Convicted

  When he finally redressed and started to leave, her aura pulled him back for one last kiss. “I love you and I’ll be back as soon as I can. I wish you were coming.”

  Her eyelids fought an unseen weight. “Travel safely. I love you, too.”

  As he pulled the covers over her soft exposed skin, he asked, “Are you going back to sleep?”

  She nodded. “Yes, I think after that strenuous morning workout, I need a nap.”

  Grinning, he kissed the top of her head and watched as her smile faded, her eyes closed, and she appeared blissfully serene. It was then Tony remembered something he wanted to say. With more authority in his tone, he added, “Claire.”

  Her eyes immediately opened. His tenor wasn’t playful. Although Claire didn’t speak, she obviously recognized his change in meaning. Perched on the edge of the bed, Tony reminded her, “If you leave the estate—”

  She stilled his words with the touch of her hand. The large diamond on her left hand glistened, as she responded appropriately, “I promise, I’ll take Clay.”

  “This isn’t debatable.”

  “Tony, I’m not debating – I’m trying to sleep.”

  He kissed her lips. “I’ll call when I touch down in London.”

  She nodded. “Be safe. I think Eric’s waiting.”

  Tony hadn’t relived that memory in over a week. All the questioning from the FBI brought it back along with so many others. They seemed so real, he wanted to reach out and touch her. For just a moment, Tony believed he could actually smell her perfume.

  The slap of the binder hitting the aluminum table pulled Tony from his fantasy and back to reality. He must have fallen asleep. “What the hell?”

  “Food’s here.” Brent’s voice sounded strained.

  “What were you reading?”

  “I gave it to you, but you might want to eat first. It sure as hell ruined my appetite.”

  Tony looked suspiciously at the binder as Brent continued, “Since I’m your personal counsel, we need to talk about it. As your friend, I don’t want to.” Brent grabbed a Styrofoam box and leaned against the wall.

  With an overwhelming feeling of doom, Tony pushed the food aside and picked up the binder. Instantly, the words on the page assaulted him. They weren’t new—they weren’t a revelation—they were, however, supposed to be gone.

  Three years ago, Marcus Evergreen informed him of Claire’s testimony. At that time he made deals and greased palms. This documentation was supposed to disappear. He paid quite a bit of money to get it lost in the shuffle. His pulse raced as he thought about promises he’d heard. Now—now not only was it present—it was in the hands of the FBI! Brent had just read it! Tony’s heart sank. Brent was right, his appetite was gone. He paced the confines of the small room and began to read:

  January 26, 2012: Claire Nichols Rawlings:

  I swear my recounting to be true, to the best of my knowledge. I met Anthony Rawlings March 15, 2010 in Atlanta, Georgia at a restaurant named the Red Wing. I was tending bar and he was a customer. That night I agreed to meet him at the bar for a drink. We had wine and talked for about an hour or so. I left the bar alone. The next day, he called the bar and asked me out on a date. Initially, I declined his offer. He was persistent and I agreed to a date the next night. I knew his name, but didn’t know who he was. I really didn’t.

  On the 17th of March, he picked me up at the Red Wing after my shift. Earlier that day, I went grocery shopping. I think that’s significant. It proves I had no intentions of walking away from my life. I had milk in the refrigerator! After dinner, I agreed to go to his hotel room for dessert and some more wine. He was friendly and sensual. I do admit that I slept with him that night.

  The next time I woke, I was in his home in Iowa. I didn’t know where I was. I remember very little about how I got to Iowa. There are flashes of memories—none of them are good. I remember crying and banging on the door. I remember begging for someone to let me out of that room. I remember being restrained.

  Oh God, I remember him...

  Tony’s vision blurred. He didn’t want to relive these memories. The ones of her smiling and happy, those he wanted. Not this. His stomach churned. Had that really been him? Had he truly done those awful things? Closing his eyes, he saw beyond the words. He remembered what Claire’s account never would—he recalled the hours the drugs took away from her:

  Claire dozed peacefully on the king-sized bed, in the Presidential suite of the Ritz Carlton as Tony eased himself out of bed. Watching her closely, he emptied one vial of GHB liquid into her wine glass. He’d been told combining it with alcohol would accelerate his desired response. He poured more wine and sniffed. It didn’t smell different than normal wine.

