With the necklace in his hand, Tony settled upon the soft leather sofa in front of his fireplace. If Phillip Roach were correct, in a few moments he’d hear the voice that used to fill his suite and his house. When her voice came through his phone, Tony wanted to feel her presence. He imagined the sound as he looked up at her wedding portrait and saw the emerald green that haunted his dreams. What did he want to hear? He wanted to know she was safe and unharmed. He wanted to know where she was, and he also wanted to bring her back to Iowa—because that was where she belonged.
It didn’t make sense. To the world she was the woman who tried to kill him. To Tony she was more than that. The past twenty hours had proven it. She was his drug. Claire Nichols ran through his system like ecstasy, sending him on otherwise unobtainable highs. He reasoned that lows followed highs, and she’d given him those, too; they’d given them to each other. Nevertheless, without the right stimulant, the euphoria could never again be achieved. Whether it was elation or misery, neither would be obtainable without the exhilarating potency of Claire. He didn’t want an empty envelope. He wanted her. Nathaniel was wrong: Claire wasn’t gone; she was just misplaced.
For the last twenty-four hours, his entire being had surged with anticipation. Claire may not understand it—hell, Tony didn’t understand it, but he couldn’t deny it. Now that she was gone, he needed her back in his life, and he would have her.
Tony shook his head. He was acting like a heartsick schoolboy. He squared his shoulders and exhaled. The telephone number from Roach was already programmed into his phone, and of course, his number was blocked. The clock read 9:47 PM. Tony honestly didn’t know for sure where he was calling. Roach suspected California, and if that were the case, it would be two hours earlier there. Momentarily, Tony contemplated a drink to calm his nerves. No, the only drug he wanted was unknowingly waiting for his call.
The small cream-colored pearl swung from his finger like a pendulum, keeping rhythm with the ringing phone. When the ringing stopped, time stood still. The anticipation was over. Claire’s voice came through loud and clear.
“Hello?”
It electrified him from head to toe.
Relief. Hurt. Love. Loss.
Her greeting was a torpedo hitting the dam he’d built around his memories. His mind flooded. He was back in time to her first coherent night at the estate. Even in her shocked condition, Claire stood tall—for her—and defiant. No longer was Tony seeing the woman in the designer wedding gown. No, behind his closed eyes, he saw Claire Nichols—his acquisition.
“Good evening, Claire.” He greeted her in a tone drenched in debonair swagger. As he awaited Claire’s response, Tony heard other voices. When she didn’t respond, he continued, “Now Claire, we’ve been through this before. It is customary for one person to respond to the greeting of another. I said, good evening.”
“Hello.”
He grinned at the change in her tone. Undoubtedly, his call took her by surprise. “Very good,” Tony praised. “I thought perhaps we would need to review common pleasantries.”
Momentary silence gave way to her stronger declaration. “Good-bye, Tony.”
His cheeks rose higher, listening to her rediscovered strength. Tony pictured his ex-wife squaring her shoulders with fire blazing in the depths of her emerald eyes. She wasn’t broken. “Claire, you should know that I learned of your release less than twenty-four hours ago. As you can hear, I already have your telephone number. How long do you think it will take for me to learn your location?”
“It seems as though you have lost the ability to perceive meaning. Good-bye means this conversation is over. For the record, that includes future conversations. I’m sure you remember, once a discussion is closed, reopening it is not an option.”
A hearty laugh resonated through his suite. Tony couldn’t contain his amusement. “I have always admired your strength. Such a brave speech from someone hiding across the country…” He didn’t know for sure when she disconnected her phone. All Tony knew was that the line went dead. In a previous life, at a different time, he would’ve been irate that Claire—or anyone—would have had the audacity to hang up on him. Times change; Claire’s action was a challenge, one he gleefully accepted.
Once again, Tony dialed the number. This time it went to voice mail. No, her spirit wasn’t broken. If anything, she was stronger than before. He sent a text.
“ONLY I CLOSE DISCUSSIONS. THIS ONE IS STILL OPEN. I LOOK FORWARD TO RESUMING IT IN PERSON…”
And oh, he did! Tony didn’t know when, but he knew for sure that one day soon he’d be seeing the fire in those beautiful eyes and not in a picture. He would witness it firsthand.
Sighing, he reviewed their findings: the cancelled airline ticket to San Francisco and a California area code on the cell number. Tony scrolled through his recent calls for Phillip Roach’s number and called. The investigator answered on the first ring.
“Mr. Rawlings?”
“Mr. Roach, I wanted to confirm that the number you gave me is indeed Ms. Nichols’. It seems that the trail is pointing west. I’ll cover all your expenses. I want you to find Claire Nichols, and I want her found yesterday.”
Disconnecting the line, Tony sat silently and stared at the portrait. He hadn’t expected her early release from prison, but now that she was out, he was ready to reclaim what was his. Smirking, he considered her cell number, her cell number. Could she have her own computer or car? Perhaps she’s accumulating debt? That tool had worked well before. He mused, “My, only two weeks removed from prison and so independent.”