Phil rubbed the alcohol-scented sanitizer on his hands as he asked, “A minute? What if she cries?”
Ignoring his concern, Claire shifted her legs from the longue and gently placed Nichol in his arms. “Just support her head. You won’t break her. Hold her closer… yes, like that.” Once she was satisfied, Claire kissed her daughter’s head and added, “Now, if you’ll excuse me for a minute, just a minute, I’ll be right back. Oh, stay in the shade.”
Claire wasn’t gone long, but in those few minutes—yes, more than one—Phil fell in love. Of all of the things he’d done in his life, never had he held such a precious, innocent being in his hands. He knew Claire was right: his assignment had just doubled. The little girl in his hands had her daddy’s eyes, but he saw Claire, too. No longer did he see a raisin. He saw Claire’s nose and lips…
Phil wondered how some poor kid would feel when Phil drove Nichol and him on their first date, because there was no way he was letting her go with that kid alone. Hell, he’d been a teenage boy once. No way!
When Phil was younger and on assignment with the military, his objective had been defined by others and incredibly simple: life or death. While observing Claire for Rawlings in California, Phil’s world changed. For the first time in his life, his target had been achieved, yet his mission wasn’t complete. Each day he found himself more and more enthralled with his assignment. Truth be told, it probably began in San Antonio when she outsmarted him; however, that was only the beginning. What impressed him beyond belief was her ability to manipulate the master manipulator. Phil saw how others responded to Anthony Rawlings. Claire’s actions truly earned Phil’s respect. Then, Claire was attacked while on his watch, and Phil was relieved of his duties.
Never without a connection, Phil moved on to other jobs: most were short and finite. He followed a husband and verified his involvement with another woman. He tracked down a runaway teenager and alerted her parents to her location. Not ready to give up his newfound obsession with Claire Nichols, he welcomed the directive from Ms. London. In his mind he was helping to create the perfect ruse for Claire to leave Rawlings. Phil firmly believed Ms. London’s story that in a moment of weakness following Chester’s attack, Claire agreed to go to Iowa. It was a decision she immediately regretted, but one that she was unable to reverse without assistance. Rawlings had already proven that he would track her down with relentless fortitude. As the seeds of Rawls-Nichols threats were being planted, Phil was planning her ultimate escape. To that end, he willingly mailed the notes, cards, and packages.
It wasn’t until he helped her escape the United States and they spoke again in Geneva that Phil learned he’d only been a pawn in Ms. London’s strategically planned game of chess.
Back at the estate, the unusually cool spring air nipped Phil’s face as he stepped from the warmth of the house onto the lawn. Police cars and fire trucks littered the drive. For all practical purposes, he should disappear. But how could he disappear with Nichol in tow? He’d surely be accused of kidnapping. Smirking, Phil knew that kidnapping charges would be the least of his worries. Feeding, changing, and bathing a three-month-old baby ranked much higher on his list of concerns.
The crowd of people became quiet as a policeman led Rawlings from the house with his hands secured in handcuffs. Just seconds ago, two ambulances left: one contained Claire, the other Ms. London. As Phil watched the scene unfold, Claire’s sister approached.
“Who are you?” she asked.
“Excuse me?”
“Who are you? Do you work for him?”
Phil’s stance straightened. The way Emily stressed the word him left no doubt as to her meaning. “I work for her—your sister.” Maybe it was his change in demeanor, but as he spoke Nichol made her presence known.
Emily covered her mouth failing to stop the gasp. “Oh, my God, do you have her child?”
Phil nodded as he lowered the zipper on his coat. “Her blanket was wet. I’m trying to keep her warm.”
“Her?” Emily repeated with wonder.
John Vandersol, Claire’s brother-in-law, joined the conversation and immediately removed his jacket as Emily reached for Nichol. Phil wanted to protest and pull the little girl back to his chest, but he knew this was the right thing to do. Emily was her aunt. She would know better how to care for a baby until Claire was well and released. Besides, Phil wanted to go check on Claire at the hospital and tell her what had transpired with Nichol and Tony.
