He started to get hard inside of her again.
With Claire, he was always ready to go again.
His head lifted. Red stained her cheeks. Her eyes shined, and her lips were swollen from his mouth.
“Everyone is going to know what we did,” Claire said.
Good. He wanted them to know.
Claire’s mine. I’m not letting her go.
Even if he had to kill in order to keep her with him.
***
Noah had fucked Claire. Drake could tell. Sure, their clothes were perfectly in place again, but there was a flush on Claire’s skin. A sensual gleam in her eyes.
And there was the obvious stamp of satisfaction and possession on Noah’s face when he looked at her.
Oh, yeah, Noah had staked his claim all right. It would be apparent to every male in the room.
“He’s got it bad,” Trace murmured as he slid up to the bar beside Drake.
The band was playing now. Some low, romantic tune that got on Drake’s nerves. “Guess you’d know,” Drake said, glancing over at him. “Since Skye’s made you crazy for years.”
Trace’s gaze was actually on Skye as she talked with Claire. “She’s worth every minute of insanity.”
Bullshit. Drake had been burned—damn near lethally—by a woman before. He didn’t plan on ever getting onto the insanity-boat again. As far as he was concerned, no woman was worth that nightmare. “I think your men need to focus more on Austin Harrison.”
Trace’s brows climbed. “The brother?”
“Yes, the brother.” Drake was done with champagne. He drained the whiskey he’d just been given. He motioned to Noah, and his friend started crossing the room toward him.
A few seconds later, Noah leveled his gaze on Drake. “You took care of him?”
“Sure did.” He saluted him with his empty whiskey glass. “And I’m guessing you recently fired an employee?”
Noah nodded. “Five minutes ago. And I’ve doubled the security at the hotel.”
“Good idea,” Trace told him as his fingers tapped against the bar. “Seeing as how you’re working so hard to get a killer to come after you.”
Drake put his glass back down. No one was close enough to overhear them, but he still dropped his voice as he said, “I think the brother did it. I think he set up the bomb to kill Ethan Harrison.”
The faint lines near Noah’s eyes deepened. “His own brother?”
“Austin knew Ethan would be at that funeral. He knew which car his brother would arrive and leave in.” Austin had all but admitted his guilt outside of the Towers. “He said that Ethan would never stop going after Claire.”
“He wouldn’t have.” Noah’s face had hardened. “He was counting down the days until he we was free. He was as hung up on her as he always was.” Noah glanced over his shoulder, obviously looking for Claire.
He’s not the only one hung up on her.
But Drake was going to let his buddy dig his own grave on that one. His fingers curled around the empty whiskey glass. “Austin said he didn’t stop him before, but I think he made sure he stopped Ethan this time.”
Trace was already pulling out his phone. Drake heard the guy giving orders for a deeper investigation on Austin Harrison. “I want to know every move he’s made for the last three months,” Trace said into the phone.
When Trace gave an order, Drake knew his agents scrambled to obey.
“I don’t like the way he is with Claire,” Drake added.
Noah glanced back at him.
“He looks at her the same way you do.” And that fact worried Drake. “It can’t be good.” Drake just didn’t get it. Claire was a pretty woman, sure, definitely. Great eyes. Hot body. And she was smart—that was always sexy.
But…
Ethan Harrison had gone crazy for her.
Noah—hell, Drake didn’t even know what Noah was doing.
“She has to be fucking phenomenal in bed,” Drake muttered, and he realized his mistake two seconds too late.
Because in those two seconds, Noah drove his fist into Drake’s jaw. Noah had always possessed a killer punch, and that hit sent Drake flying off the barstool. He slammed into the floor, and the barstool fell beside him.
Shocked gasps filled the air.
The band stopped playing.
Drake looked up and saw Noah coming in for another hit. He braced himself, but Trace pulled Noah back.
“Noah?”
And then Claire was there. She ran toward Noah and put her hand on his shoulder. “What are you doing?”
The reporters would be splashing this news all over the place. Especially the gossip reporter, Jennifer Swan. She lived for drama like this.
Noah glared at Drake. “I was just having a little talk with my friend.”
Drake smiled. “I fell. Must’ve had too much to drink.” He stood up and rubbed his jaw.
Skye hurried over and straightened his suit. “Falling is easy when you get a punch to the face,” she murmured, her voice only carrying to him.
Yes, it was.
Claire’s gaze darted between Noah and Drake. “This isn’t the place. Not for…whatever is happening between you two.”
Noah shook free of Trace. “Of course.” He motioned to the band. “Play something slow. I want to dance with my fiancée.” He pulled Claire into his arms. Started to walk past Drake. Then Noah slowed. He leaned in close to Drake and rasped, “Fucking phenomenal. You’d better believe it.”
Then he took Claire onto the dance floor.
