Behind His Eyes: Truth, Page 2

  Brent answered with a hushed tone. “What is it, Tony?”

  “She’s gone! She’s fuck’n gone!”

  “Who? Who’s gone?”

  “Claire! Bosley pardoned her—two weeks ago!” Tony’s knees gave way as his tired body collapsed on the sofa. He’d thought about her. He’d received updates on her, but until that moment, he hadn’t said her first name—not since he learned of her allegations. Her blatant violation of his most basic rule relegated her back to the world of Ms. Nichols. Whenever she was mentioned in his presence, he required that she be discussed as Ms. Nichols, even before their divorce; however, tonight everything changed—his Claire was gone!

  Brent stuttered, “T-Tony, I don’t know what to say? I mean, I read the names of the people Bosley pardoned. That list didn’t contain Ms. Nichols’ name.”

  “That’s what Preston wanted to tell me. Somehow her name wasn’t disclosed, but now the press has it. Tomorrow the whole damn world will know that she’s been pardoned.”

  “Where is she?”

  Tony ran his hands through his hair. “I don’t know. Shit—Preston doesn’t know. Jane Allyson did this. I want her in my office first thing tomorrow morning, and I want Claire found.”

  Brent sighed. “Because…”

  “Because…” Tony stammered. He couldn’t tell Brent the truth—that he’d never lost track of her in ten years. “Because, she tried to kill me. What if I’m in danger?”

  “Of course. Have you notified your security team?”

  No, he hadn’t. He hadn’t done anything. “I called you first. How long will it take for you to hire a private investigator from your list and track her down?”

  Brent replied. “I’ll get on it first thing in the morning—”

  “Now!” Tony yelled. “I want her found by morning!” He heard Courtney’s concerned voice in the background.

  “Okay, Tony,” Brent reassured. “I’ll get right on it. I’ll also call Patricia and have her get a hold of Jane Allyson.”

  “There has to be some legal recourse, right? I mean, you can fight this—legally?”

  Brent hesitated. “I’ll need to see the paperwork. If Jane made any mistakes in her petition, maybe—”

  Tony shook his head. If? Maybe? “That’s unacceptable! I want something done immediately. This injustice needs to be rectified.”

  “Tony, Courtney wants to know if you’re all right?”

  “Tell her that I’m fuck’n great.” The energy that had momentarily fueled Tony’s rage faded into the black night. Holding his head, Tony sighed. “The damn press will have a field day.”

  “Patricia will contact Shelly. She’ll do all she can.”

  Tony nodded. He had a great team. His people would rally around him. “Give me an update in the morning.” Not having the strength to wait for a response, Tony hit DISCONNECT. Two weeks—where in the hell was she? His mind searched for possibilities: people, places, anything.

  “Indiana?”

  Tony looked up at the sound of Catherine’s voice. His dark eyes glared, daring her to say another word as she eased her way through the partially open door. “What in the hell are you doing in my office?”

  “I heard you yelling, and, well, you’ve been acting strangely lately. I wanted to be sure you’re all right. Are you?”

  He forced an unnatural laugh. “That seems to be the question of the day. No, no, I’m not. I’m also not prepared to talk about it, especially with you.”

  Catherine relaxed her stance and sat on a chair near the sofa. “Why not me? You can talk to me. I’m the only person you can talk to about her, and besides, I’d like to know more.”

  Tony’s darkening eyes burned toward her. “How do you know this is about her?”

  “Like I said, I heard you yelling. You said her name.”

  Tony ran his hands over his stubbly face and exhaled. “Not tonight, Catherine. I don’t even fuck’n know what to say.” He stood and walked to his desk. Turning back around, his tone regained its earlier intensity. “Claire is gone, but since you just offered a possible location, you probably already knew that. When did you find out?”

  “Just moments ago.” Her eyes opened wide. “Like I said, I heard you speaking to Mr. Simmons.”

  “You don’t seem too concerned.”

  She shrugged. “I am. I’m concerned about you, about the fact that you still have her picture hanging in your suite, and that you look more worried than upset.”