“There, there…” Emily cooed, as she wrapped her niece in John’s coat. Looking up to Phil, she asked, “Do you know the last time she ate?”
Phil shook his head. “Claire just brought her here minutes before this all got out of hand. She’s, umm…” his cheeks uncustomarily reddened, “…not fed with a bottle.”
“Oh,” Emily responded. “Then I guess we need to get her to Claire at the hospital.” Again to Phil, “Do you know what happened inside?”
“I wasn’t there for all of it. But I have a good idea—”
John interrupted. “It was Anthony, wasn’t it? That’s who Claire was trying to shoot?”
Emily nodded as her husband spoke.
“No.” Phil answered definitively. “No, she wasn’t trying to shoot anyone. She was trying to save Nichol from Ms. London.”
Emily’s head shook. “I don’t believe you. Claire never said anything but good things about Catherine.”
“You’re defending the woman who had you locked in a suite, instead of the man who saved you?” Phil retorted.
John’s brows cocked. “How do you know that? How do you know where we were? Maybe you’re working for Anthony and he was the one—”
Phil glared. “I’ll give my official statement to the police. I assure you, though, that you’re mistaken.” Despite being muffled by John’s coat, Nichol’s cries called out. “But before we argue this point, you need to get Nichol to Claire.”
Emily’s eyes widened. “Nichol? My niece is named Nichol Nichols?”
“Nichol Courtney Rawlings.” Phil stated matter-of-factly.
Emily’s green eyes glared. “What do you mean Rawlings? Did Claire agree to that?”
Phil’s tone deepened. “Mrs. Vandersol, you’ll need to speak with your sister. But I’ll tell you that she and Mr. Rawlings remarried. They were married when Nichol was born. Just let your sister explain it to you.”
John spoke as they made their way toward the cars. “You know he’s a wanted man. Did you know where he was? How can we trust you?”
“You can’t. However, things are different when it comes to Mrs. Rawlings. I wouldn’t do anything to harm her or allow her to be harmed. She really is the one you should be talking to.”
“So,” Emily pushed, “she wanted you with her because she was afraid of him harming her again?”
“Mrs. Vandersol, you are misinterpreting—” Phil’s explanation was cut short as an Iowa City policeman reached for his arm.
“Sir, we need to ask you a few questions. You were in the office at the time of the shooting…”
Phil replied to the officer as John and Emily carried Nichol away. Unexpectedly, John turned around and walked back. “Is there an infant car seat?”
The officer nodded as Phil took John to the car Claire had driven, the one belonging to Courtney Simmons. Phil wished with all his might that he could keep Claire’s friend out of the turmoil that would come from helping Tony and Claire. He might have been able to, had Claire not driven Courtney’s car. His mind spun. As soon as John walked away, the policeman asked, “Whose car is this?”
“It belongs to another of my employers. He allowed me to use it.”
“You? You drove Miss Nichols here?”
“Her name is Rawlings. She and Mr. Rawlings were remarried, and I believe I should have an attorney present before I divulge any more information.”
That became Phil’s answer to each question. He’d already said more to the Vandersols than he should have. He wanted them to know, however, that des
pite Claire and Tony’s past they were raising Nichol together. Undoubtedly, all of the hiding from the FBI would come back to haunt Rawlings, but Phil hoped Claire’s family would understand. Both Rawlings and Claire would need their support.
Finally, the officer became bored with Phil’s response, or lack of one. “Mr. Roach, what do you do and who do you work for?”
“I’m an independent contractor. I do many things and work for many people.”
“Maybe we should take a drive downtown and check your résumé a little closer.”
“Although that sounds like a fun afternoon, I’m rather busy. Do you believe that you have a reason to charge me with something? If you do, let’s drive. If you don’t, I have more work I need to do. The first thing is checking on Mrs. Rawlings.”
“Mr. Roach, how do you know that she and Anthony Rawlings are remarried?”
“Officer, when I speak with my attorney, we’ll let you know.” Phil hesitated. When the officer didn’t respond, he continued, “I will assume we’re done for now?”
