Harry knew the beacon on his phone wasn’t deceiving or misleading as it had led him to the same structure two days in a row. Claire Nichols was within the walls of this well-known, beautiful hotel. Yesterday, with help from the bureau, he learned she wasn’t registered—at least, not under her name. The hotel had 225 guest rooms and suites; 72 rooms were registered under only a man’s name, 23 were registered under a woman’s name, and the rest had Mr. and Mrs. in the registration. The rooms and suites registered to residents of the United States were immediately eliminated for one reason or the other. That left only 174 rooms/suites as possibilities. When he remembered Claire’s near perfect Italian retort in St. Mark’s Square, Harry asked for a search of either single women or couples from Italy. Once again, the results were excessive.
Entering the very impressive lobby filled with glass chandeliers, pink marble columns, antique carpets, and gilded ceilings, Harry knew the hotel was too large to hope for another chance meeting. He also suspected that after yesterday afternoon, Claire would remain within the confines of her room. Taking in the opulence of his surroundings, Harry decided to go another direction. Obviously, Claire had funds. Once again, he called the bureau. This time, he asked for information on the suites at the Hotel Danieli, particularly the executive suites. If Claire were staying in one of the top hotels, Harry reasoned she was also staying in one of the best rooms. Within seconds, he learned all were occupied by couples; however, there was only one that caught the attention of the agent on the other end of the line. It had been retained by a couple, Mr. and Mrs. Alexander of Paderno del Grappa, Italy, for the last ten nights. There was a note on the registry indicating that Signore Alexander had recently informed the front desk that they’d be leaving first thing in the morning.
Writing down the suite number, Harry grinned. His instincts told him that he’d found her; then, without warning, his satisfaction waned. If she were registered as Signora Alexander, and Signore Alexander called the front desk, who was Signore Alexander? She acted genuinely surprised by the news of Rawlings’ emergency landing. Her reaction caused Agent Baldwin to assume she wasn’t here with Rawlings, but then he remembered the pictures at the San Francisco Bureau and wondered, could the person in question be Roach, and if it was—was their cohabitation all an act? Or could it be real?
Claire packed her luggage while trying to convince herself that leaving civilization, for a while, was the best move. Although Phil asked her to limit her baggage, she wondered how she’d get the things she needed in paradise. It wasn’t like she imagined paradise with a drugstore on the corner or a boutique just a boat ride away.
Her thoughts went back to Fiji. Claire remembered the suitcases of clothes she took with her on her honeymoon and how very few of them were ever worn. The memories warmed her and—despite her sweater and slacks—left her chilled at the same time. Sadly, Claire’s anticipation for this trip, to paradise, was significantly different; instead of love and romance, she sought peace and tranquility. It wasn’t the allure of moonlit strolls on the beach or the stone shower reprieves from the sultry humidity that Claire envisioned. It was the calmness that came with knowing you can go inside or outside without fear of danger. It was the knowledge that she had done everything—sacrificed everything—to ensure the child growing within her would be able to live in peace.
Grasping the long, gold chain that hung from her neck, Claire’s knees buckled as she sat on the edge of the king-sized bed and shed a tear—or two. With all her heart, she wanted to hear from Tony. She wanted to tell him that she hadn’t left him—she’d left because of Catherine. Claire longed to explain—to have him acknowledge her fear as real; however, part of her, a part that grew every day, also feared him. It wasn’t the fear of physical retaliation, right or wrong, she’d compartmentalized that away. No, it was the fear that he wouldn’t accept her reasoning, wouldn’t acknowledge Catherine as a threat, and wouldn’t forgive her for wavering in the trust she promised to give to him. After all, her leaving was the first flake resulting in an avalanche of problems.
Sobbing quietly behind her closed door, Claire decided, no. Catherine was the one who covered their world with the deadly depths of snow. Claire’s leaving was only the final flake to start the tumble—a simple flake, that became a small snowball, and lead to the avalanche which threatened to cover them all—forever. The last time Claire looked, stocks in Rawlings holdings were still falling, the publisher was threatening to publish her book, and Emily and John were stirring up noise and doubt at every turn. Placing her hand over her midsection, Claire felt the fluttering of butterfly wings.