“Listen Baldwin, if the Deputy Director hadn’t specifically asked for you to be back on this case, it wouldn’t be happening. If you’re going to make this work, then you need to get your head straight.”

Harry nodded. Williams was right. If he were to help again and learn more about the secrets involving the Rawls’ vendetta, then he needed to think like an agent—not a boyfriend. “Yes, sir, I understand. I’m grateful to be allowed back on this case.”

“Be at our office tomorrow at 9:00 AM. You’re taking a trip.”

His chest burst with excitement. This was an opportunity he couldn’t afford to miss. “Sir, what about Rawlings? Where’s he?”

“He’s currently in FBI custody; although, I don’t anticipate that being the situation for long. We’ll discuss this more when you arrive.”

“I understand.” Harry continued, “Special Agent, if there is questioning of Rawlings to be done, I request to be involved.”

“I believe you were told Ms. Nichols cleared Mr. Rawlings of anything to do with her disappearance.”

Harry leaned against the wall and took in the empty room. Claire hadn’t lived there in almost three months. Her things had been packed and shipped, yet if he closed his eyes, he could see her face and hear her laugh. The scent of her favorite perfume lingered in the recesses of the room and lofted into his senses. He shook his head and tried to focus. “Yes, of course. I’ll be there tomorrow.”

“Agent, this goes without saying; however, I realize you’ve became close to Ms. Nichols’ family. This information is classified—no one else can know.”

Harry thought about the people in the kitchen: Amber, Keaton, John, Emily, and Liz. How could he possibly walk out there and not tell Claire’s sister that Claire was alive?

Harry swallowed hard. “Yes, sir, I understand. Thank you, Special Agent, for this opportunity.”

“Don’t blow it, Agent Baldwin. It may be your last chance.”

“I won’t, sir.”

After Harry disconnected the call, he walked into the attached bathroom. Looking at his reflection, he worked to subdue the smile that begged to fill his face. Finally, he gave in to the relief. Tears flooded his eyes, and his grin emerged as he whispered, “Thank you God. Thank you for keeping her safe. Just help me nail that son-of-a-bitch once and for all!”

I regret those times when I've chosen the dark side. I've wasted enough time not being happy.

—Jessica Lange

Tony made no attempt to subdue his glare. This ridiculous mockery had gone on for far too long. The walls of the small interrogation room were beginning to close in around him. He didn’t try to keep his volume in check as he addressed the FBI agent across the table, “Agent Jackson, I’ve been listening to you for hours and I’ve—”

Brent interrupted, “What my client is trying to say is—if you don’t plan on charging him with a crime, we’re leaving.”

Agent Jackson pulled out a binder of papers. It was surprising he could locate anything within the clutter of jumbled stacks upon the table. While Brent had more recently arrived, Tony had been sitting there for hours, listening as the FBI agents tag-teamed his interrogation. One would ask questions and then disappear. Moments later, another agent would enter the room and resume the inquisition. The barrage was taking its toll; between the throbbing in his head and the ache in his back, Tony was ready to leave the small room. He didn’t care how—he just wanted out.

Agent Jackson leaned forward. “I’ll tell you what; I’m tired—you’re tired, and I don’t anticipate this ending anytime soon. The Bureau has kindly arranged for you, Mr. Rawlings, to spend the night. Mr. Simmons, by signing the gag order and release forms, you too will be provided accommodations until this situation is resolved.”

Brent stood. “This is Anthony Rawlings, CEO of Rawlings Industries. You cannot hold him without probable cause.”

Agent Jackson stood to meet Brent’s gaze. “Despite your client’s recent loss of memory, I guarantee we have probable cause; however, if you gentleman aren’t ready to call it a night”—he handed Brent the binder—“Then I suggest you and your client review this testimony. We can continue this discussion in a few hours.”

Tony’s blood boiled. He’d spent hours being questioned about Claire, their relationship, and her disappearance. Not once had anyone from the FBI volunteered information regarding her safety or whereabouts. Getting angry hadn’t produced any results; he decided to try cooperation. Slapping his hand on the table, he exhaled. “If this will help you find Claire, I’ll stay, but once again, I’m telling you, I had nothing to do with her disappearance. I want her found—safe and sound. If you have information regarding her whereabouts, I deserve to know.”