Drake shook his head. No one woman—and no sex—was worth the kind of hell Noah was courting.
***
The ringing of a phone woke Claire that night. She blinked as her hand stretched out, seeking Noah in the darkness.
He wasn’t there.
The phone—her phone—rang again, vibrating from its position on the nightstand.
Claire flipped on the light. It shined down on her phone—and on the framed photo of her family. She’d brought that photo into Noah’s suite because she’d wanted to keep it close. She needed it close.
Claire picked up her phone. She didn’t recognize the number, so she answered, hesitantly, “H-hello?”
“Claire…”
Goosebumps rose on her arms because that was a voice that Claire could never, would never forget.
“I’ve missed you, Claire.”
Her gaze darted back to the photograph of her family. Mom. Dad…
She jumped from the bed. Where was Noah?
“It’s been so long…”
It couldn’t be his voice. “You’re dead.”
Laughter. Soft. Familiar. “Did you really think death would keep me from you?”
She yanked open the bedroom door. Rushed forward. Noah wasn’t in the outer room.
“You’re my one and only. Always.” The voice—his voice—thickened. “And I’ll be your one and only. No one else, not for either of us.”
She wouldn’t say his name. He was dead. “Leave me alone.” Her body was shaking. She seemed to be splintering apart. Dead. Dead. Dead. He’s dead—
“I’ll see you soon, Claire.”
The line went dead.
Claire didn’t move. She could barely breathe as the suite seemed to whirl around her.
She didn’t know how long she stood there, shaking, naked, but the suite door opened eventually. Noah stepped inside.
“Claire?” He hurried toward her.
She still had the phone clenched in her hand.
“Claire, what the hell is happening?”
She tried to talk, but her tongue felt too thick in her mouth.
He yanked the phone from her. His fingers flew across the screen as he checked her call log. “That’s the same number that called me before the explosion at the Claymire Hotel. That’s Sloan Hall’s number.”
Claire managed to shake her head. “I…know his voice.” A woman didn’t forget the voice of the man who’d wrecked her world.
&nb
sp; “What? Claire, I couldn’t understand you.” His hand closed around her shoulder. “Dammit, baby, you feel ice cold.”
She was. “He said…I was his ‘one and only’—he always said that.” At first, those words had made her feel special.
Then they’d made her terrified.
“Who was on the phone, baby? Who was on the phone?”
She stared into his eyes. “Ethan.”
Noah immediately tried to call the number back.
“I know it was him.” She could hear his voice in her mind, looping endlessly. “He’s not dead.”
Noah had the phone to his ear.
“And he’s going to come for me.”
***
“Hey, Gwen, there’s a package on your desk!”
Gwen waved at the cop who’d just passed her. “Thanks, John.” She’d worked a double shift, and she was dead tired. She just wanted to get home and curl up with—and around—Lane.
She strode to her desk. Gwen frowned at the big brown envelope there. No return address. “Hey, John, when was this—”
John was gone. And, at close to 4 a.m., the bullpen was deserted. Sighing, she opened the package. She should probably wait but that damn curiosity of hers never let her hold back.
She slit open the side of the envelope. Photographs tumbled out.
Claire Kramer.
Gwen easily recognized the other woman, even though the photos were grainy and dark. She thumbed through the images. About eight pictures.
At Senator Harrison’s hotel in D.C. Gwen’s eyes narrowed.
Claire was standing right outside of the hotel. The pictures were even date and time stamped for her.
The times could be faked, of course, but…
What if the images were legit?
Then Gwen got to the last photograph. According to the time stamp on it, the image had been captured ten minutes after the last shot of Claire.
There was a man in this picture. A man rushing into the senator’s hotel. The image only showed the side of the man’s face, but she recognized him, too.
Noah York.
“I’ll be damned,” she whispered. She’d thought Claire had acted alone, but it looked like the lady had gotten some help from her lover. “And now I’ve got you,” Gwen said. She reached for her phone. It was time for her to use some of her own power in this town. Favors were owed to her, and it was time they were called in.
Chapter Twelve
“I’m not crazy,” Claire said as she stalked toward Noah’s desk around noon.
He glanced up at her. Damn, but she looked good in black. “I don’t remember saying you were.”
She was still wearing the bracelets he’d given her. As far as Noah knew, Claire hadn’t taken those bracelets off. Now, as soon as he found the perfect ring to match her eyes, they’d be—
“You don’t think Ethan Harrison called me last night.”
He had to be very careful here. “A cemetery full of people saw him die.”
“I don’t care what they saw. I heard him.” Her hands slapped down on his desk. “I need you to believe me. That whole engagement scene last night, it was designed to draw out the killer, right? Guess what? It worked even better than you’d hoped. Ethan is the killer. He’s—”
“He can’t be.” Noah rose. Walked around the desk so that he could stand close to her. “He was in jail when his father was killed. Alibis don’t get much better than that.”
