“Yes, the bureau tracked it, and it was found with your other belongings in an ally dumpster about a half of a mile from where you were attacked. Your phone was destroyed.”
Harry exhaled. “Good.” He knew the saved information was backed up on the bureau’s servers. Suddenly, he had a thought. “Was the SD card still in the phone?”
“I don’t remember seeing it, but the phone was pretty mangled. Besides, everything should be on the server.”
Harry tried not to reveal too much emotion in his voice. “Not everything, sir. There’s a picture of Claire Nichols with me on that card.”
SAC Williams sat straighter. “With you?”
“No, not like that—just sitting together in a booth in Venice.”
“We received that picture.”
“There were two. The one I sent and another one.” He swallowed. “Now I’m concerned about her safety too.”
“We haven’t located her yet, but according to the messages we accessed from your phone, it sounds like she’s with Rawlings. If you think he’s responsible, and he sees that picture, then she may be in danger.”
Harry nodded. He wasn’t ready to tell his supervisor that Rawlings had already seen the picture. “I need my phone back. It’s the number Clai—Ms. Nichols called. It’s her only way to get in touch with me or the FBI.”
“We have your number being monitored. If she or Rawlings calls, it’ll be answered.”
“Yes, sir.” Harry wanted to be the one to answer either one of those calls; however, he understood. Right now, he wasn’t in the best condition to do that. “Can I see Liz now?”
SAC Williams smiled. “We have more to discuss, but I don’t see any harm in that. First, I believe you need to be checked out by the doctor. They made me promise I’d alert them when you woke.” As he began to leave the room, he paused and said, “Oh, Agent, your sister’s here too.”
Harry grinned. “Good, I’d like to see both of them as soon as the doctor’s done.”
By the time the nurses were done checking Harry out from every angle—yes, he knew that wasn’t their intent, but he sure felt like it was—he was exhausted. He wondered how he could be tired after being unconscious for over ten hours. Next, the doctor came in and probed and prodded; then he asked Harry questions. The doctor didn’t ask how Harry received his injuries—Harry couldn’t have answered if he did; however, he asked questions like, does this hurt? How many fingers am I holding up? Do you know who the president is? All in all, Harry believed he passed.
He was just about to doze off when his door opened again. Each time someone passed the threshold, Harry saw the uniformed officers posted outside of his door. Their presence gave him comfort. If Rawlings was bold enough to have him attacked in broad daylight—anything was possible.
The expressions on Liz and Amber’s faces told him more about his appearance than SAC Williams or any of the nurses or doctors. He must really look like shit! “So, do I really look that bad?” His attempt at levity was lost as both women began to cry.
It was Amber who reached his bedside first. She started to hug him and stopped. “Oh my God, will I hurt you if I hug you?”
Harry lifted his arms and Amber leaned in. When she backed away, she asked, “Why Harry? Why would someone do this?”
He heard her question, but it was Liz standing near the wall with her arms crossed over her chest who had his attention. She was looking his direction with her lower lip sucked into her mouth as she tried to control the sobs she muffled. His heart broke—he couldn’t imagine how scared she must have been when those men took her. He reached out his hand. It seemed like she was moving in slow motion; however, after an eternity her hand finally touched his. “I’m so sorry they involved you in this. You must have been petrified!”
Liz nodded. “I didn’t know what they were going to do to me...” She allowed the ragged breaths to overtake her words. Amber got up from the side of Harry’s bed and Liz sat down. He pulled her close. As she collapsed across his chest, Harry’s ribs screamed out in pain; however, he didn’t wince. He wrapped his arm over her shoulder.
“Shhh, you’re all right. Williams said they didn’t hurt you.” His voice changed—hardened—slowed—deepened. “They didn’t hurt you...did they?”
Liz looked up. Her eyes were red and puffy. “No, but I couldn’t help you. I wanted to save you...they made me watch...” Her voice trailed away as she buried her head into his chest.
“Hey, I’m fine. No saving necessary.”
Amber laughed sarcastically. “Yeah bro, you look great! Maybe now you’ll decide to take that SiJo job for real?”
He looked at his sister like she had three heads. “What are you talking about?”
“If being in the FBI is going to do this to you and Liz, you need to have a safer job.”
“No freak’n way! This wasn’t about the FBI—it’s about my research. Rawlings wants me to stop, but I’m not doing it.”
Liz lifted her head. “Please, Harry, think about this. He didn’t stop at anything when he wanted Claire back. You already know he’s capable of murder. Think about Jillian. You have to end this madness—now!”
“Jillian is safe and so is Ilona”—he took a deep, painful breath—“and so are we. All three of us will have around the clock surveillance until Rawlings is found.”
“Three?” Amber asked. “I don’t need to be watched by the FBI. I’ll have SiJo take care of me.”
Harry shrugged. “I don’t think it’s my call, sis. It’s pretty standard procedure in cases like this. Why do you think I have those nice greeters at my door?”
Amber asked, “How do you know Jillian is safe?”
“I really can’t say. I just do.”
“Well, I’m going to call Ilona.”
“No, you’re not.”
Amber’s eyes narrowed. “The FBI has them, don’t they?”
“I can’t say.” Of course, that was all he needed to say.
It takes two to speak the truth: one to speak, and another to hear.
—Henry David Thoreau
Claire woke up to darkness. She wasn’t wearing her mask; the darkness was the time of day—or more accurately—night. This was her new routine; waking two to three times a night to accommodate their growing baby. Sometimes, when she looked in the mirror, Claire wondered if her skin could possibly stretch any farther. The changes to her body only confirmed the miracle living within her—well that, and the reaffirming movements of their child. She enjoyed the sensation of their baby’s movements. Claire told herself, if she were still alone, she’d feel the same way about her growing midsection; however, Tony’s constant reassurance made each pound and stretch mark easier to bear. It amazed her how he could sit for hours with his hands on their child. Often, she’d be in front of him on a lounge chair with her back against his chest. Sometimes they talked; often she napped; at times they read, but they were always connected.
When Claire returned to bed, it was empty. Looking to the clock, she saw it was only 3:18 A.M. “Tony?” she called to the open air—No answer. “Tony?” she called again as she stepped onto the lanai.
He was standing near the railing, looking out to the lagoon. In the distant sky, lightening flashed, and seconds later, the low rumble of thunder rolled through the night air. Wrapping her arms around his back, Claire laid her cheek against his warm bare back.
“Hmmmm,” he said as he seized her arms and pulled her in front of him. “You need your sleep.” His lips brushed her lips. “You should go back to bed.”
“I don’t like being alone.”
Placing a quick kiss on her stomach, Tony smiled. “You’re not.”
“Why are you out here?”
With his arm around her waist, he caressed the satin of her nightgown as his palm dipped down over her round behind. “I heard the thunder. Do you think the storm will make it here?”