Her demeanor looked anything but intimidated. She barely hesitated as she ignored his comment, climbed onto the bed, and pushed Tony back onto his pillow. Hovering above him, he inhaled the scent of toothpaste as Claire’s freshly brushed hair swept across his face. With a sexy smile she challenged his demand, “Then, Mr. Rawlings, I suggest you do something about that.” Within seconds, their worlds reversed. Claire was pinned to her pillow, her nightgown gone and her hands secured above her head. Her giggle quickly became a moan as her eyes closed indicating her approval of his actions.
It wasn’t just the moan that indicated her approval—no, her entire body approved, as did his. For the next forty minutes they were lost within one another. Tony couldn’t help caressing and kissing her midsection as he moved up and down her sensual body. Her soft skin and amazing scent dominated his thoughts. Any concerns of his impending departure disappeared.
When he finally redressed and started to leave, her aura pulled him back for one last kiss. “I love you and I’ll be back as soon as I can. I wish you were coming.”
Her eyelids fought an unseen weight. “Travel safely. I love you, too.”
As he pulled the covers over her soft exposed skin, he asked, “Are you going back to sleep?”
She nodded. “Yes, I think after that strenuous morning workout, I need a nap.”
Grinning, he kissed the top of her head and watched as her smile faded, her eyes closed, and she appeared blissfully serene. It was then Tony remembered something he wanted to say. With more authority in his tone, he added, “Claire.”
Her eyes immediately opened. His tenor wasn’t playful. Although Claire didn’t speak, she obviously recognized his change in meaning. Perched on the edge of the bed, Tony reminded her, “If you leave the estate—”
She stilled his words with the touch of her hand. The large diamond on her left hand glistened, as she responded appropriately, “I promise, I’ll take Clay.”
“This isn’t debatable.”
“Tony, I’m not debating – I’m trying to sleep.”
He kissed her lips. “I’ll call when I touch down in London.”
She nodded. “Be safe. I think Eric’s waiting.”
Tony hadn’t relived that memory in over a week. All the questioning from the FBI brought it back along with so many others. They seemed so real, he wanted to reach out and touch her. For just a moment, Tony believed he could actually smell her perfume.
The slap of the binder hitting the aluminum table pulled Tony from his fantasy and back to reality. He must have fallen asleep. “What the hell?”
“Food’s here.” Brent’s voice sounded strained.
“What were you reading?”
“I gave it to you, but you might want to eat first. It sure as hell ruined my appetite.”
Tony looked suspiciously at the binder as Brent continued, “Since I’m your personal counsel, we need to talk about it. As your friend, I don’t want to.” Brent grabbed a Styrofoam box and leaned against the wall.
With an overwhelming feeling of doom, Tony pushed the food aside and picked up the binder. Instantly, the words on the page assaulted him. They weren’t new—they weren’t a revelation—they were, however, supposed to be gone.
Three years ago, Marcus Evergreen informed him of Claire’s testimony. At that time he made deals and greased palms. This documentation was supposed to disappear. He paid quite a bit of money to get it lost in the shuffle. His pulse raced as he thought about promises he’d heard. Now—now not only was it present—it was in the hands of the FBI! Brent had just read it! Tony’s heart sank. Brent was right, his appetite was gone. He paced the confines of the small room and began to read:
January 26, 2012: Claire Nichols Rawlings:
I swear my recounting to be true, to the best of my knowledge. I met Anthony Rawlings March 15, 2010 in Atlanta, Georgia at a restaurant named the Red Wing. I was tending bar and he was a customer. That night I agreed to meet him at the bar for a drink. We had wine and talked for about an hour or so. I left the bar alone. The next day, he called the bar and asked me out on a date. Initially, I declined his offer. He was persistent and I agreed to a date the next night. I knew his name, but didn’t know who he was. I really didn’t.
On the 17th of March, he picked me up at the Red Wing after my shift. Earlier that day, I went grocery shopping. I think that’s significant. It proves I had no intentions of walking away from my life. I had milk in the refrigerator! After dinner, I agreed to go to his hotel room for dessert and some more wine. He was friendly and sensual. I do admit that I slept with him that night.
The next time I woke, I was in his home in Iowa. I didn’t know where I was. I remember very little about how I got to Iowa. There are flashes of memories—none of them are good. I remember crying and banging on the door. I remember begging for someone to let me out of that room. I remember being restrained.
Oh God, I remember him...
Tony’s vision blurred. He didn’t want to relive these memories. The ones of her smiling and happy, those he wanted. Not this. His stomach churned. Had that really been him? Had he truly done those awful things? Closing his eyes, he saw beyond the words. He remembered what Claire’s account never would—he recalled the hours the drugs took away from her: