After a while, he realized that he wouldn’t be able to tell if the pictures Claire received were from him. There were just too many. One or two or—hell—even ten taken from this file or that envelope wouldn’t be missed.

Then he remembered the Red Wing napkin. He’d looked for it last month and given up. Digging farther into the treasures of the past, Tony again pulled from the box. Once everything was sprawled across his floor, he realized the napkin was gone. Did Claire say it was in her prison delivery? Could he have left it in a suit-coat pocket? Did its absence prove beyond a shadow of a doubt that Catherine was the sender of the box?

Claire had also said articles. What articles? Tony didn’t have articles about his past.

Each moment and each revelation churned Tony’s stomach. The sender had to have been Catherine. He’d worked too hard to distance his current life and persona from his past. Though his curiosity remained, red seeped around the edges. Tony’s jaw clenched as he envisioned Catherine going through his personal belongings.

He put everything back, except a snapshot taken at Claire’s college graduation. It was taken from a distance, but you could see her in her cap and gown surrounded by people. On the back, it read: Claire (with Emily), Valparaiso Graduation—2007. Sighing, he folded it in half and placed it in his shirt pocket.

Instead of confronting Catherine, Tony decided to let her come to him. He knew she would, out of curiosity about his trip. With each step toward his office, he battled the red. Instinctively, he wanted to bang on the door of her suite and demand answers. Yet, years of experience with Catherine told him that wouldn’t be the best means to learn her motives. He needed to surprise her without confrontation.

Tony had only been within the confines of his office long enough to pour a few fingers of Blue Label when he heard the knock. With each rap, his muscles tensed and the hair on the back of his neck stood at attention. Easing himself into his desk chair, Tony hit the button and watched his door open.

It was late, but not late enough for all of the staff to have retired to their rooms. He watched as Catherine played her role. “Excuse me, Mr. Rawlings. I was just informed that you were home. May I speak with you for a minute?”

He could say no and make her wait. Her unmet curiosity could be her punishment; however, if he made her wait, then he would have to wait. Tony was tired of waiting. “Certainly, Catherine, shut the door and have a seat.”

Her gray eyes narrowed as she approached his desk. “What is it? Did she refuse to speak to you?”

“What is what?”

“You look… I don’t know, upset? And you didn’t call.”

He shook his head. “No. She spoke to me.”

“And?” Catherine leaned forward. “Tell me, how is she?”

“She’s doing well—too well.”

“Anton, don’t make me pry each word out of you. I want to know all about it.”

There was no way in hell that Tony planned on telling her all about it. His and Claire’s reunion had gone better—much better—than he’d dared to imagine. He wouldn’t tell anyone about what happened at her condominium. That memory would be theirs alone. It would sustain him until he held her in his arms again, until she was where she belonged—in Iowa.

He suppressed a chuckle as he recalled Claire’s power play. “I had reservations for our dinner. A few hours before, she called my cell.”

Catherine gasped. “How did she get the number? She didn’t try to cancel, did she?”

“I don’t know how she got my number. I wondered the same thing. Although I’m curious, the subject never came up.” He shrugged and suppressed a grin. Since something else had come up during their reunion, he no longer cared. “Perhaps, she remembered it from before? And, no, she didn’t cancel; she’d made reservations of her own.”

Catherine’s eyes widened. “What did you do?”

“I let her believe she was in control. I went to her destination.”

“You see, Anton, she’s much stronger than you gave her credit for.”

He didn’t usually think about the way Catherine addressed him. She’d called him Anton ever since the two of them were very young. That would change. Nodding at her statement, Tony leaned forward and looked her in the eye.

Uncharacteristically, she pulled away. “What is it?”

“My name is Anthony or, better yet, Mr. Rawlings. It is not, nor has it been for a long time, Anton.”

“What? Of course it is. You’ll always be Anton to me.” When he didn’t respond, she added, “That was how you were introduced to me, and what Nathaniel—”

“Don’t go there.” He abruptly stood and walked toward the highboy.

Catherine’s voice softened. “Did something happen… with her? Is that why you’re acting this way?”

“I think it’s time to move on. Anton Rawls is gone.” He lifted his brow. “And so is Marie Rawls.”

She shook her head. “Stop it. Why are you saying this?”

“Because of you.”

“Me?” Catherine asked, stunned.

“You said that Claire lived in this house for two years and never knew its secrets. I think it’s time to put those secrets to rest. Our list is done—we’re done with the past. After all, no one knows about it but us.” He watched as she smoothed nonexistent wrinkles from her skirt. When she failed to respond, he asked, “Isn’t that correct? No one but us.”