Somehow, despite the elevated stress the packages and letters instilled, the Rawlingses had come to terms with them. Phil’s family had a sense of peace with their security. He had too, until there was too much—too much evidence that moved his calm, experienced mind into a cyclone of terrorizing thoughts. One seemingly innocuous clue was the color of Patricia’s hair. Red. People who wanted to stay hidden changed their hair to a neutral color, one that blended into the masses. Patricia’s color screamed for attention, or more accurately of arrogance.
Another finding that shouted for recognition was what he saw in her new home. When Phil entered her house to hide the tiny cameras and he walked into a small bedroom, the pink paint and white twin-sized bed made him nauseous. Learning of Patricia’s discussion with Ami of her daughter turned that feeling into a full-blown sickness. A bead of sweat materialized on Phil’s brow at the mere thought. The woman was either delusional or genius. Unfortunately, Phil feared the latter. Patricia was establishing herself in this small community and constructing a believable backstory. If her plans came to fruition, she would arrive back to her house and job with her daughter, the one she claimed was taken by her ex. The members of her inner circle would never question this child and Nichol’s life would be forever, irrevocably changed.
With each minute, Phil’s blood pressure rose. The thick fluid coursed through his veins, thundered in his ears, until his vision clouded with the red pooling behind his eyes. Patricia’s plans would not happen. Phil knew that with all of his heart and soul. He also knew that the Rawlingses would never, could never, know why the mailings stopped. If Phil could have done it without anyone’s knowledge, he would have. Unfortunately, he’d already let Eric and Taylor into too much of the operation.
As Phil waited for Patricia’s arrival in her living room, Eric waited nearby with the car. Over the years the two men had developed a trust that only comes with time and experience. Eric was a stand-up man who devoted his life to Rawlings, even initially at the sacrifice of Claire. Though Rawlings claimed Eric had nothing to do with Claire’s kidnapping, Roach knew in his gut that Eric helped. Rawlings couldn’t have gotten her back to Iowa alone. The flip side to their partnership was that Phil himself felt the same way. If push came to shove, and it had come close, Phil would always choose Claire. Knowing that their two main goals were combined gave Eric and Phil the common objective. And with Nichol, there was no doubt: both men would lay down their lives.
Taylor’s help had proven invaluable. The pink room was a subtle warning, but Ami’s declarations were a full-blown alarm. No one expected the office manager of the Diamond Law Office to be so forthcoming. It was doubtful Eric or Phil would have reaped the same results as easily. Nevertheless, at this juncture, as Phil awaited Patricia’s arrival, Taylor was in Iowa with Claire and Nichol: the fewer people who knew the truth about this day, the better. The timing was perfect: with Rawlings out of town, Eric and Phil’s absence would appear as though they’d accompanied Rawlings to Chicago.
The sound of a key turning in the lock of the side door brought Phil back to present. Again his heart rate increased, as he heard not only her footsteps on the kitchen floor but the sound of her voice. His surveillance equipment had yielded very little, but it had revealed Patricia’s routine. Each night she returned from work, entered through the kitchen, locked the side door, and hung her keys on a nearby hook. Her next stop would be her coffee maker, where she’d set it for her evening cup. On most nights she didn’t go out of the house until morning. Never in the time he’d been watching had anyone been with her.
Phil held his breath and listened to Patricia speak and waited for the other voice. The revving of the Keurig echoed, but no other voice came. He sighed with the audible confirmation: Patricia was talking on the phone.