Convicted
Page 174
With a tip of his head, Eric responded, “And you too, Mr. Rawlings.” It was as if Tony had been gone on a business meeting, not hiding on the other side of the world.
Once the car moved, Tony began, “Tell us what’s happening at the estate.”
“Ms. London is preoccupied with her guests. I’m sure, taking the car out for maintenance wasn’t one of her concerns.”
Phil interjected, “The limo was a smart move—dark windows.”
“Thank you, sir. I figured I can get the two of you in the garages without any issues.”
When the gates to the estate opened, the dam on Tony’s anger broke. Previously, it had been held back with thoughts and feelings he didn’t care to visit. Honestly, there were too many other concerns; however, hiding in the back of his limousine, driving through his iron gates, and onto his property—Tony saw red. He couldn’t believe he’d become the victim. He hadn’t been played by some business associate—no, he’d been victimized by the woman he’d trusted for most of his life. If he’d ever wanted revenge—it was now. The fleeting thought of killing Catherine made the tips of his lips rise. Not that he’d ever physically murdered anyone before, but with all he’d done—would the addition of justifiable homicide really matter?
When the car entered the large garage, Tony said, “I’ll wait here for your call.”
“Sir,” Eric answered. “The garage cameras, as well as those in the garage to house corridor, stopped working yesterday. We weren’t sure of the issue. Someone is coming to work on them tomorrow.”
Phil took the lead. “Smart thinking, that’ll help you and me get to the command center. While I get a feel for this fortress’s technology, you can scan the security footage and verify Ms. London’s location as well as Mrs. Burke and the Vandersols, then we’ll call Raw—Mr. Rawlings.”
It wasn’t their original plan, but Tony was obviously in line with it. Eric had never challenged Tony’s orders, and this wasn’t going to be the first time. “Very well, Mr. Rawlings, please wait for our call.”
Phil and Eric disappeared through the doorway toward the house. The silence in the empty car was deafening. By the time Phil’s text came, Tony was ready to confront whoever he saw, but with all his might—he wanted it to be Catherine.
Tony and Eric looked nothing alike, yet they did have a similar build. Wearing Eric’s jacket and cap, Tony kept his head low and walked through the corridor toward the house. Once inside, he’d likely encounter other members of the staff. His plan was to walk by—unnoticed. It took all his concentration to keep his posture dutiful—far from his normal confident gait.
When Tony passed through the kitchen, two women stood discussing the evening meal. He recognized them immediately; however, as he kept his head and eyes down, they seemed oblivious to his intrusion.
Each step toward the west corridor became more determined. The dutiful pose forgotten—Anthony Rawlings was on a mission. With his shoulders back and his head high, he advanced toward the grand double doors. This was his office—his command center. Eric’s text a few minutes earlier said that Catherine was in her suite. Tony wondered if in the time it had taken him to get to the office, if by chance he’d find her sitting at his desk. Did she too have rules about entering? Tony didn’t care. He consciously fought the red infiltrating his vision.
Not only had this woman jeopardized Claire and Nichol’s lives, she’d blatantly lied to his face. He knew he needed to control the rage—this encounter demanded diplomacy. The fleeting thought of murder was nice, but if he could play nice and save the Vandersols—then the FBI would take care of the rest. His desire for physical retaliation would only result in more time away from his family—Catherine wasn’t worth it.
Pushing the door ajar, he scanned the room. Overall, it was the same—the same cherry paneling, trim, and bookcases. His mahogany desk, which mimicked Nathaniel’s, stood facing the doorway, yet there were subtle differences—picture frames, light colored draperies, and flowers. His masculine domain had taken on a feminine hue. The door to the attached bath was closed. Slowly, he approached the barrier and laid his head upon the wooden door. The only sound he heard was silence. Tony opened the door to find an empty bathroom—Catherine wasn’t here.
As he eased himself into his chair, behind his desk—he assessed his mission. Suddenly, the pictures on the desk caught his attention. There was one of Nathaniel and Marie. He stared at his grandfather’s likeness; if someone didn’t know better—they’d think it was him. Tony had never seen the photo before, but then again, he couldn’t recall ever going into Catherine’s suite. There was another picture—one that Tony recognized. It was of Sophia as a young girl. Obviously, Catherine had found all the information he and Nathaniel had accumulated and knew that Sophia was her daughter. What kind of game was she playing with Sophia? Was it as dangerous as the one she played with Claire and him or with the Vandersols?
