It was there, in that church, in Indianapolis, Indiana, that Anthony resolved that his and Claire’s paths would cross again. Someday he’d learn just how strong she could be in the face of greater adversity.

To know the rules of the game, you have to be educated.

—L.L. Cool J.

Mindlessly, the pad of Anthony’s thumb ran laps around the smooth rim of the crystal tumbler. He wasn’t thinking about the glass in his hand or even the Evan Williams bourbon swirling near the bottom. No, Anthony’s thoughts were centered on the monitors above his grand desk. From multiple, well-placed cameras, he could watch Claire move about the S.E suite.

During his time in Europe, the appeal of the woman held captive in his home had begun to fade. In all honesty, having acquired his goal, his return home seemed somewhat anticlimactic. After all, the hunt had taken years, and with each bit of new information, and each time he manipulated fate, Anthony felt invigorated. For a long time, Anthony had known that one day his target would be his.

The capture was all that he’d imagined and more—the true climax! From the moment he stepped into the Red Wing, Anthony knew he’d succeed. He was, first and foremost, a businessman with an impeccable record of success, especially when an endeavor had his full commitment. Whether in business or in pleasure, Anthony understood that planning and patience were essential elements for success. Before embarking on any deal, Anthony Rawlings thoroughly assessed the situation, eliminated the risks, and accentuated the assets.

This acquisition was different. Unlike the average acquisition, such as one of a company, this acquisition had risks that he couldn’t avoid. Sometimes that happened in the game of chance. The first risk was his public interaction with Claire; sitting with her in the Red Wing and taking her out to dinner were undoubtedly perilous. After all, he’s well-known, and the possibility of being associated, even coincidentally, with a missing person wouldn’t fit his perfect persona.

In all reality, he could have paid for Claire Nichols’ disappearance—only to have her reappear in his home—but that would’ve increased the number of people privy to his plan. With her ultimate future unsure, Anthony felt the fewer number of people on that list, the better. Most importantly, if he’d paid someone to bring her to Iowa, he would’ve missed out on the euphoria that came with finalizing the big deal. Anthony had experienced that feeling over and over in business, but that was nothing like the sensation of slipping the GHB into Claire’s wine glass. At that moment, he knew that there was no turning back—he didn’t want to.

Being a professional businessman with an image to maintain, Anthony worked out every possible scenario and created believable contingency plans. The time and energy he’d put into Claire Nichols’ acquisition could have been billed in millions—literally. Anthony Rawlings’ time was incredibly valuable. Suddenly, his lips twitched upward. Perhaps he should add his billable hours in planning and executing Claire’s acquisition to Claire’s bill? But, wouldn’t that be like a jail sentence of ‘life’ plus 1000 years? Her first debt was practically insurmountable; adding more to it was truly adding insult to injury.

Movement on the screen caused him to refocus. He watched as Claire unsuccessfully tried to open a bottle of water. After a few attempts she wiped her hands on the arms of the chair and finally removed the cap. If he’d have zoomed closer, he would’ve seen her complexion pale as she forced herself to swallow the refreshing liquid. Satisfaction filled his chest; his delay was working—Claire knew he was coming to her, and her anxiety was obviously growing with each passing minute.

Maybe—just maybe—he’d been wrong to think the fun was over. Perhaps there’d be more opportunities to enjoy the woman in the black dress and heels he was watching. He reminded himself, it wasn’t all about enjoyment, well at least not hers. No, Claire Nichols had a bill to pay and lessons to learn.

Anthony was in a place he’d never been. Metaphorically, he was entering virgin territory. After all, he’d never before held a woman captive. There’d never been a need—or a desire. Women were a nice accessory and a necessary complement for many occasions, and through the years, more women than he could remember were willing to fulfill that role, as well as be attentive to his physical needs. Of course, he treated each one with respect. Anthony Rawlings couldn’t have disgruntled women running around talking about him in a negative way. Each separation was his fault—his plate was too full, he had too many responsibilities. The fact that he usually dated high-profile women helped. They, too, had lives, responsibilities, and reputations that required discretion. If he tried to remember half of the gorgeous women he’d dated, Anthony believed that all of his separations had ended amicably.

Thankfully, he had people like Shelly, his publicist, and Patricia, his private assistant, to remind him when he’d be encountering an old flame. It even seemed that at times, Patricia found his lack of sincerity regarding these women amusing. After all, many of them, at one time or another, considered him a boyfriend. The reality couldn’t be farther from the truth. Never in forty-five years had Anthony Rawlings considered himself someone’s boyfriend. The concept was laughable.

It wasn’t that he didn’t enjoy the company of women; it was that, in the game of life, women were a liability, a risk that he wasn’t willing to take. He was a master at appearances. Accepting a woman as anything more than an accessory for an evening or as an outlet for physical needs would be to allow that woman to be part of his persona—part of his life. That had never happened, nor did Anthony Rawlings foresee it happening in the future. He had too much at stake.