Convicted (26 page)

The baby kicked Tony’s hand, and Tony’s eyes opened wide. “Did I just feel that?”

Claire nodded.

“That was amazing!” For a moment, their excitement and joy overpowered the shadow brought on by Catherine’s name.

Despite her moist eyes and tear-covered cheeks, Claire giggled, “I’ve been praying for you to feel our little one move and kick. I think we have a soccer player on our hands.”

Tony sat straighter and tipped his head. When their noses touched, he said, “Mighty fine!” Tenderly wiping her cheeks with the back of his hand, Tony brushed his lips over hers. “We’ve both made mistakes, too many to count, but this little life inside of you isn’t a mistake. He or she isn’t a Rawls or a Nichols. It’s a Rawlings! I’ve had many accomplishments in my life, and in comparison to this little life, they all pale. Beyond a doubt, this child is my—no,
our
—greatest achievement.

I don’t deserve you or an innocent child in my life. Thank you for keeping both of you safe. Roach explained how scared you were. If only I’d been home—”

Claire interrupted, “No, Tony. Don’t you see? It was all planned to happen with you away. Neither one of us is to blame for what happened.”

The nodding of his head moved hers. His words were barely a whisper, “For this one—”

Claire’s fingers touched his lips. “Stop—please. I know we have a lot to talk about. We both have questions, and hopefully we both have answers, but right now and tonight, can we please just have us?”

Tony kissed the tips of her fingers, which only moments earlier stopped his words. “You’re right. Besides, Madeline and Francis are waiting.” Claire stood, yet Tony refused to relinquish her hand. Standing close, he looked down and said, “I need to know one thing.”

Tipping her eyes up, Claire saw need in the depth of his dark eyes and her heartbeat accelerated. “What? What do you need to know?”

“Has all of this changed our relationship? I mean—are we still engaged?”

Claire smirked. “We definitely have a lot to talk about; however, if this little one is to be a
Rawlings
and not a
Nichols
”—her eyes twinkled—“I believe we only have a few more months to move our status to
married
.” She paused. “If that’s what you still want?”

“So, me being an ass and hanging up on you didn’t change your mind?”

“Well, you see—I’m used to you being an ass. It’s the part where you recognize it—that’s new, and that’s the reason my mind hasn’t changed.”

Tony pulled Claire closer and encircled her with his arms. “Well, how about I work on
not being such an ass
, and you work on restraining that smart mouth of yours?”

Claire pushed up to her tip-toes and kissed his neck. The familiar growl rang like music in her ears. “I was under the impression you liked my mouth.”

His lips seized hers. Without hesitation, she met him with equal ferocity. When their force eased, their eyes met, and his sparkled as he replied, “Oh, I do. I love your mouth, your eyes, your neck, and every other part of your amazing body; however, some of the things you do with that amazing mouth I like better than others.”

“Really?” she bantered, as she purposely suckled his neck.

Tony seized her shoulders. “Do you plan on going back out there for dinner? I’m asking, because if you don’t stop, it isn’t happening.”

Claire smiled. It was true; they had a lot to discuss, and a lot to work out; nevertheless, she felt empowered. She knew at that moment dinner could be a memory. If she continued her persuasion, then they could be naked and in bed in seconds; however, she needed food. Somewhere in her memory, she heard his advice,
I suggest you eat. You’ll need your strength.
Grinning, she replied, “I do, and they’re probably waiting.” Pointing toward one of the other doors, Claire said, “The bathroom is over there. I’m going to freshen up. I’m afraid with my crying I look like hell.”

“You, my dear, could never look like
hell
. You’re radiant!”

“Oh, really?” Claire smiled knowingly at Tony. “Give me a minute”—she kissed his cheek—“After dinner, when we get back here, you can remind me what it was you liked my mouth to do.”

Again, he pulled her close for one last embrace. “It’s a date. I certainly hope Madeline doesn’t cook twelve course meals.”

Once Claire was ready, Tony disappeared into the bathroom, and Claire went into the closet. She found the box from the other day, the one with the cell phones and sat it on the floor. Kneeling, she looked into the depth of the container. At the bottom was her long gold chain with her engagement ring. Until a few days ago, she’d kept it close to her heart. After her conversation with Tony she’d decided that there was no longer a reason to wear it. Begrudgingly, she tucked it away in the container.

Now, things were different. Claire removed the ring from the chain and placed it on the fourth finger of her left hand. Feeling his presence, Claire sighed and looked up. Tony was standing in the doorway, his dark eyes watching. By the erratic beating of her heart, she knew he saw everything.

“I took it off the other day,” she confessed.

Taking her left hand in his, Tony helped her stand. Though his eyes hadn’t softened, his words were more of a plea, “I hope you never feel the need to take it off again.” Peering into the box, Tony added, “It seems as though it would’ve been difficult to hear that phone ring, tucked away, in a box, in the closet.”

Claire smiled and pushed herself against his chest. “Since I don’t believe it ever would have, we’ve someone to thank. My guess is—he’s waiting for us for dinner too.”

They left their suite hand in hand. While they’d been alone, the sun had fully set. In the middle of nowhere, the beautiful blue that filled the daytime view was now hidden behind shades of black. A star-filled sky sparkled above a dark sea, and the gentle rush of the waves filled the air as a soft breeze blew through the open doors of the dining room. Before they reached the others, Tony squeezed Claire’s hand. “This place is amazing. Now that I look around, it’s beyond words.”

Claire agreed. “Now, it’s truly paradise.”

The evil that is in the world almost always comes of ignorance, and good intentions may do as much harm as malevolence if they lack understanding.

