the small airport outside of San Francisco, he removed his phone from airplane mode. His thoughts volleyed between his research and Deputy Director Stevenson. Although the Deputy Director didn’t sound upset on the phone and even offered information about Claire and Rawlings’ possible destination, Harry worried about his future. He wasn’t ready to lose his badge.
He’d worked too damn hard for it!

His phone began to vibrate as messages appeared on the screen. The small plane still hadn’t reached its destination on the tarmac when Harry looked down to see calls from unidentified numbers. For a split second, he thought about the new practice of solicitation on cellular phones—
it was a travesty. He didn’t have time for that!
Then he saw that he had messages. Tapping his voicemail icon, Harry accessed his messages.

“You have three unheard messages...” Harry entered his numerical code and waited. Just as the plane came to a stop, he heard Claire’s voice. “Hello, Harry, or Agent Baldwin, I wish I knew your real name.” The sound of her voice took his breath away. The pilot was looking at him. Harry hit
7
and saved Claire’s message.

He couldn’t get out of the plane fast enough. As he walked toward the waiting car, he replayed Claire’s message. It seemed to take forever to get through the preliminary crap. All at once the FBI terminal—the people—the waiting car—everything disappeared. Harry was hearing Claire’s voice. At the very least, hearing her voice confirmed that she was safe. He covered his other ear and listened. “Hello, Harry, or Agent Baldwin, I wish I knew your real name. I’m sorry I didn’t reach you. I won’t leave a number, but I wanted you to know—I’m fine and I’m safe. I would appreciate the assistance of the FBI, and I don’t have a lot of time. Harry...the woman in the blue Honda wasn’t Samuel Rawls’ sister—it was Catherine. The woman I’ve trusted. The woman at Tony’s estate I told you about. She’s who I’m hiding from. She killed Amanda and Samuel Rawls and maybe even others. She isn’t just after me, but she wants Tony and our child. Please have the FBI stop her.” Silence filled his ears. Momentarily, Harry wondered if Claire had hung up, but then her voice came back. “Please, Harry. I want my child to have a normal life. Where I am...it’s great...but it’s not where a child should live. Please help us and make a case against her—Catherine Marie Rawls London. Harry, she was married to Nathaniel. I need to go—bye.”