Convicted - Romig Aleatha (читать книги полностью без сокращений .TXT) 📗
Tony stared at the picture—Claire and Baldwin with their hands entwined. Tony didn’t know what else was said. The rest of their conversation vanished behind a rush of rage. In hindsight, it was a good thing Baldwin made his federal status known. If he hadn’t, Tony might have been able to add bodily harm of a federal agent to his resume. Before Tony left the pub, he turned back to Baldwin and asked, “One question, asshole, was Claire some kind of informant—an assignment?”
It was the first sign of true emotion Tony saw on Baldwin’s face as he replied, “At first, she was, but it became more.”
Walking away, Tony contemplated his question and Baldwin’s answer. Although Tony wanted to lay him out and wondered if Claire knew she started out as some FBI project, as he settled into the cab, Tony realized, he was no better than Baldwin. The relationship he started with Claire wasn’t meant to be personal either; then, in the midst of his epiphany, the door to the cab opened. Tony started to speak, to ask the man to leave, when suddenly, Tony recognized him—Phillip Roach, the private detective he’d fired; the one who failed to protect Claire.
Education had always been important to Tony. He finished his bachelor’s and master’s with honors. Whenever possible, he read, researched, and acquired knowledge; however, in the past twelve hours, he’d been told by three different people that they possessed information he needed to learn. By the time Roach entered his cab, Tony’s receptiveness to tutelage ceased to exist.
After they entered Tony’s suite, Roach told him a story. If Tony hadn’t been one of the major players, then he would’ve thought the man was crazy, yet every date—every instance—and every detail—was verifiable in Tony’s mind. Tony had an uncanny ability to remember dates, names, and conversations. Somehow, through Roach’s story, everything he knew and believed took on new meaning.
Roach explained that he was the one to mail the gifts and cards to the Rawls—Nichols baby. He was the one who purposely breached the estate’s security and tried to run Clay off the road. He emphasized that on no occasion was Claire ever in danger. It was all a ploy to create fear and suspicion.
When Tony asked why, Roach’s answer was simple. “It was a job—Ms. London hired me.” The story of the laptop made Tony’s stomach turn. He couldn’t believe it had been in his own closet.
Yes, Claire should’ve waited and talked to him, but hearing it from Roach, seeing this new perspective, Tony’s heart broke for the woman he loved. He understood—Claire was too frightened to wait. It pained him that at that moment—she was frightened of him; however, that’s how it was meant to be—how Catherine planned it. Roach also explained that Claire defended Tony to Evergreen and Baldwin. He also mentioned how Baldwin caught her off guard.
Taking the time to listen and consider the timeline, Tony understood Claire’s reasoning and justified her fear. It was then that he remembered the phone call and reevaluated her words: Tony, I made a mistake—many mistakes. I believed someone else—instead of trusting you—and living up to our promise. I’ve learned the truth, and I want you to know that I trust you and that I’m so sorry. After everything—she still wanted him—and he’d hung up on her.
Now, as he and Phil approached her hiding place, he knew that the two of them had much to discuss, so much to say. He could’ve tried to call; however, he didn’t want to give her the opportunity to tell him to stay away. Honestly, he feared she would—the possibility still existed. Technically, he could argue that it was his money that bought the island, but he wouldn’t. Tony wanted to see Claire—to look into her eyes and tell her the truth. If she wouldn’t listen, then he’d leave.
Above all, Tony wanted to hold Claire in his arms, tell her how sorry he was, and how much he loved her. As the plane neared the water, Anthony Rawlings hoped she would give him that opportunity.
After an afternoon in the orchards, Claire took a leisurely swim, sunbathed by the pool, read, and napped. When Madeline woke her, she showered and readied for dinner. It was a variation on her normal routine, and with everything considered, Claire didn’t think it was too bad.
Running her fingers down the fabric of her pink sundress, Claire pondered her dinner companions. It wasn’t like she needed to look good for Madeline and Francis. It was an ingrained behavior—dinner meant formal. Truly, Claire enjoyed that. It was the climax to her day. Securing the shell necklace, she observed her hair—pulled up with ringlets of blonde and brown hanging down over her neck. In only a few weeks, the sun had successfully lightened her hair. Claire smirked, of course, what did she expect by living this close to the equator?
As they were about to sit down to eat, the sound of an airplane filled their ears. Where only moments earlier the sound of birds and surf dominated, now the roar of propellers amplified over the island. Claire’s first thought was Phil. Who else would know their way to her island?
When she stood, Francis placed his hand on her arm. Claire stopped as he warned, “Madame el, it is better if you wait to see.”
Instinctively, she hugged her midsection and nodded. Standing on the lanai, she looked down at the lagoon. As she watched the small plane land on the sparkling water, she felt her heartbeat in her throat. The landing and stopping of the propeller seemed to take hours rather than minutes. Perhaps it was the anticipation of greeting the first plane to land in the lagoon since Claire arrived, or more likely, her excitement at again seeing a familiar face. Regardless of the reason, Claire stood on the lanai with baited breath. It wasn’t until she saw Phil emerge from the small vessel, that she allowed herself to smile.
Losing her heeled shoes, Claire ran down the path, toward the shore. The green vegetation, colorful flowers, and lush trees hid her view of the beach. She was just about to call out—to shout to Phil—when she emerged from the foliage. As her bare feet hit the beach, they stopped and slowly sank into the soft sand.
Stalling under an arch of flowers and vines, Claire experienced one of those moments where time stood still—the sun and moon forgot their roles—the earth no longer turned—and the tides no longer ebbed or flowed. She stood speechless as a second passenger emerged from the plane and stepped toward the path. When he looked up, he stopped mid-step. Claire bravely met his gaze, taking in the darkest, most intense eyes she’d ever known.
Claire knew she’d seen every emotion in those eyes—from anger to adoration. Currently, she saw a mixture of apprehension and desire. With each second, desire overpowered apprehension—desire overpowered—everything—everything else—everywhere.
Perhaps there were stars falling, volcanoes erupting, or epic winds blowing. Truthfully, at that moment, the entire world could’ve been lost and neither one would have known. Later, when she reflected, Claire believed Phil had been speaking. He was giving reason or explanations—at the time, all Claire heard was the beating of her heart—maybe, just maybe, it was their baby’s heart. No matter, the whoosh—whoosh was what filled her ears and her consciousness. Unable to move, Claire stood, waiting for Tony to make his way to her.
Tears filled her eyes and spontaneously escaped her lids as she watched each elegant step. How could a world as perfect as the paradise, where she’d been living, have been lacking? In the last moments, seeing Tony gracefully move toward her, Claire knew her sphere was now whole.
