After the initial shock, Baldwin convinced Tony to sit. It was then that Baldwin began some tirade about plants. Baldwin asked about Tony’s knowledge regarding plants. Although a few smart-ass answers came to mind, Tony honestly replied, “Nothing. I don’t know shit about plants; well, other than what I’ve learned from Claire.”
It was after the mentioning of Claire’s name that Baldwin got some sick smile on his face and smirked. “So, Rawlings, how is Claire?”
“I haven’t seen her in a while. You know that. I called you when she first went missing.”
“Missing? I guess she is...depending on whom you ask.”
Tony’s patience was spent on the call with Claire—no more remained. “What the hell do you mean?”
“Well, as a matter of fact, just the other day”—Baldwin offered his phone, turning the screen toward Tony—“I was in Venice, and she was in Venice...you can see—she’s well. Oh, she’s staying in disguise”—he lowered his voice—“I believe that’s because she’s hiding from some threat, someone possibly, but if you look closely, I’m sure you can tell it’s her.”
Tony stared at the picture—Claire and Baldwin with their hands entwined. Tony didn’t know what else was said. The rest of their conversation vanished behind a rush of rage. In hindsight, it was a good thing Baldwin made his federal status known. If he hadn’t, Tony might have been able to add
bodily harm of a federal agent
to his resume. Before Tony left the pub, he turned back to Baldwin and asked, “One question, asshole, was Claire some kind of informant—an assignment?”
It was the first sign of true emotion Tony saw on Baldwin’s face as he replied, “At first, she was, but it became more.”
Walking away, Tony contemplated his question and Baldwin’s answer. Although Tony wanted to lay him out and wondered if Claire knew she started out as some FBI project, as he settled into the cab, Tony realized, he was no better than Baldwin. The relationship he started with Claire wasn’t meant to be personal either; then, in the midst of his epiphany, the door to the cab opened. Tony started to speak, to ask the man to leave, when suddenly, Tony recognized him—Phillip Roach, the private detective he’d fired; the one who failed to protect Claire.
Education had always been important to Tony. He finished his bachelor’s and master’s with honors. Whenever possible, he read, researched, and acquired knowledge; however, in the past twelve hours, he’d been told by three different people that they possessed information he
needed to learn
. By the time Roach entered his cab, Tony’s receptiveness to tutelage ceased to exist.
After they entered Tony’s suite, Roach told him a story. If Tony hadn’t been one of the major players, then he would’ve thought the man was crazy, yet every date—every instance—and every detail—was verifiable in Tony’s mind. Tony had an uncanny ability to remember dates, names, and conversations. Somehow, through Roach’s story, everything he knew and believed took on new meaning.
Roach explained that he was the one to mail the gifts and cards to the
Rawls—Nichols
baby. He was the one who purposely breached the estate’s security and tried to run Clay off the road. He emphasized that on no occasion was Claire
ever
in danger. It was all a ploy to create fear and suspicion.
When Tony asked
why
, Roach’s answer was simple. “It was a job—Ms. London hired me.” The story of the laptop made Tony’s stomach turn. He couldn’t believe it had been in his own closet.
Yes, Claire should’ve waited and talked to him, but hearing it from Roach, seeing this new perspective, Tony’s heart broke for the woman he loved. He understood—Claire was too frightened to wait. It pained him that at that moment—she was frightened of him; however, that’s how it was meant to be—how Catherine planned it. Roach also explained that Claire defended Tony to Evergreen and Baldwin. He also mentioned how Baldwin caught her off guard.
Taking the time to listen and consider the timeline, Tony understood Claire’s reasoning and justified her fear. It was then that he remembered the phone call and reevaluated her words:
Tony, I made a mistake—many mistakes. I believed someone else—instead of trusting you—and living up to our promise. I’ve learned the truth, and I want you to know that I trust you and that I’m so sorry.
After everything—she still wanted him—and he’d hung up on her.
Now, as he and Phil approached her hiding place, he knew that the two of them had much to discuss, so much to say. He could’ve tried to call; however, he didn’t want to give her the opportunity to tell him to stay away. Honestly, he feared she would—the possibility still existed. Technically, he could argue that it was
his
money that bought the island, but he wouldn’t. Tony wanted to see Claire—to look into her eyes and tell her the truth. If she wouldn’t listen, then he’d leave.
Above all, Tony wanted to hold Claire in his arms, tell her how sorry he was, and how much he loved her. As the plane neared the water, Anthony Rawlings hoped she would give him that opportunity.
After an afternoon in the orchards, Claire took a leisurely swim, sunbathed by the pool, read, and napped. When Madeline woke her, she showered and readied for dinner. It was a variation on her normal routine, and with everything considered, Claire didn’t think it was too bad.
Running her fingers down the fabric of her pink sundress, Claire pondered her dinner companions. It wasn’t like she needed to look good for Madeline and Francis. It was an ingrained behavior—dinner meant formal. Truly, Claire enjoyed that. It was the climax to her day. Securing the shell necklace, she observed her hair—pulled up with ringlets of blonde and brown hanging down over her neck. In only a few weeks, the sun had successfully lightened her hair. Claire smirked,
of course, what did she expect by living this close to the equator?
As they were about to sit down to eat, the sound of an airplane filled their ears. Where only moments earlier the sound of birds and surf dominated, now the roar of propellers amplified over the island. Claire’s first thought was Phil.