  Tony glared. “Then looks can be deceiving, because I’m definitely upset—no, I’m outraged!” His volume increased. “Richard Bosley screwed me over. He pardoned her two weeks ago and hid it all.”

  “Pardoned?”

  “Yes! Did you miss that little bit of information during your eavesdropping endeavor? She was pardoned. Her crime, plea, and sentence are gone! It’s like it never happened. Like suddenly I was never lying in a hospital bed fighting for my life.”

  Catherine bristled slightly in her chair. They’d had more than a few words over his condition following the poisoning. “Anton,” she said, softly, “what are you going to do?”

  “I’m going to find her!”

  “Remember, she left you. You offered her an alternative, and she dismissed it. Do you think she wants to be found? And even if you find her, what will you do then?”

  With his jaw tightly clenched, Tony poured another drink. Silence enveloped the regal office as Catherine’s gray eyes stared, and Tony contemplated his answer. Did Claire want to be found? Obviously not, or he would know her location. What was he going to do after he found her? Tony didn’t know the answer to that, either. Closing his eyes, he fought the bombardment of emotions. There were too many, coming too fast and too conflicting. Rage, uncertainty, worry, anger, hurt—the list could go on and on. Tony couldn’t identify what he was feeling, much less discuss it.

  After he swallowed the alcohol, Tony slammed the helpless tumbler on his desk and glared. “If I remember correctly, I told you that I didn’t want to discuss this—with anyone. That includes you.”

  Catherine pressed her lips into a straight line, stood, and walked toward the door. As she reached for the handle, she looked back. “In case you don’t know… the answer is no. But you could change that.”

  His brows knitted together. “What answer?”

  “Does she want to be found?” Catherine answered.

  “I said that I didn’t—”

  Catherine interrupted, “I asked you if Claire wanted to be found. The answer is no, but she’s good for you. Despite the fact that she’s a Nichols and she left you… at one time, she was good for you.”

  Tony collapsed into his chair. The emotions and liquor were taking hold. “Good for me? What about me? Was I good for her?”

  Catherine diverted her gaze to the floor. When she resumed eye contact, she shrugged. “In some ways, but you could be better for each other. I know you could. You just have to show her that.”

  He closed his eyes. He and Claire could be good together. Tony knew that—they had been. When he opened his eyes, Catherine was gone.

  If you are looking for answers, you’d better choose the question carefully.

  —Javier Bardem

  Even before sunrise, the corporate offices of Rawlings Industries buzzed with activity as people swarmed about. Tony nodded to his assistant and motioned toward his office as he passed her desk. Moments later, he listened as Patricia updated him on their progress.

  “Shelly has been working since the middle of the night, but it doesn’t seem as though she’ll be able to stop the media blitz regarding Ms. Nichols’ release. It’s already started.”

  Tony’s indifferent expression failed to hide the displeasure radiating from his dark eyes.

  Patricia looked away and removed a page from a file. “Here,” she said, as she handed it toward her boss. “This is what she’s been able to add to the public information.”

  Tony read:

  Mr. Anthony Rawlings is stunne
d by this turn of events. He has no further comment at this time.

  He looked up and met his assistant’s gaze. “What about Jane Allyson? When will she arrive?”

  “I’ve left numerous messages, both on her office voice mail and her personal cell phone. I’ll let you know as soon as I learn anything.”

  A knock on the door’s frame refocused their attention. The circles under Brent’s weary eyes and his wrinkled shirt said more about his lack of sleep than he’d ever admit.

  “Do you have news?” Tony asked.

  Brent nodded. “Some.”

  “If you’ll excuse me,” Patricia interrupted, “I’ll keep working to get a hold of Ms. Allyson.”

  “Let me know as soon as you do.”

  “Yes, sir,” Patricia replied, as she closed Tony and Brent inside Tony’s office.

  Making his way to one of the chairs across from Tony’s desk, Brent collapsed and wearily began. “The media is running with the story. It was first announced, very early Eastern Time, and every morning news program has enhanced it since. I understand why Preston was so anxious to talk with you. He hasn’t even been in office for two weeks, and they’re calling for an internal investigation. They’re saying that you paid to have her release covered up.”