—Albert Camus

Catherine sat at Tony’s grand desk. She didn’t consider it
his
any longer—it was hers, like so many other things. Besides, from all the reports she’d heard, he wouldn’t be sitting there anytime soon. Though the FBI wouldn’t confirm or deny, Catherine was under the impression Tony was either in custody or on the run. All she knew for sure was that he wasn’t in Iowa. After meeting with Tom and Brent, the provisions of Anthony Rawlings’ trust went into effect. Catherine Marie London was officially the executor of the Rawlings’ estate and anything related to it. The title came with a nice trust fund. That money, plus the large sum she’d accumulated over the years, left Catherine more than financially solvent.

Once in a while, she thought about the money she’d given to Claire. Catherine wasn’t sure exactly how much it was; however, whenever she started to regret giving it all away, her mind would go to the possibility of Tony on the run. If he were out there, she knew, without a doubt, he’d go for that money. Imagining him finding an empty box brought a smile to her face.

For almost twenty-five years, Anton had been in control, or so he thought. It was true; right after Samuel and Amanda’s
accident
, Marie had offered to work for Anton. After all, she was alone, and he was all she had left of Nathaniel. The arrangement wasn’t meant to last a lifetime. Nathaniel told Marie multiple times how he wanted her to live; never once did he say he wanted her to work as Anton’s housekeeper.

It wasn’t that Anton had ever been unkind. On the contrary, if anything, he’d been indifferent. Perhaps that was worse. He seemed to take Catherine for granted—she just was. It never appeared as though he worried if she would or wouldn’t be there, if she would or wouldn’t carry out his objectives—he never
asked
. Smirking to herself, she admitted that his complacency worked to her advantage on more than one occasion.

Maybe her name wasn’t Rawls, but what did a name matter?
Now that she had the legal documents confirming her title as executor, Anton’s office was gone. It was hers—as was the house, the grounds, and the estate. Catherine Marie leaned back against the plush leather chair and scanned the room. The regal decor was very similar to Nathaniel’s office from a quarter century ago. She’d always liked that. Smiling, Catherine decided the view from her current side of the desk was definitely the more appealing perspective. She also decided the room could use a feminine touch.

Catherine opened the drawer on the lower right to inspect Anton’s private files. She fingered the tabs; in this paperless world, it surprised her he’d kept so many printed documents. Thankfully, the Iowa City Police hadn’t felt the need to confiscate everything as evidence.

They did take all of Claire’s documents. That didn’t matter to Catherine; she’d already gone through everything on Claire’s laptop and was honestly impressed with the amount of research Claire had accomplished during her short time in California. Catherine never imagined Claire would uncover Patrick Chester. The entire turn of events was far better than Catherine could ever have imagined or planned. The only possible better scenario would have included Chester actually killing Claire. If he had then Catherine would have been able to watch Anton’s anguish first hand.

Reminiscing, Catherine admitted she did get the pleasure of witnessing some of it right after Claire’s disappearance; however, to see Anton’s face in Geneva when he realized Claire wasn’t taken, but instead, she’d left him again, and disappeared with his money and his bastard child—
oh, that would have been priceless!
Well, not priceless—it cost Catherine whatever amount of money had been in those accounts.

It wasn’t that Catherine originally planned on extending Nathaniel’s decree to his grandson. Anton was safe as long as he stayed focused and on task. All the time and effort planting seeds, watering them, and watching them grow, paid off on more than one occasion. Everything was going the right way until—until his damn obsession with Claire Nichols.

Catherine knew something had changed after the Nichols’ funeral. At first, she feared Anton had discovered her undertakings, or the true extent of them. That wasn’t it. He’d been watching the Nichols family for a while; however, Catherine misinterpreted the depth of his fixation.
How unrealistic of her to think Anton’s actual desire was to honor Nathaniel.
Although Anton claimed that was his goal, his actions proved otherwise. Bringing Claire to the estate was even acceptable—at first. It was when he began to take her out into public that Catherine knew his motivations were changing.

That was all right. Catherine could adapt too. As long as Catherine was covertly in control, she was able to keep her goals in sight. Besides, Claire and Anton were both so easily read and played. Even though it appeared to be a high stakes game of poker, it was more like
Old Maid
. The trick for success was in knowing the opponents. The fact that they didn’t know they were opponents also aided her effort.

Catherine knew Anton better than he knew himself. She knew his limits and his needs—not sexually, of course. No, Catherine understood Anton’s craving for control. It was his unspoken aspiration to be like Nathaniel. The grandfather he knew dominated everyone and everything. Some might say it was a disservice that Nathaniel showed so few people his gentler side. In hindsight, that omission proved very useful to Catherine. She could fuel Anton’s need and depend upon his impulsiveness. Truly, it was a comical contradiction. For a man who prided himself on control, with the right triggers, he could lose it all. Anton didn’t hold the monopoly on impulsivity. Catherine could also continually depend upon Claire’s impulsiveness.

To be good—very good at manipulation, a person must understand their opponents’ motivation. Anton possessed a lifelong yearning to please Nathaniel. Claire was much simpler. She craved interaction and affection. The smartest move Catherine ever made was sending only Carlos into that suite while Anton was away. Looking back on it, the move had been pure genius. In a way, Catherine hoped it paralleled Claire’s current situation.
Oh well, perhaps Claire could learn the language of wherever she was?

Claire’s impulsiveness turned the key on each car that drove her off the estate. That same impulsiveness led her to burn the documents in her prison delivery. At least she read them before she destroyed them. That information was the seed that later grew to her impressive research and blossomed into the police department’s evidence.