Convicted - Romig Aleatha (мир книг .TXT) 📗
Sophia closed her eyes and dropped her head to Derek’s shoulder.
He grasped her shoulders and pushed her back, trying to see her face. “Baby, what’s the matter? You weren’t happy about California at first, but now look at you.”
Sophia nodded. “You’re right. I wasn’t. I guess, since my parents died, this has been home.” She feigned a smile. “No—home is with you. You’re right; I can paint from anywhere, but please do me a favor?”
“Anything.”
Sophia squared her shoulders. “Let me develop my own relationships. I’ll paint and I’ll move, but don’t pair me off like a preschooler looking for friends.”
Derek embraced her once again. “I’m sorry. That’s not what I’m trying to do. I know how hard the move to Santa Clara was for you, so I was trying to make it better.”
She kissed his lips. “Don’t—it’ll be alright as long as I have you.” Quickly, Sophia added, “I know you’ll be busy and that there will be late nights. I’m more than willing to do the wife thing at events.” Under her breath, she added, “I’m not sure what kind of events occur in Iowa.” Once again louder, “Nevertheless, I will—because I love you, but you have to let me adjust at my own speed.”
“Mrs. Burke, you’re amazing. You do whatever it is you need to do. Just know that I love you, and when you’re on my arm at the Iowa City Corn Husker’s Convention, I’ll be the proudest husband in the room!”
Sophia smirked. “Oh, jeeze! Please tell me you just made that up.”
His lips brushed hers. “I did. Now, if everything is packed then I believe I have reservations in San Francisco with the most amazing woman!”
She kissed his cheek. “You do? Well, don’t let me interrupt your plans.”
Derek’s lips lingered near her ear, purposely exhaling on her exposed neck, creating goose bumps up and down her arms. “I may have even called ahead and asked for a few things to be delivered to our room. You can come too; maybe you’d like to watch?”
Sophia giggled. “I think you know me better than that. Watching has never been my thing.” Grasping his hand, she offered, “I’m much more of a participant!”
Derek smiled. “Then let’s go participate.”
As Harry’s plane taxied toward the small airport outside of San Francisco, he removed his phone from airplane mode. His thoughts volleyed between his research and Deputy Director Stevenson. Although the Deputy Director didn’t sound upset on the phone and even offered information about Claire and Rawlings’ possible destination, Harry worried about his future. He wasn’t ready to lose his badge. He’d worked too damn hard for it!
His phone began to vibrate as messages appeared on the screen. The small plane still hadn’t reached its destination on the tarmac when Harry looked down to see calls from unidentified numbers. For a split second, he thought about the new practice of solicitation on cellular phones—it was a travesty. He didn’t have time for that! Then he saw that he had messages. Tapping his voicemail icon, Harry accessed his messages.
“You have three unheard messages...” Harry entered his numerical code and waited. Just as the plane came to a stop, he heard Claire’s voice. “Hello, Harry, or Agent Baldwin, I wish I knew your real name.” The sound of her voice took his breath away. The pilot was looking at him. Harry hit 7 and saved Claire’s message.
He couldn’t get out of the plane fast enough. As he walked toward the waiting car, he replayed Claire’s message. It seemed to take forever to get through the preliminary crap. All at once the FBI terminal—the people—the waiting car—everything disappeared. Harry was hearing Claire’s voice. At the very least, hearing her voice confirmed that she was safe. He covered his other ear and listened. “Hello, Harry, or Agent Baldwin, I wish I knew your real name. I’m sorry I didn’t reach you. I won’t leave a number, but I wanted you to know—I’m fine and I’m safe. I would appreciate the assistance of the FBI, and I don’t have a lot of time. Harry...the woman in the blue Honda wasn’t Samuel Rawls’ sister—it was Catherine. The woman I’ve trusted. The woman at Tony’s estate I told you about. She’s who I’m hiding from. She killed Amanda and Samuel Rawls and maybe even others. She isn’t just after me, but she wants Tony and our child. Please have the FBI stop her.” Silence filled his ears. Momentarily, Harry wondered if Claire had hung up, but then her voice came back. “Please, Harry. I want my child to have a normal life. Where I am...it’s great...but it’s not where a child should live. Please help us and make a case against her—Catherine Marie Rawls London. Harry, she was married to Nathaniel. I need to go—bye.”
Harry stood motionless with the phone to his ear. The voice was asking if he wanted to save or erase. What a dumb question—he wanted to save! Save the message—save Claire—save her child—and save—Rawli—Harry wasn’t ready to go that far; nevertheless, he had heard the desperation in Claire’s voice. How could he have been researching this for over a year and not realize Nathaniel had a second wife?
“Agent Baldwin?”
Harry’s blue eyes focused on the world around him. He saw the man in the dark suit and heard him say his name. “Yes, I’m Agent Baldwin.”
“Please follow me, sir.”
Harry didn’t question as he followed the driver and sat in the back seat of a large black SUV. While they pulled away from the curb, Harry considered his other missed calls and hit the VOICEMAIL icon, once again.
Message two—“Baldwin—Anthony Rawlings. I intend to fully cooperate with the FBI. I know that picture was bullshit, but I’m calling. I don’t intend to make my whereabouts known until my child is born, or after. I will—I can’t now. If...if Claire ever meant more to you than a damn assignment then just let us have this. We’ll call back.”
When the line disconnected, Harry let out the breath he’d been holding. How the hell did Anthony Rawlings believe he—Harrison Baldwin—had that kind of power? Yeah, right? Like Harry could suddenly say, “Hey, let’s leave Anthony Rawlings and Claire Nichols alone before their big day—for the birth of their child.”
As the large SUV neared the San Francisco field office, Harry pulled up his third voice message—“Agent Baldwin, our car will be late; please be advised.”
We must accept finite disappointment, but never lose infinite hope.
—Martin Luther King, Jr.
Wheeling Claire’s dinner down the long, quiet corridor, Meredith contemplated Ms. Bali’s concerns and directives—Ms. Nichols underwent tests earlier in the day. Due to an unforeseen glitch, additional sedation was required. As Ms. Bali uttered the word glitch, the hairs on the back of Meredith’s neck prickled. The supervisor once said that she’d read Meredith’s book. Could she possibly understand the significance of that word? Fighting to remain stoic, Meredith continued listening. Ms. Bali explained that the tests were scheduled for the entire morning and the additional sedation resulted in prolonged hours of unresponsiveness. Ms. Nichols hadn’t eaten all day. Actually, she’d just recently awakened. Her sister had been here most of the afternoon and had only recently left, waiting until Claire was fully awake. The staff, who assisted with daily showers and hygiene, should be just about done. Mrs. Vandersol wasn’t happy with the day’s mishaps, including an entire day without nutrition. Ms. Bali couldn’t emphasize enough—Claire must eat! She also praised Meredith’s past interactions and offered her confidence in Meredith’s ability to accomplish their goal.
