He followed her astonished gaze. It was her wedding portrait. He hadn’t even considered its presence when he brought her to his room. Sheepishly, he replied, “Ever since you left.”
“But why?”
Tony took her hands and cupped them in his own. “You said no more closed conversations. I’m not closing it, but understand, I can’t answer you—I don’t know. Despite being angry with you, I do know that I’ve spent the last year and a half staring at you every night before I went to sleep.” Before she could respond, Tony gently kissed her lips and added, “For now, will you please let that be enough of an answer?”
With tears glistening in her stunning eyes, Claire nodded.
Where we love is home—home that our feet may leave, but not our hearts.
—Oliver Wendell Holmes
Tony was pleased that Courtney had facilitated the get-together at Sue and Tim’s house. It truly helped to ease Claire’s anxiety at being with everyone. The atmosphere at the wedding and reception was festive and friendly. It seemed as though all of the discomfort of Thursday night was a distant memory. From the ceremony, where Claire held tightly to his hand, to the reception where they moved fluidly as one across the dance floor, Tony enjoyed every minute.
Tony had promised Courtney increased security and delivered. No one advertently singled Tony and Claire out of the crowd, yet from time to time from the corner of his eye, Tony saw a cell phone or two pointed their direction. He didn’t mind—the way he saw it, maybe Baldwin would see the pictures and realize that what he and Claire were experiencing wasn’t purely for show. Even Claire admitted as much while they danced.
As the guests began to thin out, Tony suggested they head back to the estate. Although she looked disappointed to leave their friends, Claire didn’t argue. She truly had the reticent and genteel in the presence of others down pat. Tony hoped that they’d all be together again soon. The day—no, the entire weekend—had exceeded his expectations. The only flaw that ate away at him was the break-in at Claire’s condominium.
During the reception, Tony had received an email:
To: Anthony Rawlings
From: Phillip Roach
Subject: Ms. Nichols
Date: June 8, 2013
I’ve confirmed with security at Ms. Nichols’ condominium: her unit was indeed breached. It wasn’t until the perpetrator was leaving her unit that security devices indicated a violation. Until Ms. Nichols can confirm that the only item taken was her laptop, it is safe to assume, since her room was the only one disturbed, she was the intended target.
According to the records of my indicators, the front door to her condo was opened Friday, June 7, at 20:15. The violation was noted when the door once again opened at 20:27. Security cameras did not show a clear picture of the person in question. It appears to be a man who’s bald or balding. I will increase my surveillance and report any suspicious activity.
Please confirm the time and place of Ms. Nichols’ arrival. I know her reservations have been changed. I will look for the new times and places.
Thank you.
Tony didn’t mention it during the festivities, but once they were alone in the car, he wanted to know more about the contents of her computer. “Have you spoken to anyone from Palo Alto lately?”
“I haven’t even looked at my phone since we left for the wedding. Why? Has something else happened?”
“Not to my knowledge; however, my source tells me that the intruder to your unit was not interrupted. His only intention was to access your room and take your laptop.”
Tony watched from his peripheral vision as Claire contemplated his words. Finally, she asked, “Why would anyone want my laptop?”
“What was on it?”
“I don’t know… my bank accounts, my travel itinerary…”
Tony was immediately glad he’d cancelled her flight. He didn’t want this intruder knowing Claire’s plans. He refocused as she continued. “…information about your past, and a rough draft from Meredith about her boo—articles.”
He gripped the steering wheel trying to temper his tone. “I thought this stupid Meredith Banks thing was over?”
“It is,” she replied. “With the money you gave me to give her, she’ll keep it quiet, unless, as you and I agreed, something happens to me or someone I care about.”
He tried to process the contents. “What do you have regarding my past?”
Fidgeting against the leather seat, she answered, “Seriously, I’ve spent so much time on this; it’s hard to condense it into an elevator pitch.”
“Give it a try,” his tone dripped with sarcasm. “I’m sure you can do it.”
Claire inhaled. “Fine. I confirmed Nathaniel and Sharron Rawls had a son named Samuel. He married a woman named Amanda; they had a son named Anton, born February 12, 1965—the same day as you. That, plus a picture in Newsweek showing your grandfather’s home confirmed to me that you were indeed Anton.”
“Well, you know that’s true. Why are you continuing this research?”
“I really don’t want to discuss this… please?”
“Despite your suspicions, I had nothing to do with the break-in. I need to know what the perpetrator now knows.”
“My computer is password-protected. No one besides me can access it.”
He didn’t speak, but looked at her, questioning her secure laptop. He assumed it was password protected with PASSWORD123 or her birthdate—some fail-safe, impenetrable barrier.