“We should?”
“Do you want her living on the street?”
“That’s not what I mean. She has a sister.”
“I’m not defending her choice.”
“I would hope not,” Catherine quipped. “We both know that choices aren’t her strong suit.”
“Then perhaps she needs guidance.”
“And I suppose you know a willing teacher?”
“I have work in California next week.”
She lifted a brow. “Work?”
“Yes, I have subsidiaries on the West Coast that need my attention.”
Catherine nodded. “I’m surprised it took you so long.”
“I’d go now, after these latest pictures, but Claire’s going out of town tomorrow—to Texas.”
“Texas? By herself?”
“That’s what Roach said, but of course, he’ll be there, too. So we’ll find out exactly what she’s doing.”
“And when you’re in California…?” Catherine probed.
Tony straightened his shoulders. “Do you want me to say it? Do you want to hear it?”
“Anton, I want you to admit it to yourself.”
“Fine! I want to put her on my plane, bring her back here, and convince her that this is where she belongs.” He sighed. “I want her to want to be here, to admit that she’s miserable in California. I want…” His words trailed away as he maximized the pictures on his screen.
As he gazed at Claire’s expression in picture after picture, Catherine’s voice infiltrated his thoughts. “She’s all over the Internet. If she suddenly went missing, it would be noticed.”
He ran his hand over his cheeks, rubbing his stubbly growth. “I know. I know that I can’t do that again. She needs to realize it on her own, and I don’t know…” He couldn’t complete the sentence. Anthony Rawlings rarely admitted lack of knowledge, but he honestly didn’t know. He didn’t know what to do to make her understand. He looked up at Catherine’s gray eyes and knew that she saw through him. The two of them had been through too much together.
“She knows you.” Catherine’s voice softened. “Perhaps better than you know yourself. You need to help her understand what she knows.”
Tony nodded. “What if… if she doesn’t want to know?”
“She does. She wants to know more about you and why things happened the way they did.”
His brows lifted. “How do you know that?”
“I know you don’t see me as one, but Anton, I’m a woman.”
“I know you’re a woman. What does that have to do—”
“I know what it’s like to be an outsider in this household. She lived here for almost two years, and yet never knew the family secrets. She never knew the why.”
“She’ll hate us forever if she knows. I can’t—”
Catherine’s head shook from side to side. “You underestimated her ability to survive. You underestimated her ability to get to you. Don’t underestimate her ability to understand.” She started walking toward the door.
“Marie.”
She turned toward him with an unspoken question.
“I want her back.” His voice was barely audible as he choked back unwanted emotion.
“I know.”
“She’s mine.”
Catherine smiled. “Remind her.”
He looked back at the screen. Baldwin’s hand was on Claire’s lower back. If she weren’t leaving for Texas in the morning, Tony would fly to Palo Alto immediately; instead, he emailed his personal shopper and instructed her to order Claire a new outfit. He’d have it delivered with a note informing her of their impending date. He’d given up trying to reach her by phone—she refused to answer the number Roach had given him. That was fine. He’d sent flowers to let her know that he knew her address. Now, he’d send this. Tony would get through to her one way or the other.
The best thing you can do is the right thing; the next best thing you can do is the wrong thing; the worst thing you can do is nothing.
—Theodore Roosevelt
Finding a plausible excuse to visit the West Coast wasn’t difficult. Rawlings Industries had subsidiaries all over the world. Tony was aware of these companies, followed them, and contacted them regularly, mostly from a distance. No doubt, some of the directors sitting around the conference table in San Francisco were less than comfortable with the parent company’s CEO’s sudden personal interest. It didn’t matter. Anthony Rawlings could conduct the web conference from Rawlings headquarters, his estate, or a conference room in California. He could do whatever he damn well wanted.
He’d made that clear to Shelly, his publicist, during an earlier telephone conversation.
“Mr. Rawlings, you—we—have worked diligently to distance you from Ms. Nichols. In case you forgot, she was incarcerated for your attempted murder. Besides, you’ve moved on. I mean, just a little over a week ago you were photographed with Dr. Newman’s daughter, Angela. The acceptance numbers in Iowa were through the roof. The people of your home state were abuzz with the idea of Anthony Rawlings with Angela Newman. The two of you are both considered Iowa royalty.”
“Shelly, while I appreciate your hard work, and I pay you extremely well to do your job, my personal life is my business.”
“Sir, you know that’s not true. Everything you do is watched. Right now, everything Ms. Nichols does is watched. I’ve been following the reports and even have a continual search running. Mr. Rawlings, her Klout score is through the roof. Everyone is talking about her. She was even mentioned on one of the late night—”