  Easing himself back into bed, he moved toward her radiating warmth. This was really it! He’d wanted this for so long and it was finally here. When Claire accepted this dinner invitation, she’d secured her fate. Truthfully, that future had been secured years ago, her acceptance of dinner only made it easier. Watching her sleep, he thought about the sex. Yes, that would be a great bonus. She could pay the Nichols’ debt and he could keep her busy. Running the tips of his fingers over her collarbone he sighed. This was so much better than he’d imagined.

  Now, he needed to get her to Iowa.

  She turned toward him and smiled a sleepy smile. “I really need to get back to my place. I don’t want to disrupt your schedule.” Claire started to move away as she added, “I’m sure you’re busy.”

  Tony reached for her arm. Her soft skin and toned bicep flexed slightly at his touch. She was everything a twenty-six year old woman should be and more. He wanted to explore every inch of her, but first he had a mission to accomplish.

  Despite his efforts to the contrary, his sexual desires were making themselves known.

  Trying for his most sensual tone, he said, “I promise this isn’t a disruption, and maybe after some more dessert, we could have another glass of wine? There’s still some in the bottle from room service.” The dessert he had in mind wasn’t the remnants of Crème Brulée on the nearby table.

  He waited for an answer. Though it wasn’t verbal, Claire laid her head back on the pillow and looked into his eyes. Tony didn’t want to see the trust in those eyes. They were too innocent and pure. In all his research, he’d never gazed into the depth of her emerald soul, and he didn’t want to do it now. He lowered his lips to her collarbone and tasted her skin, moist from earlier “dessert”. Her body arched as he tantalized the tips of her firm breasts. The knowledge that she’d soon be his for the taking—whenever and wherever he desired—threatened to push him to the brink too soon.

  Would she always be this accommodating? How would she handle her new reality? As he nibbled at the now hard nubs, he didn’t care—it didn’t matter. What mattered was how he’d handle it. She would be as accommodating as he wanted... her penance for the sins of her forefathers.

  Supporting himself above her petite frame, he lingered in the aftershocks of their merger, contemplating his acquisition. Each time his hips moved, her body responded in sync. He could stay like this for hours, but that would need to wait, for another day. Smiling, he considered all the “another days” they had in their future. Not wanting to move away, Tony peered down to see her eyes part in that not quite open, not quite shut, satisfied gaze. He offered, “Can I get you a drink or something to eat?”

  “I really don’t think I want you to move.”

  “Oh?” he cooed, as he teased her with each gyration. “Are you sure? Maybe some more wine.”

  “Now, Anthony, I think it’s pretty obvious, you don’t need to get me drunk.”

  “Who said anything about drunk? I just don’t want you to dehydrate.”

  Claire smiled as he slowly eased himself from the bed. Reaching for the glass, he added, “I mean—if you’re willing to stay, I’d like to make a toast.”

  When he turned back around she was sitting up against the head board with the sheet wrapped tightly
around her breasts. Her modesty intrigued him. Most of the women he dated were the type to flaunt their assets—not cover them. Smiling a shy smile, she reached for the glass. “By all means, I’d hate to ruin your toast.”

  The drug took effect faster than Tony planned. The cooperative, pleasant woman he’d spent the night with suddenly became agitated and combative. This new behavior didn’t last long. When it ended, her entire body relaxed and her head bobbled upon her neck. For a moment, Tony feared they’d need to carry her from the hotel. Despite her appearance, Claire wasn’t unconscious, only detached. The green eyes no longer held the window to her soul; instead, they were clouded with a veil of confusion and separation, as if Claire’s body was there, but her mind was somewhere else. She followed every command. In many ways, it was like dressing a child. He told her to stand—she stood. He told her to lift her arms—she did.

