Aleatha Romig - Behind His Eyes

Courtney shook her head and turned away.

Tony went on. “I personally hope that a trial can be avoided. I hardly want the world to know that I married a psycho who wanted me dead … nevertheless, the evidence is straightforward. I believe we should start thinking about a divorce.”

“Tony, please,” Courtney pleaded. “Please think about this. Please don’t make decisions that you’ll regret.”

“Brent, I’d like to speak with you privately.” Tony had never treated Courtney with anything other than respect. He didn’t want to start now. To facilitate that—to avoid a possible confrontation, Tony needed her to leave. “Courtney, I’ve had nothing to do for the last few days but lie in this bed and think. I’ve thought this out multiple different ways. You two have been traveling and are obviously exhausted. I promise this was not a rushed decision. Now, I’d like to speak to Brent for a moment.”

Brent nodded to Courtney as she picked up her coat and purse and headed toward the door. Just before she reached the handle, she said, “Tony, I’m really glad you’re all right. You know how much we care about you, but you were the one who brought Claire into our lives. I don’t abandon friends. Don’t ask me to do that.”

“I’m not. I’m asking you to support me .”

Her shoulders lifted and dropped before she looked down and left the room.

Trying to keep his voice in check, Tony glared at Brent and waited for the door to shut. Once they were alone, he said, “Control your wife! That’s not a recommendation nor a suggestion—I’m fuck’n serious. Claire did this to me. Neither you nor Courtney will visit or help her in any way!”

Brent nodded. “I hear you. Let me talk with Cort.”

“Talk to her, do whatever you need to do, but I’m not backing down on this!”

Brent feigned a smile. “I guess we don’t need to worry about you anymore. You’re obviously feeling better.”

Tony nodded. “Check in with Tom and get up-to-date. Evergreen seems to have everything under control, but I don’t want a trial. I’m willing to do anything to avoid that. You know what I think about the damn press—they’re already having a field day. I don’t want to give them any more ammunition. I have no idea what my wife was thinking or why she did this. She’d been acting strangely since that old friend of hers died. Then, after she heard about John, she must have snapped.”

“John?” Brent swallowed hard. “Did the shit hit the fan?”

“Yeah, a few days ago. His firm pressed charges.”

Brent closed his eyes and shook his head. “Damn, I didn’t know it would happen so soon.”

“Focus! This isn’t about him or even her. I’m getting out of here soon. Find out exactly what Evergreen’s planning. He just trips over himself whenever I talk to him, with all his damn yes sirs and no sirs .”

“I’ll find out what’s happening. Would you drop the charges to avoid a trial?”

“That’s just it. I never pressed charges—the state of Iowa did. I fuck’n lost control of this, and I want you to get it back for me—yesterday.”

Brent nodded and looked at his watch. “I’ll see what I can do. Do you have your cell?”

“Yeah.”

“I’ll call you later tonight. When are they letting you out?”

“If I had my way it would’ve been yesterday. My doctor’s this little five-foot firecracker who refuses to release me until some damn numbers drop in my blood.”

Brent smiled. “So the administrators don’t give a damn about your donations?”

“They do, and they’re making sure I get the best. Apparently, that’s her and she’s not interested in my donations or cash on the side—I’ve tried. Maybe I should pay off the damn lab techs. I’ll pay for the fuck’n numbers to go down.”

“Jesus, Tony! Listen to the damn doctor. I’d bet they want you out of here as much as you want to be out.”

Tony couldn’t help but smile. “You’re probably right, but I might look into the lab tech angle.”

Brent walked toward the door. “I’m leaving. I’ll call you after I talk with Evergreen.”

“Brent.” Tony’s tone lowered. “Do what I said. Control your wife. Don’t disappoint me.”

Brent nodded as he stepped through the door. Tony saw members of his security staff standing just beyond the open frame. Closing his eyes, he remembered Catherine’s words: Claire and Mrs. Simmons were getting close? Memories of Courtney’s question increased his discomfort. Close—how close? Had Claire said anything to Courtney that would cause her to suspect him of pushing Claire to the extreme of attempted murder? Shit—he needed to feel that out. Could it be that Claire had disappointed him without him even realizing it? He opened his eyes. The monitor near his bed was beeping faster and faster as new red flooded the empty room.

The damn numbers finally confirmed Tony’s health. That didn’t mean the pain was gone. His ribs hurt every time he breathed, and the cardiologist warned that Tony could have long-term effects. His heart would require further monitoring, but the signs for his long-range recovery were positive.

Riding up the drive of his estate, Tony pushed his emotions away. With Claire gone, his house seemed so empty. He’d spoken with Catherine on multiple occasions and, thankfully, she’d never boasted about Claire’s failure. As a matter of fact, she was genuinely saddened by the outcome and worried about Tony’s well-being. Whenever Tony mentioned Claire, Catherine would steer the subject to him and his recovery. He reassured her that he would get well, and he never doubted that he would.

Focusing on his responsibilities at Rawlings, which Tim had been assuming for too long, Tony entered his front door determined to ignore the obvious emptiness. His staff fell over themselves as they fulfilled his every need. It wasn’t until he’d been home for a few hours that he wandered into the sitting room. He didn’t mean to look above the fireplace—but he did. Tony wasn’t looking for the green eyes; however, when he saw the large mirror that had hung there for years, fury overtook his being.

“Where the hell is the wedding portrait?”

There was no one near; the house was as empty as it felt. When he screamed his question again, Cindy came running. “Mr. Rawlings, are you all right? Can I help you?”

“No! I’m not all right! Where is Mrs. Rawlings’ portrait?” He’d paid a fortune to have that portrait commissioned. He’d purposely had it painted by Sophia Rossi. No, not Rossi—Burke, and now it was gone!

“Sir, Catherine had it removed. She believed that you wouldn’t—”

“I don’t care what she believed! Where is it?”

“Sir, I-I don’t know?”

“Where is Catherine?”

Suddenly, Catherine appeared, hurrying in from the hall. “Cindy, I’ll help Mr. Rawlings. Thank you.”

Cindy looked to Tony and waited. When he nodded, she turned away.

Catherine’s voice tried to reassure. “Mr. Rawlings, you are supposed to rest.”

He waited until Cindy left the room. “Where the fuck is the picture?”

“I thought that you—”

He glared. “I didn’t ask you what you thought. I don’t care what you think! Tell me where the fuck the painting is!”

Catherine’s shoulders squared. “It’s in her suite.”

Tony closed his eyes and exhaled. Reestablishing his glare, he spoke slowly. “Don’t you fuck’n touch any of her things. Don’t make any damn assumptions about what I want and what I don’t want. This isn’t negotiable. Her things belong to me. Only I will decide what happens to them. I don’t want to have this conversation again—ever. Are we clear?”