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.
“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—”