  Once he had her dressed, he called for Eric. As they rode the elevator down to the lobby, Claire leaned into his chest. He hoped to interested bystanders, she merely looked tired. Although she didn’t answer, he spoke softly in her ear. Tony reasoned it would appear more natural on hotel surveillance. Next, he walked her to the car, kissed her goodbye and let Eric drive away. It was all part of the plan.

  A few hours later, Tony met Eric at a side door and entered the back seat of his car. Sleeping soundly on the seat, covered with a thin blanket was his acquisition. The room at the Ritz was Tony’s for a few more days. After he had Claire in Iowa, he’d return to Atlanta and attend more meetings. More of the plan, his leaving town couldn’t coincide with her departure.

  Walking from the car to the plane, she stumbled with unsteady footing. Once aboard, she paced, unwilling to sit. Each time Tony got near her, she pulled away and walked toward the door. Using more physical persuasion, he steered her toward the seat. When her knees bent, she spoke for the first time since the GHB took effect, “I donnnnn’t feeel well.”

  He didn’t comment as he secured her seat belt. At first, she stared at the restraint. When the plane lifted off the ground, her head fell to her chest. Tony wondered if she comprehended any of what was happening.

  Suddenly, her limp head sprung upward and her slurred words filled the otherwise empty cabin, “I’mmm gonna be sicccccccccccccccc.”

  Losing patience, Tony noticed Claire’s sudden pallor. He unstrapped himself and walked toward her. He saw fear within her eyes as she frantically fought her seat belt.

  “Stop it,” he commanded. “You’re on an airplane. You’re not going anywhere.”

  She turned away, tears streaming down her cheeks, unable to move against the latched belt. He reached for her chin and turned her toward him; before he could reprimand her on the importance of maintaining eye contact, she wrenched and vomited. It covered her dress and his slacks.

  “Shit!” he barked. It was disgusting!

  “I told you...I was sick!” she cried.

  He looked at the mess and then at Claire as she sunk against the chair.

  “Don’t get the damn chair dirty, too.”

  His words only increased her tears. As he reached for the seat belt and unbuckled, revulsion at the mess was somehow interspersed with sympathy.

  “Come here,” he said as he held out his hand.

  Retracting further against the seat, she asked, “Why am I here? What are you doing?”

  Tony tried once again for compassion, “Claire, you aren’t feeling well; let me get you some water and clean you up.”

  Hesitantly, she stood, allowing him to walk her to the bathroom at the back of the plane. With each command, her compliance decreased while her defiance increased. He suspected she needed more of the drug.

  “I shouldn’t be here. Where are we going?”

  “You’ll feel better if you have some water.”

  Apprehensively, she took the cup laced with the second vial of GHB. He watched the liquid slosh within the confines of the glass as her hands trembled. Finally, afraid she’d spill it, he helped her get the glass to her lips where she took a drink.

  She spit it in the sink. “It tastes funny.”

  “That’s because you were sick, you need to rinse your mouth.” He filled another cup with water and she rinsed. Next, he handed her the first cup. “Now drink.”

  Claire nodded and did as he said.

  “We need to get you out of these filthy clothes.”

  As he tugged at her dress, she reacted violently, trying with all of her might to get away from him and out of the bathroom. Her screams echoed above the hum of the engines. It was like in the hotel when the drug first entered her system; however, this time, Tony didn’t need to worry about anyone else hearing.

  Blocking the door, he let her have her tantrum. Her fight intrigued him. The blows to his chest with her tiny fists were almost comical, but when she tried to scratch, he had to make it stop. He had meetings and work. Scratches would be questioned. “That’s enough!” She didn’t stop. Her nails contacted his arm and blood trickled from their trail. Seizing her hand, he slapped her. “Stop it!”

  The shock showed behind her clouded eyes as she covered her face, allowing one hand to linger on her now red cheek. In a way, it was humorous; she was naked, hysterical, and attacking him—and she seemed surprised he’d retaliate.

