Behind His Eyes: Truth
Page 66
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He contemplated telling her how none of this would’ve happened if she’d just stayed in Iowa. The words were right there, wanting to come out; instead, he tenderly wrapped his arm around her shoulder and pulled her into his embrace. Nearing his lips to her ear, he whispered, “Thank you for letting me.”
She didn’t respond verbally; the squeezing of his hand as she molded against his side was enough. Tony scanned each corner of the quiet garage as they walked toward the elevator. Until they recovered Claire’s laptop, there was no guarantee of safety. Tony was certain that Chester’s accomplice was the one sending the flowers. They’d accessed Claire’s information on her computer and now this person was setting them up. The question was what did he want? Was it money to keep the past buried? Would he try to finish what Chester started? Tony didn’t know, and that uncertainty was hell.
When the elevator doors opened to an empty lift, Tony let out his breath. Every face and every person was suspect. Tony refused to trust anyone until he had Claire home. Silence prevailed until they entered the presidential suite and Tony scanned the empty living room. Dark sky filled the large windows with lights from below. The view reminded him of the late hour. “Perhaps we should order some food?” he asked.
“I just want a shower and some sleep,” Claire replied, as she walked toward the bedroom.
Tony secured the locks on the suite door and watched Claire disappear into the bedroom. Although he’d love to help her with that shower, an overwhelming sense of relief caused him to stagger forward. It was the first time since Roach’s call that Tony had felt a semblance of control. Whether it was the helplessness of the thousands of miles of distance, the inability to visit her hospital room and know her condition, or the dead ends regarding the sender of the threatening flowers, the sense of impotence was stifling. For days and nights, every muscle and fiber of his being had been wound tight. No wonder he hadn’t been able to sleep.
Entering the bedroom, Tony heard the shower running and saw the light stream from the bathroom across the darkened carpet. Nearing the slightly ajar door, he fought the urge to open it wider when his shoes encountered something on the floor. It was Claire’s jeans—no, not just her jeans. On the floor near the bed were all of Claire’s clothes, lying in a pile, left behind, as if she’d evaporated into thin air. His heart clenched at the thought; he wouldn’t lose her again.
The warm steam infiltrated the coolness of the air-conditioned room as he reached for her jeans. Nestled within the denim was a pair of lace panties. It wasn’t a conscious decision, more a reflex; nonetheless, without thinking, Tony fingered the small bow and inhaled her scent.
The relief, which moments earlier had filled his tired body, vanished, and memories of the last terrible week came crashing down, buckling his knees, and forcing him to sit on the edge of the king-sized bed. His mind swirled with questions: What if Chester had succeeded? What if Claire had died? Roach was supposed to keep her safe! Tony swore he’d never entrust that job to anyone else, ever again. Why hadn’t Claire listened? He told her he wanted her with him in Iowa—only there could he ensure her safety. Relentlessly gripping the lace, his mind relived the phone calls: first with Roach and then with Baldwin.
Baldwin. Harrison Baldwin. Harry.
Tony looked down at the twisted lace in his hands and threw it to the ground with a sigh. If he’d held it any longer, he probably would have torn the panties to shreds. Pacing about the dark room, he listened to the repetitive beat of the water from the nearby shower as the floral scent of shampoo penetrated the air around him. If he went into the bathroom now he’d most definitely scare Claire away. Hell, the rage rushing through his veins frightened him; he couldn’t let her see it.
The cause of this bubbling fury wasn’t only Chester. It wasn’t just the threat of someone else, some accomplice. Those were beyond Claire’s control. After all, Chester went after Claire because of him. Just like the accident, the attack was his fault. They would find this accomplice, and in the meantime, Claire would be safe in Iowa.
What accelerated Tony’s heartbeat and dyed the room a sickening shade of crimson was in Claire’s control. It had been. Tony acknowledged that she didn’t ask to be Chester’s target; however, she had willingly accepted Harrison Baldwin’s advances.
The sound of silence overtook the room. Claire had turned off the shower. The sudden stillness pulled Tony from his internal tirade. Somewhere within his senses he acknowledged that his anger toward her wasn’t fair. After all, he divorced her. Nevertheless, as he stood silently in the dark bedroom waiting for the bathroom door to open, his mind filled with thoughts of her with him. His back straightened and muscles tensed as he prepared for the confrontation. If she entered the room now, it was meant to happen.
Claire didn’t emerge. The sound of water running in the sink came to his ears. Closing his eyes, images of her with Baldwin ran loops through his mind. Tony knew what it was like to be with Claire. In these new images, he replaced himself with Baldwin. The temperature of the room continued to rise.
How could she?
The realization hit him. What was he thinking? Was he seriously going to confront Claire in her condition? Not only was she healing from an assault, she was pregnant with his child. His child! Their child!
Abruptly, he turned toward the hall, exited the bedroom, and closed the door. In his heart of hearts, Tony knew the confrontation should never occur. It would not end well. If he wanted Claire in Iowa—willingly—he’d have to accept the past and move on. That was much more difficult to do than say. His whole life had been about the past. What had that given him? Nothing. An empty envelope. Now they had hope of a future—if he didn’t ruin it.
