Tony pulled Claire closer and encircled her with his arms. “Well, how about I work on not being such an ass, and you work on restraining that smart mouth of yours?”

Claire pushed up to her tip-toes and kissed his neck. The familiar growl rang like music in her ears. “I was under the impression you liked my mouth.”

His lips seized hers. Without hesitation, she met him with equal ferocity. When their force eased, their eyes met, and his sparkled as he replied, “Oh, I do. I love your mouth, your eyes, your neck, and every other part of your amazing body; however, some of the things you do with that amazing mouth I like better than others.”

“Really?” she bantered, as she purposely suckled his neck.

Tony seized her shoulders. “Do you plan on going back out there for dinner? I’m asking, because if you don’t stop, it isn’t happening.”

Claire smiled. It was true; they had a lot to discuss, and a lot to work out; nevertheless, she felt empowered. She knew at that moment dinner could be a memory. If she continued her persuasion, then they could be naked and in bed in seconds; however, she needed food. Somewhere in her memory, she heard his advice, I suggest you eat. You’ll need your strength. Grinning, she replied, “I do, and they’re probably waiting.” Pointing toward one of the other doors, Claire said, “The bathroom is over there. I’m going to freshen up. I’m afraid with my crying I look like hell.”

“You, my dear, could never look like hell. You’re radiant!”

“Oh, really?” Claire smiled knowingly at Tony. “Give me a minute”—she kissed his cheek—“After dinner, when we get back here, you can remind me what it was you liked my mouth to do.”

Again, he pulled her close for one last embrace. “It’s a date. I certainly hope Madeline doesn’t cook twelve course meals.”

Once Claire was ready, Tony disappeared into the bathroom, and Claire went into the closet. She found the box from the other day, the one with the cell phones and sat it on the floor. Kneeling, she looked into the depth of the container. At the bottom was her long gold chain with her engagement ring. Until a few days ago, she’d kept it close to her heart. After her conversation with Tony she’d decided that there was no longer a reason to wear it. Begrudgingly, she tucked it away in the container.

Now, things were different. Claire removed the ring from the chain and placed it on the fourth finger of her left hand. Feeling his presence, Claire sighed and looked up. Tony was standing in the doorway, his dark eyes watching. By the erratic beating of her heart, she knew he saw everything.

“I took it off the other day,” she confessed.

Taking her left hand in his, Tony helped her stand. Though his eyes hadn’t softened, his words were more of a plea, “I hope you never feel the need to take it off again.” Peering into the box, Tony added, “It seems as though it would’ve been difficult to hear that phone ring, tucked away, in a box, in the closet.”

Claire smiled and pushed herself against his chest. “Since I don’t believe it ever would have, we’ve someone to thank. My guess is—he’s waiting for us for dinner too.”

They left their suite hand in hand. While they’d been alone, the sun had fully set. In the middle of nowhere, the beautiful blue that filled the daytime view was now hidden behind shades of black. A star-filled sky sparkled above a dark sea, and the gentle rush of the waves filled the air as a soft breeze blew through the open doors of the dining room. Before they reached the others, Tony squeezed Claire’s hand. “This place is amazing. Now that I look around, it’s beyond words.”

Claire agreed. “Now, it’s truly paradise.”

The evil that is in the world almost always comes of ignorance, and good intentions may do as much harm as malevolence if they lack understanding.

—Albert Camus

Catherine sat at Tony’s grand desk. She didn’t consider it his any longer—it was hers, like so many other things. Besides, from all the reports she’d heard, he wouldn’t be sitting there anytime soon. Though the FBI wouldn’t confirm or deny, Catherine was under the impression Tony was either in custody or on the run. All she knew for sure was that he wasn’t in Iowa. After meeting with Tom and Brent, the provisions of Anthony Rawlings’ trust went into effect. Catherine Marie London was officially the executor of the Rawlings’ estate and anything related to it. The title came with a nice trust fund. That money, plus the large sum she’d accumulated over the years, left Catherine more than financially solvent.

Once in a while, she thought about the money she’d given to Claire. Catherine wasn’t sure exactly how much it was; however, whenever she started to regret giving it all away, her mind would go to the possibility of Tony on the run. If he were out there, she knew, without a doubt, he’d go for that money. Imagining him finding an empty box brought a smile to her face.

For almost twenty-five years, Anton had been in control, or so he thought. It was true; right after Samuel and Amanda’s accident, Marie had offered to work for Anton. After all, she was alone, and he was all she had left of Nathaniel. The arrangement wasn’t meant to last a lifetime. Nathaniel told Marie multiple times how he wanted her to live; never once did he say he wanted her to work as Anton’s housekeeper.

It wasn’t that Anton had ever been unkind. On the contrary, if anything, he’d been indifferent. Perhaps that was worse. He seemed to take Catherine for granted—she just was. It never appeared as though he worried if she would or wouldn’t be there, if she would or wouldn’t carry out his objectives—he never asked. Smirking to herself, she admitted that his complacency worked to her advantage on more than one occasion.

Maybe her name wasn’t Rawls, but what did a name matter? Now that she had the legal documents confirming her title as executor, Anton’s office was gone. It was hers—as was the house, the grounds, and the estate. Catherine Marie leaned back against the plush leather chair and scanned the room. The regal decor was very similar to Nathaniel’s office from a quarter century ago. She’d always liked that. Smiling, Catherine decided the view from her current side of the desk was definitely the more appealing perspective. She also decided the room could use a feminine touch.

Catherine opened the drawer on the lower right to inspect Anton’s private files. She fingered the tabs; in this paperless world, it surprised her he’d kept so many printed documents. Thankfully, the Iowa City Police hadn’t felt the need to confiscate everything as evidence.

They did take all of Claire’s documents. That didn’t matter to Catherine; she’d already gone through everything on Claire’s laptop and was honestly impressed with the amount of research Claire had accomplished during her short time in California. Catherine never imagined Claire would uncover Patrick Chester. The entire turn of events was far better than Catherine could ever have imagined or planned. The only possible better scenario would have included Chester actually killing Claire. If he had then Catherine would have been able to watch Anton’s anguish first hand.

Reminiscing, Catherine admitted she did get the pleasure of witnessing some of it right after Claire’s disappearance; however, to see Anton’s face in Geneva when he realized Claire wasn’t taken, but instead, she’d left him again, and disappeared with his money and his bastard child—oh, that would have been priceless! Well, not priceless—it cost Catherine whatever amount of money had been in those accounts.

It wasn’t that Catherine originally planned on extending Nathaniel’s decree to his grandson. Anton was safe as long as he stayed focused and on task. All the time and effort planting seeds, watering them, and watching them grow, paid off on more than one occasion. Everything was going the right way until—until his damn obsession with Claire Nichols.