Convicted (Consequences)

Goodkind
     
     
     
    Sighing, Claire fastened the final clasp on her luggage and turned toward Phil. “I’m glad you didn’t need to fly back to Iowa, to meet with the Iowa City Police Department.”
    Golden flecks shimmered in Phil’s hazel eyes as he responded, “Well, Mrs. Alexander , it wouldn’t be very husbandly of me to let you travel to Venice all by yourself.” Nodding toward her midsection, he continued, “Especially, not in your condition.”
    Claire’s hand instinctively moved to her growing baby. With a small smile, she replied, “Mr. Alexander, I certainly appreciate that.”
    While Phil spoke, Claire made the final adjustments on her dark wig. She’d gotten good at making the fake hair look real. That didn’t mean it didn’t itch. She was beyond ready to forgo the disguises.
    Phil continued, “It seems the ICPD no longer needs my information. The prosecutor’s office said they had new evidence to investigate and asked that I keep in touch.”
    “Hmm,” Claire hummed in agreement as she placed a few more hairpins. When her lips were clear, she asked, “I wonder what new evidence came their way?”
    Stepping behind her, he gazed into their reflection. When their eyes met, he grinned and answered, “Since I heard your end of the conversation, I’d say they were informed of a very—”
    A loud knock interrupted Phil’s words. The straightening of his stance told Claire he saw the concern in her eyes. Every contact was suspicious and required scrutiny. Phil nodded silently, stood taller, and walked toward the door.
    Claire didn’t realize she’d been holding her breath until she released it, hearing her husband announce, “It’s the bellhop. Are you ready to leave?”
    Allowing her shoulders to relax, Claire took one last look around the suite. The luxurious furnishings paled in comparison to the lovely view beyond the balcony. As the sun rose in the East, hues of blue and sparkling waves danced across the water of Lake Geneva. The unseasonably warm breeze bathed her cheeks as she paused and gazed at the sight for one last time. She knew it was time to go; their things were packed and ready. Exhaling, she replied, “Yes, I’m ready to move on.”
    Phil nodded as he opened the door and allowed the hotel employee to enter.
    “ Signore, Signora ,” Although the predominant language of Geneva was French, the Alexanders were thought to be Italian, as such, even the staff addressed them in their native language. Truthfully, most residents of the metropolitan city spoke fluent French, Italian, or German, or a combination.
    Claire silently reached for her purse as her husband instructed the staff regarding their luggage. Standing patiently, Phil placed his arm casually around his wife’s waist and led her toward the elevator. Their performance remained flawless as they sat within the confines of the taxi.
    The streets filled with people blurred as Claire contemplated her future. “Are our reservations set?” Claire asked in a whisper.
    Phil leaned closer. “Yes, my dear , let’s discuss it further in private.”
    Claire sat straight, gazed toward the driver, and nodded. No one could be trusted. She reminded herself to be mindful of listening ears. Disappearing into the night was Phil’s specialty. Doing that with a pregnant wife and multiple pieces of luggage was a new test of his clandestine skills.
    As the early morning streets of Geneva passed by the windows, Claire reflected on her last piece of business. She’d made one last visit to the financial institution, the one that only a few days ago made her an incredibly wealthy woman. If the bank employees were surprised to have Marie Rawls visit for a second time, they didn’t show it; instead, they willingly took her to the safety deposit box where she completed her business. Claire couldn’t be one hundred percent certain, but her intuition told her that—when push came to shove—Tony would make his way to this hidden fortune. She decided his pot-of-gold shouldn’t be totally empty. She also knew the contents she left wouldn’t make him happy; nevertheless, this time, it was her game—she was the one holding the cards. He’d follow her rules, or he wouldn’t. She had no intentions of trapping him. No, she knew what that was like. In their figurative game of chess, she had him in check. If she’d taken the conversation with Marcus Evergreen another direction then it could have been check-mate. Watching the sidewalks