Once the car moved, Tony began, “Tell us what’s happening at the estate.”
“Ms. London is preoccupied with her guests. I’m sure, taking the car out for maintenance wasn’t one of her concerns.”
Phil interjected, “The limo was a smart move—dark windows.”
“Thank you, sir. I figured I can get the two of you in the garages without any issues.”
When the gates to the estate opened, the dam on Tony’s anger broke. Previously, it had been held back with thoughts and feelings he didn’t care to visit. Honestly, there were too many other concerns; however, hiding in the back of his limousine, driving through his iron gates, and onto his property—Tony saw red. He couldn’t believe he’d become the victim. He hadn’t been played by some business associate—no, he’d been victimized by the woman he’d trusted for most of his life. If he’d ever wanted revenge—it was now. The fleeting thought of killing Catherine made the tips of his lips rise. Not that he’d ever physically murdered anyone before, but with all he’d done—would the addition of justifiable homicide really matter?
When the car entered the large garage, Tony said, “I’ll wait here for your call.”
“Sir,” Eric answered. “The garage cameras, as well as those in the garage to house corridor, stopped working yesterday. We weren’t sure of the issue. Someone is coming to work on them tomorrow.”
Phil took the lead. “Smart thinking, that’ll help you and me get to the command center. While I get a feel for this fortress’s technology, you can scan the security footage and verify Ms. London’s location as well as Mrs. Burke and the Vandersols, then we’ll call Raw—Mr. Rawlings.”
It wasn’t their original plan, but Tony was obviously in line with it. Eric had never challenged Tony’s orders, and this wasn’t going to be the first time. “Very well, Mr. Rawlings, please wait for our call.”
Phil and Eric disappeared through the doorway toward the house. The silence in the empty car was deafening. By the time Phil’s text came, Tony was ready to confront whoever he saw, but with all his might—he wanted it to be Catherine.
Tony and Eric looked nothing alike, yet they did have a similar build. Wearing Eric’s jacket and cap, Tony kept his head low and walked through the corridor toward the house. Once inside, he’d likely encounter other members of the staff. His plan was to walk by—unnoticed. It took all his concentration to keep his posture dutiful—far from his normal confident gait.
When Tony passed through the kitchen, two women stood discussing the evening meal. He recognized them immediately; however, as he kept his head and eyes down, they seemed oblivious to his intrusion.
Each step toward the west corridor became more determined. The dutiful pose forgotten—Anthony Rawlings was on a mission. With his shoulders back and his head high, he advanced toward the grand double doors. This was his office—his command center. Eric’s text a few minutes earlier said that Catherine was in her suite. Tony wondered if in the time it had taken him to get to the office, if by chance he’d find her sitting at his desk. Did she too have rules about entering? Tony didn’t care. He consciously fought the red infiltrating his vision.
Not only had this woman jeopardized Claire and Nichol’s lives, she’d blatantly lied to his face. He knew he needed to control the rage—this encounter demanded diplomacy. The fleeting thought of murder was nice, but if he could play nice and save the Vandersols—then the FBI would take care of the rest. His desire for physical retaliation would only result in more time away from his family—Catherine wasn’t worth it.
Pushing the door ajar, he scanned the room. Overall, it was the same—the same cherry paneling, trim, and bookcases. His mahogany desk, which mimicked Nathaniel’s, stood facing the doorway, yet there were subtle differences—picture frames, light colored draperies, and flowers. His masculine domain had taken on a feminine hue. The door to the attached bath was closed. Slowly, he approached the barrier and laid his head upon the wooden door. The only sound he heard was silence. Tony opened the door to find an empty bathroom—Catherine wasn’t here.
As he eased himself into his chair, behind his desk—he assessed his mission. Suddenly, the pictures on the desk caught his attention. There was one of Nathaniel and Marie. He stared at his grandfather’s likeness; if someone didn’t know better—they’d think it was him. Tony had never seen the photo before, but then again, he couldn’t recall ever going into Catherine’s suite. There was another picture—one that Tony recognized. It was of Sophia as a young girl. Obviously, Catherine had found all the information he and Nathaniel had accumulated and knew that Sophia was her daughter. What kind of game was she playing with Sophia? Was it as dangerous as the one she played with Claire and him or with the Vandersols?