“For now. Do not leave the state—for business or personal reasons without contacting the ICPD first.”
Phil shrugged. “Independent contractors are in constant demand all over the world. If you need me, you have my number.” With that, he turned and walked toward Courtney’s car. When he’d retrieved the car seat, Phil saw a purse on the floorboard. He hoped, for appearance sake, that the key was there. As soon as he sat in the car, his phone buzzed with a text from Eric.
“I’M STILL IN THE SECURITY CENTER. I’VE MADE BACKUPS OF EVERYTHING. WHERE DID THEY TAKE EVERYONE?”
Phil responded. “LONDON AND CLAIRE TO THE HOSPITAL AND RAWLINGS TO THE POLICE STATION. HE SAID FOR YOU TO CALL RAWLINGS INDUSTRIES AND GET HIS LEGAL TEAM THERE ASAP. I WOULD HAVE COMMUNICATED EARLIER BUT THINGS ARE CRAZY.”
“NICHOL?”
“EMILY VANDERSOL. I’M OFF TO CHECK ON CLAIRE. YOU’LL GET RAWLINGS HELP?”
“YES.” Eric replied.
Phil riffled through the purse and found a key fob. Within seconds he was headed away from the Rawlings estate toward Iowa City.
It hadn’t occurred to him that there were multiple hospitals in Iowa City, and it would have been an issue, except when Phil handed John Vandersol the car seat, he placed an inconspicuous GPS tracker under the soft fabric. Rawlings had put Phil in charge of Nichol’s care, and he had no intentions of losing track of her location. After a few swipes on his phone, the blinking light led him exactly to where he needed to be. Phil didn’t consider contacting Courtney as he parked and locked her car. She was too busy with the news of her husband to be concerned about Claire, Nichol, or her car. Phil tried not to think about Brent. There were many people in Phil’s life who’d come and gone; nevertheless, the lingering sadness at the thought of Brent Simmons’ untimely death was another example of how Phil’s life had radically changed since Brent contacted him a year ago. He was getting soft.
Slipping into the overcrowded emergency room, Phil nodded at the nurse sitting behind the desk and crossed the threshold to the draped examination rooms. In no time at all, Nichol announced their location. Before he could decide if he wanted to be seen, Emily emerged from a sliding glass door of a concealed room and their eyes met.
“I didn’t get your name,” she said matter-of-factly.
“Roach, Phillip Roach. How is Claire?”
Emily bristled. “My sister’s information is private.”
“I can assure you, Mrs. Vandersol, I’m privy to your sister’s private information. It’s my job; I need to know. Keeping her safe is what I’m supposed to do. I can’t do that if I’m unable to be near her.”
Nichol’s cries grew in strength.
“As you can see, she has a police guard. I don’t believe your services are needed.”
“Why is she still crying?” Phil asked, moving his gaze toward Nichol.
“I’d assume she’s hungry. I’m on my way to get formula from the pediatric unit.”
“But…Claire won’t be happy—”
“Thank you, Mr. Roach. Obviously, if your job was to assure my sister’s safety, you’ve failed. She has her family now. We’ll take care of her and Nichol. If you’re owed any money, see him. I mean according to you, he’s her husband. Please don’t bother my sister again.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Vandersol, I will gladly resign my position when my employer, your sister, relieves me of my duties, and not a minute before.”
“My sister is in shock from whatever occurred. When she recovers, the police will question her. If you have any information you’d like to share, please contact me. They’ve already done some kind of test and know for a fact that she fired a gun. Luckily, I don’t believe Ms. London is gravely injured. I just wish my sister had had better aim and it was him who was shot.”
“You don’t have the necessary facts to make the assumptions—”
“I need to get Nichol fed. I have instructed the police guards as to who may or may not enter her room. Goodbye, Mr. Roach.”
Clenching his teeth, Phil nodded. Tony had said more than once that he disliked Claire’s sister. Phil concurred.
If he couldn’t see Claire in person, he’d hack into the hospital’s records and learn about her that way. Turning around, he walked toward Courtney’s car.