  “That’s ridiculous.” Tony ran his hand through his hair. “I can’t cover something up that I didn’t know happened. Maybe Shelly should emphasize that?”

  “It’s up to you, but you might want to stay with no comment. I mean, the more you say, the more they’ll infer.”

  Tony stood and walked to his conference table. In the center of the table was his usual morning decanter of coffee and two cups. “Coffee?” he asked, as he poured the rich, dark liquid.

  “Yeah, man, I haven’t slept since you called.”

  Tony’s dark eyes peered over the rim of the ceramic mug.

  “I know,” Brent added. “You haven’t either. Courtney’s worried about you.”

  “Well, I’m fine. I want to know about the private eye. Who did you hire and has he or she found her?”

  Brent sighed as he filled his cup. “I hired a man named Phillip Roach. He’s good. I’ve used him before, and he’s never disappointed me. He has a great resume—military as well as private. Give him some time and he’ll find her.”

  Tony shook his head. Although he was too tired to sound hostile, determination rang loud throughout his tone. “Time is the one thing that he can’t have. Money—fine. Resources—fine. Time—no.” He set the mug down and leaned forward. “What information have you given him?”

  “The Internet was full of pictures from when the two of you were dating and married.” Brent looked sheepishly toward his friend, obviously trying not to overstep his bounds on this sensitive subject.

  Pressing his lips into a straight line, Tony nodded.

  Brent continued, “So I forwarded him some pictures and links. I also sent him Emily’s information—her address, phone number, place of work. He said he’d start there. I mean, it made sense to Cort and I that she’d go there.”

  “Yes, that was mentioned last night. I agree. She doesn’t have any money or any other resources. She has to be in Indiana.”

  Before either of them could continue, Patricia knocked and entered. “Excuse me, Mr. Rawlings, I spoke with Quinn, Ms. Allyson’s assistant. Ms. Allyson will call back in a few minutes, and I’ll find out how soon she can arrive. She’s just now getting to her office.”

  Tony glanced at his watch, 7:46 AM. “If she gets into her car now, she can be here by 10:00 AM.”

  The ring from Patricia’s phone caused her to step hastily from the office with only a nod.

  Brent leaned forward. “Well, here’s the thing. Roach has been working since I contacted him last night. He learned that on the date of her release, March 9th, Ms. Nichols had a first-class seat booked for San Francisco on American Airlines; however, less than an hour before boarding, her ticket was cancelled with no further record of her traveling.”

  Rubbing his cheeks, Tony asked, “How? How could she possibly have a first-class ticket? Who paid for it?”

  “The airline refused to disclose customer information. Roach is working on another avenue. He also found a number linked to one of those disposable, untraceable phones that has called Emily’s cell phone every day since Cla—Ms. Nichols’ release. Some days they’ve connected multiple times.”

  Tony tried to comprehend this new information. It seemed very James Bond. “Can he tell where the calls originated from?”

  “He’s working on that. He did call Emily during the night,” Brent grinned with a shrug, “or early this morning. It’s a matter of perspective. Anyway, Emily refused to divulge any information.”

  “Of course she did.” Tony said curtly, distaste for his ex-sister-in-law thick on his tongue.

  “Apparently, Emily said she didn’t know her sister’s whereabouts, had no further comment, and hung up.”

  Tony squeezed the bridge of his nose. “Where was the phone purchased?”

  “California.”

  “That doesn’t make any sense. She doesn’t know anyone in California. Maybe it’s some trick and she’s really in Indiana.”

  “Well, like I said, Roach is good. He’ll—”

  Patricia reentered. “Excuse me, again. I just got off the phone with Ms. Allyson. She claimed that her schedule is very full. She’s working on a few big trials and can’t possibly come to Iowa City for another week.”

  No longer able to restrain his emotion, the room echoed with the sound of Tony’s fist contacting the hard, shiny table. Coffee sloshed as the cups jumped. “Today! I said I wanted to speak with her today—in person—and that was what I meant. Call back. Talk to Quill or Qu—her damn assistant, and find out the details of Esquire Allyson’s schedule. If she has court today, learn the name of the presiding judge. It’s obviously in Iowa, so get the trial or hearing rescheduled. Ms. Allyson will be talking with me sooner rather than later. I’m already two weeks behind on this catastrophe. I’m sure as hell not waiting another week.”