She didn’t respond verbally; the squeezing of his hand as she molded against his side was enough. Tony scanned each corner of the quiet garage as they walked toward the elevator. Until they recovered Claire’s laptop, there was no guarantee of safety. Tony was certain that Chester’s accomplice was the one sending the flowers. They’d accessed Claire’s information on her computer and now this person was setting them up. The question was what did he want? Was it money to keep the past buried? Would he try to finish what Chester started? Tony didn’t know, and that uncertainty was hell.
When the elevator doors opened to an empty lift, Tony let out his breath. Every face and every person was suspect. Tony refused to trust anyone until he had Claire home. Silence prevailed until they entered the presidential suite and Tony scanned the empty living room. Dark sky filled the large windows with lights from below. The view reminded him of the late hour. “Perhaps we should order some food?” he asked.
“I just want a shower and some sleep,” Claire replied, as she walked toward the bedroom.
Tony secured the locks on the suite door and watched Claire disappear into the bedroom. Although he’d love to help her with that shower, an overwhelming sense of relief caused him to stagger forward. It was the first time since Roach’s call that Tony had felt a semblance of control. Whether it was the helplessness of the thousands of miles of distance, the inability to visit her hospital room and know her condition, or the dead ends regarding the sender of the threatening flowers, the sense of impotence was stifling. For days and nights, every muscle and fiber of his being had been wound tight. No wonder he hadn’t been able to sleep.
Entering the bedroom, Tony heard the shower running and saw the light stream from the bathroom across the darkened carpet. Nearing the slightly ajar door, he fought the urge to open it wider when his shoes encountered something on the floor. It was Claire’s jeans—no, not just her jeans. On the floor near the bed were all of Claire’s clothes, lying in a pile, left behind, as if she’d evaporated into thin air. His heart clenched at the thought; he wouldn’t lose her again.
The warm steam infiltrated the coolness of the air-conditioned room as he reached for her jeans. Nestled within the denim was a pair of lace panties. It wasn’t a conscious decision, more a reflex; nonetheless, without thinking, Tony fingered the small bow and inhaled her scent.
The relief, which moments earlier had filled his tired body, vanished, and memories of the last terrible week came crashing down, buckling his knees, and forcing him to sit on the edge of the king-sized bed. His mind swirled with questions: What if Chester had succeeded? What if Claire had died? Roach was supposed to keep her safe! Tony swore he’d never entrust that job to anyone else, ever again. Why hadn’t Claire listened? He told her he wanted her with him in Iowa—only there could he ensure her safety. Relentlessly gripping the lace, his mind relived the phone calls: first with Roach and then with Baldwin.
Baldwin. Harrison Baldwin. Harry.
Tony looked down at the twisted lace in his hands and threw it to the ground with a sigh. If he’d held it any longer, he probably would have torn the panties to shreds. Pacing about the dark room, he listened to the repetitive beat of the water from the nearby shower as the floral scent of shampoo penetrated the air around him. If he went into the bathroom now he’d most definitely scare Claire away. Hell, the rage rushing through his veins frightened him; he couldn’t let her see it.
The cause of this bubbling fury wasn’t only Chester. It wasn’t just the threat of someone else, some accomplice. Those were beyond Claire’s control. After all, Chester went after Claire because of him. Just like the accident, the attack was his fault. They would find this accomplice, and in the meantime, Claire would be safe in Iowa.
What accelerated Tony’s heartbeat and dyed the room a sickening shade of crimson was in Claire’s control. It had been. Tony acknowledged that she didn’t ask to be Chester’s target; however, she had willingly accepted Harrison Baldwin’s advances.
The sound of silence overtook the room. Claire had turned off the shower. The sudden stillness pulled Tony from his internal tirade. Somewhere within his senses he acknowledged that his anger toward her wasn’t fair. After all, he divorced her. Nevertheless, as he stood silently in the dark bedroom waiting for the bathroom door to open, his mind filled with thoughts of her with him. His back straightened and muscles tensed as he prepared for the confrontation. If she entered the room now, it was meant to happen.
Claire didn’t emerge. The sound of water running in the sink came to his ears. Closing his eyes, images of her with Baldwin ran loops through his mind. Tony knew what it was like to be with Claire. In these new images, he replaced himself with Baldwin. The temperature of the room continued to rise.
How could she?
The realization hit him. What was he thinking? Was he seriously going to confront Claire in her condition? Not only was she healing from an assault, she was pregnant with his child. His child! Their child!
Abruptly, he turned toward the hall, exited the bedroom, and closed the door. In his heart of hearts, Tony knew the confrontation should never occur. It would not end well. If he wanted Claire in Iowa—willingly—he’d have to accept the past and move on. That was much more difficult to do than say. His whole life had been about the past. What had that given him? Nothing. An empty envelope. Now they had hope of a future—if he didn’t ruin it.
