It was a small victory, but a victory nonetheless. Tony worked unsuccessfully to hide his grin. She’d just confirmed she still had feelings. Exhaling, he retook his seat. Refusing to relinquish contact, he allowed their knees to touch.

“I know you have no reason to believe me, but I thought you should know why I came to California.”

Her gaze was too innocent as she asked, “Why?”

He couldn’t lie. “To take you back to Iowa.”

Claire stared. Finally, a smile briefly fluttered across her lips. He wondered what it meant. She replied, “Well, since this time I have a choice, I’m going to say no.”

Tony tried another route. “Catherine misses you.”

“I miss her, too.” With a hint of hesitation, Claire asked, “Does she believe that I tried to kill you?”

God, he hated this. It was just one of the many things he’d done to her, one of the many things he couldn’t take back. The anguish in Claire’s voice tugged at his heart. He couldn’t tell her the truth, not now. If he told her that Catherine not only knew, she was also involved, it could alienate Claire forever. Trying to focus his thoughts, Tony carefully worded his response. It wasn’t lying; it was more a minimization of facts. “I’m not sure. We’ve never discussed it. I know at first she was worried about me. Then once I was well, she was upset, but I don’t know for sure if it was at you or at me. The subject’s never come up.”

“Then how do you know she misses me?”

“I just do. When word came of your pardon—”

Claire interrupted, “You were angry.”

Red knocked at his thoughts—memories of his rage when Preston called, the impotency of not knowing her location. This time it was Tony who stood and paced, avoiding her gaze. Stopping at the large windows, the beautiful view was lost behind the impending veil of red. She was pushing him, testing him. He couldn’t lose his temper; he wouldn’t. He knew what he’d done to Claire—and so did she. If she were ever to trust him again, he needed to be honest. Perhaps someday the whole truth could be revealed, but Claire wasn’t ready for everything, not yet.

Forcing restraint, he weighed his words and began. “I was. I admit, I was… stunned. Governor Preston informed me of your release two weeks after it occurred. I was angry at everyone: at you for being pardoned, at Jane Allyson for presenting the petition, at Governor Bosley for signing it. Hell, I was even mad at the clerk who filed it.” He turned toward her, continuing to maintain control. She didn’t turn away. The intensity of her stare frightened him as much as it exhilarated him. No one else in Tony’s life had ever glared at him, not like Claire. He went on, “I finally figured out that the person I was the most upset with was me. For the first time in years—yes, more than three, you know that now—I’d lost track of you.” His volume increased. “My God, you were gone!”

He waited as she remained silent. Only her stare intensified and prodded, as if she could see deep into his soul. The sudden vulnerability chilled his skin. Could she see his pain? Yes, he was responsible for her consequences and pain that she’d endured, but he had pain, too. With all his heart he wanted to make them both forget it all—the pain, the past, everything. Stepping toward her, he saw anxiety in her expression increase. His chest ached at the realization that she was frightened of him. He would do anything to change that.

Exhaling, he maintained his distance and forged ahead. “Damn it, Claire. Nothing has been the same without you. The house is just a big, empty hole.”

“Tell me why,” she demanded.

“Why is it empty? Because you’re not there.”

“No, Tony. Why did you do it to me? Why’d you set me up—worse, arrange my entire life to look as though I was after your money, setting you up for the kill? You know I continually told you I didn’t care about the money. But everything, from the beginning, was manipulated to make me look guilty. Now you say you loved me. You don’t do that to someone you love. Tell me why you did it.”

“It isn’t past tense, Claire. I still love you. And I thought you knew why.”

“I want to hear it from you.”

“What was in the box you said you received? What information did you think I revealed?”

Suddenly, he envisioned her in prison, receiving the package. It wasn’t a thought he’d entertained before his dream. He’d convinced himself that prison was her fault, but now having her before him, he thought about the time she’d endured in a cell—months, a year. Thirteen days in her suite had nearly broken her. Damn, he deserved anything she said to him and anything she did with this newfound knowledge.

Her words rushed together, glued by years of suppression. “There were pictures, articles, and a letter. It explained that your birth name was Anton Rawls, and that you changed it after the death of your grandfather and parents.”

Perspiration threatened to dampen his veneer, as his hidden past came rolling from her tongue. “Was it handwritten? Where is it? I’d like to see it.”

“Yes, the note was handwritten. I thought it looked like your writing. It wasn’t signed, but you never signed anything.” Her fire-filled gaze disappeared as her eyes dropped to the floor. “You can’t see it. I burned it.”

His anxiety lifted as a relieved laugh escaped his lips. “You what?”

Her stare once again found its target as the intensity grew. “I burned it—all of it. I took it to the incinerator at the prison and watched it burn.”