“Mr. Rawlings,” the first officer said, “you have the right to remain silent. Anything you say—”
“Roach,” Tony interrupted. “Have Eric contact Rawlings Industries. I want my legal team to meet me at the police station.”
Phil nodded as they led Anthony Rawlings away, continuing his Miranda rights.
The next few minutes were a blur. Once they got Tony to the police station, his litany of crimes would come to light. It was Claire’s nightmare, the reason she hadn’t wanted him to travel to the United States. Their one-year reprieve would be null and void. The FBI would never swoop in and save them. They wouldn’t allow their family to return to paradise for the remaining nine months. Tony knew in the pit of his stomach that his time was up—at least for a while. He silently prayed that it wouldn’t take too long. He had money. He’d spend every last dime to get back to Claire and Nichol as soon as possible.
Tony’s normally quiet estate bustled with people and vehicles. Fire trucks ran long hoses through the corridors, creating an obstacle course as Officer Hastings led Tony toward the outside. His house staff stood huddled together on the bricked driveway, silently watching their runaway boss. He’d been missing for months and now he was being forced into the back of a police car—arrested. It didn’t matter that he hadn’t tried to kill Catherine: if it weren’t for the damn videotapes, he’d confess to being the one who shot her, anything to save Claire. He couldn’t bear the thought of his wife spending one day or even one hour in a prison cell. He’d done that to her once; he would move heaven and hell to stop it from happening again.
Just before settling into the back of the police car, Tony saw Emily rush toward Roach. Hatred seeped with reddening intensity as Tony took in his sister-in-law. This was all her fault. He and his family would be safe in paradise if she hadn’t been so damned determined to learn Claire’s secrets from Catherine. And now she was reaching for Nichol. Tony closed his eyes and prayed—silently demanded—for Claire to wake. She needed to be there for their daughter.
Tony stiffened his shoulders as he searched for answers. How could everything go so terribly wrong in such a short period of time? Despite the cool March Iowa air, perspiration beaded upon Tony’s brow and a wave of nausea sucked the breath from his lungs.
Brent.
Brent Simmons. Was. Dead.
Claire would wake. Tony would undoubtedly have a price to pay, but Brent was dead. Tony couldn’t buy back his friend’s life. He couldn’t alleviate the pain that Courtney must be enduring. It was all Catherine’s doing!
What about Derek Burke? What about Sophia? Red grew. Questions multiplied and lurched forward in his mind. It was all happening too fast to register. Did they find Sophia asleep upstairs? Did anyone even go look? How was she dealing with the loss of her husband? It was too much! More questions than answers raced at untold speed. The vendetta continued to snowball out of control.
Crimson covered his world!
Claire. Nichol. Brent. Courtney. Sophia.
The mental toll needed an outlet: physical release took hold. He lunged forward and purged the red as vomit splattered the floor-mat to the right of Tony’s feet.
The mystery of human existence lies not in just staying alive, but in finding something to live for.
—Fyodor Dostoyevsky
Despite the way his training screamed at Phil to disappear into the chaos, he couldn’t do it, especially not after Rawlings so trustingly placed Nichol in his arms. Phil didn’t know anything about babies, but common sense told him that the little girl with her daddy’s eyes and lungs was not happy. The saturated blanket wrapped around her tiny body had been her only protection from the icy water that had rained moments earlier from the sprinkler system as mayhem erupted all around her. Removing the wet blanket, Phil unzipped his jacket and pulled Nichol to his warm chest. Covering her again with the warm dry material, he pulled the zipper over her, all the while being cautious to avoid her fine dark hair. Almost instantly, her loud cries mellowed, her little fist found its way to her mouth, and her eyes contently closed.
Fleetingly, Phil wondered how he’d thought to hold her against his body. He was warm: she was cold. It made sense. Only a few times in his life had he been this close to a child, and every time was with Nichol. He wasn’t the type of man to show affection. It wasn’t in his DNA. Without a doubt, his comfort level was higher in setting his sights on a marked man than cradling a baby under his jacket. The other times that Phil had held Nichol were at Claire’s insistence. Shielding Nichol from the stiff breeze, he made his way out of the estate as memories surfaced of the first time Claire had placed her daughter in his arms. Nichol was only a day old and Phil had done his best to avoid Claire, Rawlings, and Nichol; however, there were only so many places to hide on an island.
Overwhelmingly, Phil had been relieved by Claire’s condition. When he risked his life to get the damn doctor to the island—if he’d been forced to admit the truth, it wasn’t to save Nichol. Phil was worried out of his mind about Claire. Getting in that boat and braving the rough seas wasn’t selfless. No, it was selfish. He couldn’t stand to stay near Claire with no ability to ease her distress. After all, he’d agreed to protect her and her child, and while on the run, he’d succeeded. The idea that his efforts had been for naught, thwarted by a tragic medical accident outside of his control, was agonizing.
On the day after Nichol’s birth, Claire was in the shade on the lanai when Phil came around the corner. He hadn’t expected her to be up and out of her room. Though tired, she looked amazing. He stood and watched as she held Nichol, seemingly in a world by herself. Contentment resonated all around her. Perhaps it was curiosity: Phil had never seen such a young baby, or just maybe it was a desire to share in a miracle of this magnitude. The reason wasn’t clear, but instead of going on to the kitchen for a bite to eat, Phil walked toward Claire and Nichol and made his presence known. He remembered her happy expression as he sat on the chaise longue near her outstretched legs.