Who else would know their way to her island?
When she stood, Francis placed his hand on her arm. Claire stopped as he warned, “Madame el, it is better if you wait to see.”
Instinctively, she hugged her midsection and nodded. Standing on the lanai, she looked down at the lagoon. As she watched the small plane land on the sparkling water, she felt her heartbeat in her throat. The landing and stopping of the propeller seemed to take hours rather than minutes. Perhaps it was the anticipation of greeting the first plane to land in the lagoon since Claire arrived, or more likely, her excitement at again seeing a familiar face. Regardless of the reason, Claire stood on the lanai with baited breath. It wasn’t until she saw Phil emerge from the small vessel, that she allowed herself to smile.
Losing her heeled shoes, Claire ran down the path, toward the shore. The green vegetation, colorful flowers, and lush trees hid her view of the beach. She was just about to call out—to shout to Phil—when she emerged from the foliage. As her bare feet hit the beach, they stopped and slowly sank into the soft sand.
Stalling under an arch of flowers and vines, Claire experienced one of those moments where time stood still—the sun and moon forgot their roles—the earth no longer turned—and the tides no longer ebbed or flowed. She stood speechless as a second passenger emerged from the plane and stepped toward the path. When he looked up, he stopped mid-step. Claire bravely met his gaze, taking in the darkest, most intense eyes she’d ever known.
Claire knew she’d seen every emotion in those eyes—from anger to adoration. Currently, she saw a mixture of apprehension and desire. With each second, desire overpowered apprehension—desire overpowered—everything—everything else—everywhere.
Perhaps there were stars falling, volcanoes erupting, or epic winds blowing. Truthfully, at that moment, the entire world could’ve been lost and neither one would have known. Later, when she reflected, Claire believed Phil had been speaking. He was giving reason or explanations—at the time, all Claire heard was the beating of her heart—maybe, just maybe, it was their baby’s heart. No matter, the
whoosh—whoosh
was what filled her ears and her consciousness. Unable to move, Claire stood, waiting for Tony to make his way to her.
Tears filled her eyes and spontaneously escaped her lids as she watched each elegant step.
How could a world as perfect as the paradise, where she’d been living, have been lacking?
In the last moments, seeing Tony gracefully move toward her, Claire knew her sphere was now whole.
When he was within reach, Claire remembered all she wanted to say—all the questions she’d compiled in her thoughts. Though the questions came to mind, with increased vigor, no words materialized on her lips. Standing tall and proud, Claire remained silent. She couldn’t calm the mayhem long enough to decipher her words. The best plan was silence until...
Without warning, one of Tony’s arms surrounded her growing waist and the other captured her neck. The sound escaping her lips couldn’t be classified as words. On the contrary, it was more involuntary as her body submitted to his. Every touch, every move, and every angle was determined by him. Claire’s body no longer waited for internal instruction. It was programmed to respond to the contact of the man towering above her, inhaling her aroma, and caressing her body.
His hands held her tightly within his grasp. She didn’t fight.
Why would anyone fight their rightful place?
Instead, the sounds from her mouth—the moans from her chest—were a plea, a request for more. Truthfully, Claire wasn’t even aware she was making the noises, yet she heard them. Within seconds, his fingers were intertwined in her hair. It wasn’t much, but Claire suddenly felt the need to apologize. “I’m so sorry.”
The strong, determined mission of his lips quieted further commentary, until he came up for air and said, “No,
I’m
sorry.”
Could six words mend an insurmountable gorge? At first, Claire wasn’t sure—until they did. As the words left their lips—the gap disappeared. They were together, and nothing could separate them.
Claire was in Tony’s arms, tasting his kiss, and inhaling his amazing scent. The world beyond their bubble was suddenly insignificant. She wasn’t sure how long they stayed like that, on the beach, holding one another.
His eyes held the key to her heart and soul. Peering into Tony’s dark gaze of desire, her world lightened into the place she wanted to be. Claire knew she could remain there for a lifetime. Then, slowly, the world around them infiltrated her senses—soft sand materialized beneath her toes—a gentle, salt scented breeze moved strands of her hair—the orange glow of the setting sun created an orange hue—and sound of propellers told them that the plane was leaving.
Unable to contain her sudden panic, Claire held tight to Tony’s hand and looked beyond their bubble. Heading back toward the plane was the man who’d made their world right. Claire gasped and looked up to Tony with her head shaking. “We can’t let him leave.” Then louder, she yelled toward the plane, “Phil!”
He looked their direction.
“Stay,” Tony commanded.
Phil’s progress stalled. He turned back as they walked toward him.
When they were all together, Tony held out his hand. While the two men shook, Tony said, “Thank you. We can never thank you enough.”
The glowing sun reflected in the golden flecks of his eyes. Phil looked to Claire and then to Tony. “You already have.”
Tony said, “I was wrong to fire you. You’ve kept Claire safe and brought us back together. I want you to work for us. Stay.”
“With all due respect, Mr. Rawlings, my bank account is quite healthy. There’s only one person for whom I’d be willing to postpone my early retirement.”
The rush of panic that moments earlier had filled Claire’s chest, as she saw Phil leaving, subsided. Smiling, she released Tony’s hand and took a step toward her babysitter—her bodyguard—her
friend
. When she was but inches away, she lifted her arms. “
Please
stay. You’ve given me back
everything.
I know I can never repay you...but I hope you know—I want you to be part of our lives.”