Why should we look to the past in order to prepare for the future? Because there is nowhere else to look.
—James Burke
Brent Simmons sighed as he settled against the leather airplane seat and enjoyed a minute of relaxation. It seemed that more recently his life was a whirlwind: as soon as he extinguished one fire, another went from smoldering to blazing. Was it his profession? That could be expected with law. Or was it the company he kept? During his tenure with Rawlings Industries, he either spent his time ascertaining whether protocol was followed or steering the offending policy back on an even keel. Brent was a rule follower. He didn’t make waves. No, he was the one who calmed the passengers as the storms of life blew them about. That was probably why his and Tony’s relationship had worked from the beginning. Tony created rules, and Brent followed them. That was until now.
Closing his eyes, he contemplated his current illegal status. He and Courtney were willingly harboring a fugitive. For the first time in his memory, Brent Simmons was knowingly breaking the law, the same law that he had taken an oath to uphold. He hadn’t stumbled into his new world of law-breaking: he’d volunteered. When Roach informed him that Tony and Claire wanted to return, temporarily, to the United States, Brent suggested without hesitation, that they come to his home. Brent knew without a doubt that Courtney would agree. After all, it wasn’t the first time he and Courtney had risked consequences to help Claire. What made this unique was that now they both also wanted to help Tony.
Although Brent and Tony had been friends for years, their relationship wouldn’t have been considered equal—perhaps it never will be. But the last time Brent saw Tony, before last night, they’d had words, words that evened their friendship in a way as never before. Actually, that night in Boston, Brent said things he never thought he’d ever say to his friend, and it felt good. Anthony Rawlings had a way about him, an arrogance. It worked for business, but not for his personal life. Being both a friend and an employee, Brent spent most of his life walking a damn tightrope. It had gone on for too long. He’d known about Tony and Claire’s history since before their divorce. When presented with the FBI account of their past, Brent couldn’t—no, he wouldn’t—maintain his silence any longer. He had to lay it on the line.
Then Tony disappeared.
In the weeks and months that followed, Brent relived their argument a hundred times. His satisfaction at clearing the air wavered with the reality of never seeing Tony or Claire again. Brent and Courtney talked their way through a million scenarios. They hoped and prayed that both of their friends were safe. The part they weren’t sure about, what neither one knew what to pray for, was if Tony and Claire should be together.
Brent knew in his heart that Tony wasn’t injured in an emergency plane landing. He knew that the man he’d worked beside and gotten to know as an esteemed businessman and his best friend was out searching for the woman he loved. Through endless hours of deliberation, he and Courtney debated about the missing piece of the puzzle. Why had Claire left?
Neither Brent nor Courtney wanted to believe the story Claire’s sister and brother-in-law spun. They didn’t want to believe that Claire was once again motivated by fear of Tony, yet, with the publication of Meredith Banks’ book, that lingering concern loomed ever-present in both of their minds.
On a whim, Brent contacted Phil Roach. After all, Brent had been the one to hire him in the first place. Being a consummate professional, since Brent was not his client, Roach didn’t divulge anything. And then the call came. Roach had discussed it with Tony, and the lines of communication were opened. Roach explained to Brent, and thus to Courtney, the intricacies of the Rawlingses’ temporary departure. The Simmonses became privy to the real story of their disappearance and Catherine’s role in it all.
Over the years, as situations deemed necessary, Brent mastered the skill of being less than forthcoming. Depending upon the circumstance, the level of difficulty varied. One of the hardest scenarios was Claire’s pardon. To work every day beside Tony and know the answers to all of Tony’s questions, yet remain detached, warranted Brent an Academy Award. There were even a few times when Courtney deserved, at the very least, a nomination for Best Supporting Actress in a drama series. Although the role was sometimes tedious, what fueled Brent’s motivation were the words of Claire’s testimony. He’d remember the frightened young woman who accompanied Tony on a business trip to New York, or the beautiful bride who lived a hidden life of domination. It made Brent physically ill to think of the things that she’d endured at the hands of his friend, the things that occurred right before their eyes, while they’d done nothing to help.