Above all, Agent Baldwin didn’t want Claire Nichols in danger. Even if she refused to believe it, Harry knew Rawlings jeopardized her safety. Closing his eyes, he remembered the look on Rawlings’ face when he showed him the picture of him and Claire. Reading people was part of Baldwin’s training. The wrath he saw in Rawlings’ eyes was palpable. It didn’t frighten Baldwin—as a matter of fact—he would’ve loved for the man to attempt an assault. The rage Harry saw in the man’s eyes made Harry’s blood boil. Claire’s stories came rushing to the forefront of his mind. More than anything, at that moment—in that pub in Geneva—Harry wanted to give Rawlings some of what Rawlings had given to Claire years before. In his mind, Rawlings was a ticking time bomb, and he didn’t want him exploding around Claire or her child.

Harry’s motivation that evening in Geneva was to keep the two of them apart. He believed he could accomplish that personal goal as well as the FBI directives. Harrison figured he could keep Rawlings in Italy, disinterested in pursuing Claire while locating Claire and keeping her safe. It was a great plan. Unfortunately, the results didn’t provide the intended consequence.

Agent Baldwin’s phone vibrated again. This time, it wasn’t a text, it was a direct call. When he read the screen, Harry expected to see SAC Williams’ direct line. His heartbeat accelerated as he read the name: Deputy Director. Straightening his stance, Agent Baldwin knew that ignoring this call wasn’t an option.

Clearing his throat, he hit the RECEIVE button and said, “Agent Baldwin here.”

“Baldwin—we need to talk.”

The use of his name without the title wasn’t a good sign.

In the shadow of the vegetation intertwined through the trellis, Claire rested on the lanai, reading her iPad. The scent of the fragrant flowers and soft breeze from the sea combined to bring her peace. While listening to the waves, Claire read the news from around the world. According to her window to the world, she and Anthony Rawlings were still missing. Rawlings Industries was floundering as temporary CEO Timothy Benson reached out to the stock holders, asking them to have faith in their founder as well as the companies he brought under the Rawlings’ umbrella. Claire wondered about Sue and worried how Tim’s stress would affect his family.

Every such thought directed Claire back to Catherine. Ripples of vengeance continued to expand in all directions. It was like throwing a rock into Claire’s lake. The resulting circles of water went out and out until they faded away. Momentarily closing her eyes, Claire relished the thought of Catherine fading away. Never could she remember feeling such vengeance for one person. When she hated Tony, it was for what he’d done to her. This was different. Catherine’s ripples were reaching people who never deserved this vendetta.

Claire knew Catherine wouldn’t be stopped until she told the FBI the truth. She looked at the table and read Harry’s card for the millionth time—he was her contact—he was Tony’s contact. In the three days since Tony arrived, neither of them had bothered to connect their contact. Before she made a decision one way or the other about her impending call, Phil’s voice refocused her thoughts.

“Claire, do you have a few minutes?”

She grinned. “Well, you know, I’m super busy.” He pulled out a chair at the umbrella table beside her. Although it was still morning, the intense sun warranted shade whenever possible. Phil’s shorts and shirt amused Claire. It was a much more casual look than he normally wore. “I thought you were going into town with Tony and Francis?” she asked.

“I changed my mind. I’d like to talk to you privately for a minute.”

Immediately, she bristled. She and Tony hadn’t breeched major topics in the last few days—no specifics; however, they had talked about trust—giving and receiving it. “Phil, I won’t lie to Tony.”

“I’m not asking you to. I want to discuss something with you alone. I’ve no doubt he’ll give his opinion, but nevertheless, I’d like yours first.”

Claire pulled herself up and sat taller as her legs remained outstretched on the soft chaise lounge. “What do you want to discuss?”

“You know I have a few different phones?”

Claire nodded.

“By using a remote server with multiple redirections”—Phil paused, as if knowing Claire didn’t need the technical reasons—“never mind the how—anyway, I’m positive the phones aren’t traceable, nor are the ones you and Rawlings have. Earlier today, I turned on my old phone.”