Behind His Eyes - Truth (12 page)

“Anton, you have to understand.”

He raised his brow.

“Anthony,” Catherine corrected. “She wasn’t supposed to be released for a long time. I thought that maybe if she knew some of your background and if she had time to think about it, she would understand you better. She would
want
to understand you better.”

He stepped closer and his words slowed. “I don’t want you or anyone else going through my private things.”

“T-that picture, I didn’t send it.”

“But you did send pictures, and they had to have come from my information.”

“You’re right. I’m sorry.” Catherine went on to talk about the articles she included. They were selected to create an accurate timeline designed to lead Claire to the right conclusion.

“And what
exactly
was the conclusion you wanted her to find?”

“I wanted her to know that you’d been obsessed with her far longer than she realized. I hoped that would show her that you did love her and had for a long time. I wanted her to understand that you are a man of your word, and you had a promise to keep. I hoped that if she understood all of that, she could forgive you and… I don’t know… help you.”

Tony sunk back in his chair. Running his hand through his hair, he asked, “Forgive
me
? She’s the one who left me.”

“Yes, An-nd she knows that she didn’t try to kill you. She knows that she spent over a year paying for a crime she didn’t commit. I had hoped that she would stop hating you for that consequence and start to understand you.”

His eyes closed as he processed her explanation. It wasn’t at all as he’d imagined it.
Had Catherine’s plan worked? Did that information help to propel her to become the woman at the restaurant and in her condominium?
Finally, he stared back at the steel-gray eyes watching him. “It wasn’t your place or your right to share.”

“It wasn’t your right to take her, either.”

“But it was all right to have her killed? That’s what you wanted.”

“No, Anton, that’s not what I wanted. I wanted the children of the children to pay, just as Nathaniel asked. I didn’t want to get to know them, reassure them, and tend to them. I didn’t want to nurse them back to health and have a personal relationship with them.” She stood. “You did that.” Her voice grew more determined. “You changed the rules and so did I.”

“I should fire you—kick you out of my house.”

“Do you think so?” Her cold tone sent a chill through the office. “Do you think Nathaniel would approve? Do you think your grandfather wanted me out on the street? Perhaps you’re just not willing to admit that if Claire knows you, really knows you, she might understand you. Is it that difficult to admit that
I
had a good idea?”

Their nearly thirty-year history fast-forwarded through Tony’s mind. Images of his grandfather were a blur to the years of planning and manipulating. “You’re not fired. Just stay the hell out of my private things! That means my closet, my suite, and my files. You know?” His brow rose. “She could send us both to prison if she fully unravels your trail. Do you still think that it’s a good idea?”

“She won’t share.”

“What if she already has?”

Catherine’s brows peaked in question.

“I don’t know if she has or not. I told her not to, and she said it was too late.”

“What does that mean?”

Tony shook his head. “I don’t know.” His dark gaze penetrated. “And, to be honest, I’m tired of discussing it.”

Her gray eyes swirled with unasked questions. Finally, she stood and walked toward the door. Just before reaching her destination, Catherine stopped. “Just one more thing,
Mr. Rawlings
. Did my name enter the discussion?”

“We talked about you—but not in the context of her delivery or my past. She said to tell you hello and that she missed you.”

Catherine nodded, obviously wanting to ask more, but recognizing that her time had expired. Wisely, she slid behind the door, leaving Tony alone with his whirlwind of thoughts.

The confession of evil works is the first beginning of good works.

—Saint Augustine

Tony waited—and waited—and waited. With his cell phone on his lap and his head against the cool car window, his mind spun and slipped into scenarios, possibilities, and dreams. It was strange how a thought can transform into a full-out movie played behind closed eyes. Tony’s flight from Iowa City to San Diego took less than four hours. He’d had pressing matters that delayed his desired departure; nevertheless, he was once again on West Coast soil by 6:00 PM, PST.

By the time he was seated behind the steering wheel of a rented car, he had the confirming text message from Phil Roach:

“MS. NICHOLS HAS ORDERED TWO MEALS TO BE DELIVERED TO HER SUITE. HER GUEST RECENTLY ARRIVED. I’VE CONFIRMED THAT SHE TOO IS A GUEST AT THE U.S. GRANT. HER NAME IS MEREDITH RUSSEL. SHE’S A JOURNALIST. FOR PUBLICATION SHE USES THE NAME BANKS.”

Every muscle in Tony’s body tensed. Blood coursed through his veins and echoed in his ears; the reverberating sound kept beat as splashes of red infiltrated his vision. The innocent steering wheel received the brunt of his displeasure as he struck it repeatedly with his clenched fist. After a few loudly yelled expletives, the red faded enough for his vision to register. He was still in the parking lot of the private airstrip. Running his bruised hand through his hair, Tony inhaled deeply and began to text his reply.

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.”