  Patricia hurried away as Tony looked toward Brent. “That’s bullshit!” He paused for a drink of coffee. “Did Roach tell you any more?”

  “No, that’s all he had at last check. Do you want me to stay in contact with him, or would you prefer that he contacts you directly?”

  “Give him my personal cell number and email. I want to know what he knows, when he knows it.”

  Brent nodded. “I’ll get a hold of him so that he can contact you.” Brent stood.

  Tony looked at his watch. “This is ridiculous. I’m not going to get anything done until I at least talk to Jane Allyson.”

  “The woman was just doing—”

  Tony’s glare stopped Brent’s words. “If you’re about to say that she was just doing her job, then I want to know who hired her.”

  Brent feigned a smile. “I guess we wait.”

  “Hell no, I don’t wait.” He stood and straightened his jacket. “Get your things. We’re headed to Des Moines.” Yelling toward the door, Tony called, “Patricia!”

  “Yes, sir.” She peered around the frame.

  “Call the hangar and have my plane ready in thirty minutes. Mr. Simmons and I are flying to Des Moines. Then clear Ms. Allyson’s schedule, and tell her we’ll be there by 10:00 AM.”

  The tension within the cabin of the plane was palpable. Tony wanted to blame his stretched nerves on his excessive intake of caffeine, but that was only the tip of the iceberg. Wondering if he weren’t teetering on the edge of sanity, he tried to concentrate on his work and the documents before him. Instead of words, images filled his mind. They weren’t images of real life, not memories, but a dream—perhaps a nightmare.

  After Catherine left his office the night before, Tony went to his suite and tried to sleep. He knew it would be fitful, yet he had to try—for his sanity. He needed a break from the tornado of emotion whirling within him. It was in those moments of unconsciousness tha
t memories of her came back to him.

  The pale green walls of the visitor’s room were exactly as Tony remembered from his visits to his grandfather. Tony stood helplessly under the fluorescent light and watched the only door. Momentarily, he believed he’d been transported to another time. Intellectually, he knew that wasn’t possible, but what if—what if maybe—he could see Nathaniel once again? He looked down at his hands. They weren’t the hands of a twenty-three-year-old; no, he wasn’t waiting for them to bring his grandfather. He was waiting to see her!

  Even in the dream state, Tony’s knees wobbled. He reached for a chair and felt the cool metal beneath his forty-eight-year-old hand. How did he get there? He didn’t want to see Claire, not here. He couldn’t face her in a prison.

  The hiss of the light magnified as he braced himself. Why hadn’t he thought about this? Why did he wait until he had only seconds to prepare? She was in prison. Had she survived? Did this place break her spirit—the spirit he loved to bend? Or had he wanted it broken? Hadn’t that once been his goal?

  Tony’s stomach churned with the turning of the knob.

  Before the door opened, Tony remembered that this—prison—was Claire’s doing. She accepted this consequence, not him. Maybe she didn’t poison him, but she left him, their home, and their marriage. If she were a broken shell, she had no one to blame but herself!

  His shoulders squared as the door opened.

  An unfamiliar man entered. “Mr. Rawlings, the woman you seek—is gone.”

  Tony’s chest ached as the void grew, yet he stayed steady. “I’m not seeking anyone.”

  It was as if he hadn’t spoken. The man continued speaking and handed Tony an envelope. “She left this for you.” Before Tony could reply, the man went on, “She knew you’d come for her.”

  “I didn’t come for her. I don’t know why I’m here.” On the front of the envelope, in Claire’s handwriting, he read For Anthony Rawlings. It wasn’t prison-issued stationery. No, the thick linen envelope was lavish with an embossed “N.” Tony tried to reason, an “N”? Shouldn’t it be an “R”? “Where did she get such nice—” Tony looked up and the man was gone. He hadn’t heard the door, but he was definitely alone.