Beyond the Consequences (Book 5 of the Consequences Series)(53)

“Like you said, she’s stupid. She doesn’t know we’re on to her.”

“She’s arrogant. She thought by using a new name on the airline and hotel reservations we wouldn’t be able to find her.” Phil leaned over his tablet and typed again. Only the sound of the clicking keys filled the air until he stood and said, “She has two tickets for her return flight to London, the day after tomorrow.”

“Two?”

“Yes, the second ticket is for a child.”

Eric nodded. “I’ll go to the security office right now and watch. If you need me, call. I’ll be there.”

“If anything happens, you don’t know a damned thing about this.”

“Are you kidding me? Nothing’s going to happen. I’ve done my homework too. You’ve got this.”

“I do,” Phil confirmed.





THE SKY WAS still dark as Phil drove back to the estate. Though perhaps he should feel remorse, he didn’t. Patricia planned to take Nichol back to Europe. He saw the evidence in her hotel room: the drugs to subdue her and the hair bleach to change her appearance. When it came down to his family or Patricia, the subject wasn’t open for discussion. This time he didn’t give her a chance to explain.

As soon as Phil found the airplane reservations he knew Patricia’s plans. Not only had she used a new alias for her trip, she also had an alias for Nichol. He found their fake passports when he cleaned out the hotel room. In his opinion, Patricia’s plan was confirmation of her ingenuity as well as her stupidity. The identification she had would lead the police to no one because Charlotte Peterson didn’t exist. Besides, it was winter in Iowa. The fields were frozen and covered with snow. Digging even a shallow grave was like digging through rock, but Phil did it. Unless her body was eaten by animals, which was a possibility, the insects would begin to feast in the spring. Soon after, the farmers would be out tilling their fields. Spring and autumn were the times of year when bodies were often discovered in rural America: planting and harvest season. After all, long desolate stretches of highway with nothing more than corn and soybean fields for miles and miles made the perfect dumping grounds. It happened all the time. In an attempt to further thwart police efforts at identification, Phil was kind enough to leave her identification—or her false ID. Without it, DNA tests would be done. Phil’s plan was that with the identification, evidence would be taken at face value: a woman named Charlotte Peterson was robbed, killed, and dumped. With a number of similar cases happening all the time, it was unlikely any further research would be performed. The case would be closed and another unclaimed body would be disposed of by the state.

At a little after 5:00 AM Phil quietly made his way to his apartment. The cooks would be up and moving about soon, and he hoped to avoid their prying eyes. It wasn’t until he closed his apartment door and turned around that he saw Taylor. She was sitting up from where she’d fallen asleep on his sofa.

“What the hell are you doing in here?”

Her blue eyes scanned him up and down, obviously taking in the caked mud on his boots and jeans. When she didn’t answer, he silently walked past her into his bedroom. Looking in the mirror he tried to imagine what she saw. Not only were his jeans and boots dirty, so was his jacket. Taking it off, he looked at his shirt beneath. The wrinkled cotton stuck to his skin, wet with perspiration. Thankfully there wasn’t any blood. Pulling his shirt over his head, he threw it toward a pile of laundry. As he did, he saw Taylor leaning against the doorjamb.

“I never thought of you as the four-wheeling type.”

“Taylor—”

She shook her head. “Please don’t.”

Sighing, he sat on the end of his bed and began unlacing his boots. He didn’t want her to know what he’d done. It wasn’t because of some false sense of pride. Phil wasn’t worried about what she’d think of him. He’d told her things he’d done in his past and she’d shared things she’d done.

No, he didn’t want her to know because he wanted to protect her. Protect her, the Rawlingses, everyone. The fewer people who knew what happened, the better. Phil hadn’t seen her move, but now the bed shifted and she was sitting beside him with her hand on his back.

“I don’t want you to lie to me,” she said.

“I don’t want to, but you have to understand…” He continued to look down at his now loosened boots.

Taylor reached for his face and turned it toward hers. “I do.” She gently kissed him. “I’m taking Mrs. Rawlings and Nichol to the Simmonses’ house today for her baby shower. Shannon’s coming with us. Eric will take Mr. Rawlings to the office. I don’t think he’ll be there all day, but either way, Eric will take care of it. Get some sleep…”

“No, I can’t sleep.” He still couldn’t look her in the eye.

She rubbed his bare shoulders. “You can. The adrenaline will ebb and you’ll crash.” She kissed his cheek. “I’ve been there.”

Phil nodded. “I can’t tell you.”

She continued to rub his shoulders. “I’m not asking. Someday if you’re ready, I’m here.”

He turned to meet her light blue gaze. Phil didn’t know what he expected to see: condemnation, suspicion, or maybe judgment. Whatever he expected was not what he saw; instead, it was understanding and acceptance. Kissing her gently, he nodded. “Why were you here? How did you—”