  He leaned over her quaking body. “Get in the shower—now.” When she didn’t move, he reached for her arm and pulled her under the water. Although fully clothed, he joined her in the small cubical and held her under the streaming water until the fighting stopped.

  Within minutes, the drug was once again in control, and Tony was directing her movements. With trembling hands, she obeyed, removing his wet clothes and following each command. Her fight was gone. The fire he’d momentarily seen in her eyes was now detached terror.

  When he turned off the water, they were both clean. As Claire huddled against the shower wall, Tony contemplated his next move. There were so many possibilities; he told himself to take it slow. His plan had been in place for too long; he wanted to savor every moment.

  Stepping into the small bathroom, he added his wet clothes to the pile containing her ruined dress and handed her a towel. Apprehensively, she took his offer and wrapped it around herself. Her long, dark hair dripped down her back as the water puddled on the floor.

  Without looking up, she asked, “Are you going to hurt me?”

  He’d read about the GHB. He knew these scenes would be forever erased from her memory. He could do whatever he wanted, and she’d never remember.

  The sensual tone of seduction was gone; in its place was the authoritative tone of someone with an agenda. Tony refused to allow her fear or emotions to alter his plans. “That isn’t my plan. We’ll see how well you can follow directions.”

  Tony pulled on the edge of Claire’s towel as she stepped back against the wall. Her clouded eyes opened wide and quickly looked away. He wondered if she could subconsciously fight the effects of the drug. He watched as she worked to form the right words. Finally, she mumbled, “Please.”

  He stepped closer, his nude body still wet and his desire visible. “Please, what?”

  “Please, don’t hurt me.”

  “I have rules, Claire.” He gently pushed her wet hair away from her face. “Can you follow my rules?”

  Avoiding eye contact, she nodded.

  Abruptly, he raised her chin. “Don’t look away. I asked you a question. I expect an answer.”

  “Yes, I can follow your rules.”

  “Rule number one is to do as I say. I suggest you learn to follow that rule, if you want to make the best of this.”

  Keeping her eyes downcast, her shoulders quaked as she silently sobbed. Once again, his hand struck her cheek.

  “I told you not to look away.”

  Her eyes immediately flashed toward his. Instantaneously, the clouds returned as pools of tears spilled onto her cheeks. “I’ll do as you say; please stop hitting me.”

  The memories made Tony’s stomach
turn. Of course, none of that was in Claire’s testimony. The GHB hid those memories from her, as well as other memories of the things he did during that flight and once they returned to Iowa.

  Her testimony picked up the next day, when the drug was fully out of her system. It wasn’t until then that she started to understand the magnitude of her situation; nevertheless, the truth hit Tony between the eyes. Perspiration drenched his face and the illness he’d felt in the pit of his empty stomach erupted into full blown nausea. No matter what he did to make Claire’s life better or show her he’d changed, these memories would always linger in the recesses of his mind. For the rest of his life, he’d know what he’d done.

  Tony hated himself for all of it—hell, he always had the end justifies the means argument, but even he didn’t believe that anymore. Not now. Not now that he knew Claire and loved Claire. The thought of someone doing to her what he’d done filled him with rage. If it were another person whom she described, Tony would want him dead. He’d leave no stone unturned to make him pay for his sins.

  Tears coated his cheeks before he realized Brent was standing right in front of him.

  “I take it you’ve read Claire’s testimony?”

  Tony nodded. He didn’t want Brent knowing about this. Now Courtney would know. He should deny it and argue—but the image of Claire—not from her testimony—but from his memory—on his plane, wrapped in that towel, trembling and scared—wouldn’t let him lie.

  “If the shit in that binder’s true, you’re one sick bastard”—Brent turned a circle—“I’m your personal attorney and friend. Tell me what we’re up against.”

  Tony remained silent, his eyes so clouded with memories he could barely see the room around him.

  “Damn it, Tony!” The table vibrated with the slap of Brent’s hand as his fury and anger filled the air. “Tell me the truth!”