The settlement money and “see you later” e-mails combined to make her disappearance appear planned. If he could reach his own back, Anthony would have given himself a hardy pat—he deserved it!
The manager at the Red Wing was the most difficult to quiet. After the e-mail, he immediately began calling and texting her phone. Thankfully, Anthony had taken her Blackberry with him back to Iowa. Claire responded apologetically to the manager via text. She was so sorry to leave in such a rush, but you have to answer when opportunity knocks. Anthony was pretty sure that if she were to return to Atlanta, which she wouldn’t, the Red Wing would not be willing to reemploy.
Keeping her laptop, he could check her e-mail and account balances. He would also be able to periodically send e-mails or post a Facebook status to keep the curious from overreacting. Even though the computer would be in Iowa, the web address and URL wouldn’t change. No one would know the point of origin.
Claire’s Blackberry met an unfortunate accident. Many cell phones contain GPS trackers. Anthony wasn’t willing to take that chance. A mass text was sent explaining that Claire would have a new number soon, and she would contact everyone as soon as possible. And then, after removing the SIM card, Anthony backed his rental car over the phone. It didn’t survive. His case also contained the final hardware of his surveillance equipment. He definitely didn’t want some stupid painter running across one of his cameras.
Six months of footage taught him much about Claire Nichols. She kept late hours and enjoyed sleeping late in the morning. She liked to cook and bake, but gave a lot away. There were no boyfriends or male visitors to the apartment, which made Anthony happy. She liked to talk on the phone and chat with people on the computer. She rarely watched television except for a show called Grey’s Anatomy and another on the same station. She liked to exercise, sometimes walking with the lady next door. Rarely did she stay around the apartment. She went out with friends frequently. Many times, she would return home in a less than sober state, but again always alone. During Christmas season, she put up decorations and even a tree. The best part of the surveillance was access to her schedules and passwords. The computer hacking would have been more difficult without those passwords. Oh, he could have done it, but this was easier.
Anthony heard the knock on the door. He removed his gloves, put them in his pockets, and opened the door. “Hi there, are you John Vandersol?” the burly man with underarm stains and a perspiration-drenched face inquired.
“Yeah, that’s me. You the movers? Come on in.” Anthony decided that even though he looked nothing like Claire’s brother-in-law, his presence in her apartment made more sense than any other male. People rarely remembered faces anyway.
He signed the contract and paid the man in cash, with a $200 tip. He explained that his sister-in-law moved to another city for a job and wanted all of her things taken to the local refuge for donation. The mover wasn’t interested in the backstory, and Anthony didn’t push. He gave enough information to make the transition plausible and not too much to make it sound contrived. Too bad Claire wouldn’t be filing taxes. She could receive a hell of a deduction for her donations. It didn’t take the men long to empty the apartment.
Her car sold for an amazingly low price. Actually, it hadn’t been enough to pay off the loan, but the point was to get rid of it. Forging her signature on the paperwork wasn’t difficult. He used her signature on the napkin as a pattern. The fortunate buyer didn’t ask questions.
Caressing the case that held the only remnants of Claire’s previous life, Anthony wiped the doorknob with his gloves, locked the door to the empty apartment, and placed the keys into an envelope. The complex had been e-mailed about Claire’s sudden move, as well as reimbursed for severing the lease. The envelope was deposited into an open slot in the office door. Getting into the rental vehicle, he called his driver, “Pick me up at Budget Rental, ten minutes.”
Anthony didn’t like doing all these tasks himself. Under different circumstances, he would hire someone to box the items or wait for the movers. This, however, wasn’t normal circumstances. He couldn’t risk others knowing his plan. He couldn’t even trust his best friend and head of his legal team. This was all very private.
Eric, Anthony’s driver, had some clue about things transpiring in Atlanta. He had more than a clue. He helped transport Claire back to Iowa. But his allegiance was steadfast, as with the rest of his household staff.
Sighing as he parked the gray inconspicuous Toyota Camry in the lot of Budget, he thanked God this was done. Now to change into his kind of clothes, get back to his real life, prepare for his scheduled meetings overseas, and decide Claire’s future. He flashed a private smile—the acquisition was complete.
Through humor, you can soften some of the worst blows that life delivers. And once you find laughter, no matter how painful your situation might be, you can survive it. —Bill Crosby
Chapter 4
Multiple times a day, she would think of her chance meeting with Anthony Rawlings. She believed his name sounded familiar, but didn’t and still doesn’t know why. God, she would love to put his name in Google and see what popped out; maybe Crazy Abusive Man or Nut Job with a Supremacy Complex?
One day while tending bar, they started to talk, not about anything that Claire could remember, just chatting. He was attentive and charming. His eyes mesmerized her, but not with fear as they did now, more of a pull. Her policy was not to see patrons socially. Yet for some reason, when he invited her to a small booth after her shift, she accepted. In hindsight, Claire believed she was safe, still being in the Red Wing. Once there, they talked and drank some wine. At some point, he had a napkin and talked about helping her obtain a job. It was something about the Weather Channel—definitely not this. She remembered signing a napkin, but not him. It seemed harmless. She couldn’t remember what was written on the napkin. They didn’t discuss it again while they shared a few more glasses of cabernet sauvignon. After that, she went home alone.
The next day, she slept in, shopped for groceries, which now rot in her refrigerator, and worked the closing shift. Had she known it was her last full day of freedom, she would have spent it in a more productive manner: visiting with friends, enjoying a crowd at the mall, or calling her sister. Claire wondered if Anthony returned to the bar that day. She didn’t think so, but she remembered his call.
March 17, about a week ago . . .
Claire’s shift ended at six, which was good. She wanted out before the holiday crowd hit the Red Wing. Green beer anxiously awaited the Irish patrons, who on St. Patrick’s Day were everyone.
The day before when Anthony Rawlings called the Red Wing, Claire was shocked. She truly never expected to hear from him again. The call came as the seats at the bar were beginning to fill. Her boss didn’t appreciate personal calls at slow times of the day, much less at busy times. “Hello, this is Claire. May I help you?”
“Good evening, Claire.” Her heart skipped a beat, immediately recognizing the deep husky voice that accompanied the handsome dark-haired, dark-eyed man.