Anthony Rawlings had the darkest eyes I’d ever seen. With time I learned to read the emotions that swirled in their abyss. But on that night, all I witnessed behind his eyes was an impenetrable hunger that I didn’t understand. How could I? I was figuratively walking the tightrope of my life.

We did dine—or should I say that he ate. My nerves were too stretched to even consider consuming food. I wanted to appear strong; however, I doubt that I did. He spoke casually about the meal, dining, and trivial things. Had my body not throbbed with the abuses from the night before and my muscles not been as taut as metal stretched to its brink, I could have pretended I was on a date with an eloquent gentleman. That mirage—or should I say charade—faded into the reality of my situation once he’d finished his meal.

He told me to stand and I did. It wasn’t until he told me to remove my dress that I found my voice.

“I think we need to discuss this…” was what I remember saying. He didn’t want to discuss it. Anthony Rawlings had other plans. A second later my dress lay shredded on the floor, torn from my body. Unfortunately, that night will live forever, burned into my memory.

Does one fight when one knows she can’t win? Does one protest when she knows it falls on deaf ears? Does one pray for escape, even if death is the most viable alternative? I only know how I can personally answer those questions. I pray that those of you reading this will never need to learn your answers.

The chapter wasn’t over, but Brent couldn’t read anymore.

Those words from Claire’s memoirs rushed to the forefront of Brent’s mind as he stared at his best friend in the hospital corridor. The look in Tony’s eyes was darker than Brent had ever seen. Was that what Claire had been forced to face years ago?

Truly, Brent’s bravado spoke volumes about the evolution of their friendship. The reality of Brent successfully removing Tony from that hospital hallway was something that years ago would probably not have even been attempted. Somehow, Claire’s plight gave Brent strength. She moved mountains when it came to Tony—it was doable. The last thing Anthony Rawlings needed to do was to walk through a restraining order, and just because they both knew that, it didn’t ease the tension as they rode back to Rawlings Industries in impenetrable silence.

The lack of conversation didn’t bother Brent. He had a lot to do. Once he had Tony back to the office and safely tucked away, Brent planned to visit the judge who’d signed the restraining order. Maybe it was against protocol, but he’d learned to work the system. As they rode, he sent a message to his assistant telling her to set up the meeting.

From what little Brent had read, he believed that Meredith’s book was the cause or at least the bias for the order. He didn’t doubt the accuracy. Beginning with Claire’s testimony from what seemed like a lifetime ago, to the book now sitting comfortably on the New York Times bestseller list, Claire’s story had stayed consistent. There was no reason to doubt what the entire world now knew. However, as he’d counsel Tony, there was no reason for Anthony Rawlings to publicly confirm it, either.

While reviewing emails, Brent came to the one he received just prior to Tony’s first court appearance—the one stating that two charges of false imprisonment had been added to his list of infractions. Brent was confident that the same two people who alleged they had been falsely imprisoned were the same ones who’d filed for the restraining order. He was immediately thankful he hadn’t told Tony anything more about the charges. He was even happier that the Vandersols hadn’t made their presence known at the hospital. Entering Claire’s room could have been the match to ignite the explosion that none of them could survive.

They weren’t far from the office when Brent asked, “Are you sure you want to go into Rawlings? You haven’t been there in months.”

Tony turned as if pulled from a trance. “Where the hell else would I go? Well, other than to my wife and daughter, but I can’t. I have an order restricting me to stay at least one hundred yards away and to make no attempt to contact. My home is still being investigated as a crime scene, not to mention the fire, water, and smoke damage. Hell, I can’t even go there.”

“I’ve got a call into Judge Temple about the restraining order. Give me some time. And Courtney wants you to come and stay with us.”

“I think a hotel would be better right now.”

“It’s your decision, but our home is less likely to draw reporters.”

Tony nodded. “Good point.”

They’d been through Tony’s rendition of the events a hundred times, but Brent wanted to hear it again. “Before we get to the office, tell me what happened from the moment you got to the estate with Eric and Phil.”

“I’ve told you, and you’ve watched the office tapes. What more do you want to know?”

“Specifically, I need to know about John and Emily. They weren’t on the office tapes.”

Tony’s brow furrowed. “No, they were locked in Claire’s suite. There are cameras in there,” he added somewhat sheepishly, “as you know.” His normal tone returned. “Those tapes should also be available. Have Eric or Roach find them. Roach and Eric should also be able to compile the entire chain of events leading to the Vandersols’ entrance to the suite. There’s even a way to electronically verify that the lock is set on the suite door. Hell, most of the damn house is under surveillance. That’s how I knew where to go to find them. Roach texted me their location…” He lifted his phone. “…check my phone records; it should be on there.” Tony’s voice trailed away as he added, “I didn’t know where Sophia was. I didn’t get her location…”