“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.