“Then maybe he hired someone to kill his father! I don’t know how he did it.” She gulped. “I just know he called me. He called using Sloan’s phone, so maybe he killed Sloan, too. He killed Sloan and he set the bomb and—”
Noah caught her hands. “Breathe, baby.”
She sucked in a shuddering breath. “I don’t want to do this again.”
She was breaking his heart. He pulled her closer. Put her right against that aching heart. “He’s gone. Whoever called last night—hell, it’s someone who was trying to mess with you.” That someone would pay. “The guy who called you must’ve got some of Ethan Harrison’s recordings. Ethan did a ton of interviews over the years. With a little splicing, it would be easy enough to run his words together and make it seem like he was calling you.”
Her hands pushed against his shoulders as she looked up at him. “Why would someone do that?”
“To screw with your head.”
She flinched.
“Think about the call. Did he respond to any questions that you asked him? Or was it just his voice? Rambling?” Because Noah had even used a tactic like this one before, on an enemy when he needed to get a guard to back away. A little voice manipulation, some splicing of a recording, and bam, he’d gotten exactly what he needed.
“I said he was dead.” Claire’s voice was leaden. “And he asked if I thought death could keep him from me.”
Rage surged within Noah, but he held tight to his control.
Claire’s long lashes swept down. “He said there wouldn’t be anyone else, not for him and not for me.”
“It wasn’t him.”
A knock sounded at his door. A visitor was the last thing he wanted. “Not now!”
But the door opened anyway. “Payback,” Trace muttered as he came inside. “You did the same thing to me once.”
Noah’s eyes narrowed on him. “This isn’t the time, Trace. I need to talk with Claire.” He had to chase the fear from her eyes.
“I’m here about Claire.” Trace’s gaze slid to her. “My men tracked down Sloan Hall’s phone.”
Finally. Some damn progress.
“Did you find Ethan?” Claire asked, voice sharp.
Trace glanced at Noah.
Noah shook his head.
Trace cleared his throat. “We just found the phone. It had been left at the Hamlet Hotel.”
Fuck. The phone had been left at the same hotel Claire had stayed in when she first came to New York? The caller was definitely enjoying his head games.
“I did some talking to the staff there,” Trace continued with a slow nod. “Turned out they remembered seeing a man who fit Sloan’s description, right around the time Claire checked in to the place.”
“He trashed her room,” Noah said. But that was exactly what Austin had told them.
“I think so.” Trace rubbed the back of his neck. “There were no prints on the recovered phone. It had been wiped clean and dumped at the Hamlet’s front desk.” His lips twisted. “You know the security at that place is crap, so, of course, no one saw anyone actually leave the phone.”
That would have been too much to ask for.
Claire stepped away from Noah. “Do you have agents down in Alabama?”
Trace nodded. “I sent them down after I heard about the explosion at the cemetery.”
“Are they sure Ethan is dead?”
Noah rubbed his chest. The ache there just got worse.
“I mean, maybe he got out before the car exploded. Maybe he—”
“He was in the back of the cop car,” Trace said softly, “so he wouldn’t have been able to open those doors. He was trapped in there.”
Her hands twisted together. “I know his voice. That wasn’t a recording last night. It was him. He called me!”
Noah had to touch her again. He reached for Claire.
She flinched away.
That one move hurt. She hadn’t pulled away from him, not since the beginning. “Claire?”
She whirled to stare into his eyes. “I need you to believe me. I’ve believed you, everything you said, right from the beginning.” Tears glinted in her eyes. “He’s alive, and he’s going to come after me.”
Then she started backing toward the door. “I need to get away. He knows that I’m at the Towers. I can’t stay here.”
She was trying to run again.
“Claire.”
She stilled. He hated the fear in her eyes.
“You said you believed in me, right?” Noah asked her. Did she even realize how important those words we
re to him?
Her head moved in a faint nod.
Trace silently watched them.
“Then believe that I won’t let anything happen to you. Whoever called you, I’m going to get him. I will stop him. You don’t need to fear anything when I’m with you.”
Her breath slowly eased out. Some of the wild panic seemed to fade from her eyes.
But then there was another knock at his door. Dammit. Why was everyone trying to rush inside his office?
Before he could call out, the door opened. Jonathan, one of his administrative assistants, rushed inside. “Sir, I’m so sorry. You said Mr. Weston was always clear and the others—”
Others?
A man and a woman came in behind Jonathan.
A tall, blond male. A petite and fierce woman—he would recognize her dark glare anywhere. “Detective Lazlo.”
She smiled. It was a shark’s smile.
Jonathan glanced around with wide eyes.
“That’s all, Jonathan,” Noah said because he didn’t want the guy hearing what