Noah didn’t speak.
“He was shot in the head! Just like my parents.” She covered her mouth with her hand. Her gaze was stunned as it held his.
“He made your life hell. You wanting some revenge only seems natural.”
Her hand fell away from her mouth. “Killing isn’t natural for me. My parents were murdered. My sister was murdered. Violence has taken everyone from me.” She gave a hard, negative shake of her head. “Trust me. Believe in me. I didn’t do this.”
Then what the hell kind of game was Sloan trying to play? “I want you to stay here. Don’t leave the hotel until I get back.” He turned for the door.
But Claire grabbed his arm. “Where are you going?”
“The PI wants to meet me. Says if I don’t come, he’ll turn over the proof of your guilt to that D.C. cop, Gwen Lazlo.”
“There is no proof,” she whispered as her fingers tightened around him. “He’s lying to you.”
“He’s about to realize I’m not the kind of man you can jerk around.” Bad mistake, Sloan. He tried to brush by her.
Claire didn’t ease her hold. “If you’re going, then so am I.”
“No.” He was definite. “You’re not.”
“This is my life we’re talking about here! He’s saying I’m a killer. I get to face the guy!” Her breath heaved out. Red stained her cheeks. “You aren’t leaving me behind for this.”
That was exactly what he planned to do.
“The last time you saw Sloan, you attacked the guy,” Claire reminded him. Not that Noah needed the reminder. “Maybe this is some kind of payback plan he has. Get you alone, and then attack.”
Bring it, asshole.
Claire’s stubborn chin notched up. “I won’t let you be hurt because you’re trying to protect me.”
Wait—what?
“That won’t happen.” Claire straightened her shoulders. “So either we both go, or you’re going to have to tie me to a chair…because I will follow you.”
This was the woman Drake had compared to a broken bird? Hell, no. There was so much more to Claire than just what met the eye.
“My life,” Claire said again. “Don’t shut me out. Noah, pl—”
He kissed her. Deep and hard. I told her not to ever beg me.
His tongue thrust into her mouth. He tasted her. He took.
Claire’s fierce response stunned him. Her tongue met his. Her kiss was as frantic and feverish as his own.
A perfect match.
Noah lifted his head. Their breath panted out.
“Take me with you,” Claire whispered.
If I have to hurt the guy, I didn’t want you seeing that. I don’t want you seeing…me.
But maybe it was time that he stopped hiding the man that he really was from Claire. Maybe it was time for her to see him for what he truly was.
Would she run then?
Or would Claire prove to be stronger than the others?
Noah stared up at the old hotel. The building was boarded up, and his crew had put a large, chain-link fence around the property’s perimeter.
He didn’t see anyone, but that didn’t mean Sloan Hall wasn’t already inside, waiting for him.
Claire’s shoulder brushed against his. “So what’s the plan here?”
He’d thought about getting back-up for the trip, but until he found out exactly what Sloan had to say, Noah hadn’t wanted to involve anyone else.
Claire didn’t kill the senator.
He believed that, but he also knew just how easy it was to frame someone for a crime. He wouldn’t let Claire be pulled into a legal nightmare.
“The plan is that I go in—”
“We,” Claire corrected crisply.
Right. “We go in,” he allowed, “and we find out what game this jerk is playing.”
Cautiously, they approached the building. He saw that the wood near the entrance had been pried open. Are you inside, Sloan?
He climbed up the steps. Claire hurried with him.
Then his phone rang.
Noah hesitated. Sloan?
He yanked out the phone, but this time, he recognized the number of the screen. It was Trace Weston’s personal line. “Not a good time,” he growled to his friend when he answered the call.
“I’m staring at a dead body,” Trace told him. “I just thought you might want to know about that.”
“What?”
Claire was trying to peer into the darkness of the hotel.
“I made it to New York about three hours ago.” Trace’s voice held a hard edge. “My agents and I came out to have a little talk with Sloan Hall.”
“I’m about to have my own talk with him,” Noah snapped. Dead body? What the hell?
“That’ll be hard,” Trace murmured. “Seeing as how the guy is missing half his head.”
All of the distant noise seemed to quiet right then. The car horns muted. The rush of traffic eased. Noah focused completely on Trace’s voice. “The dead body? It’s Sloan?”
“He’s in some flea-hole of a hotel. My agents tracked him. Seems the guy had to visit the hospital last night for a broken nose.”
“How long has he been dead?”
“Judging by the smell, at least a few damn hours.”
Noah hadn’t heard Sloan’s voice clearly on the phone. The guy had been whispering. Trying to disguise his identity?
Claire was about to slip inside the small opening near the old door. “No!” He grabbed for her arm.
“Uh, what?” Trace asked. “What are you yelling about?”
Noah didn’t answer him. Every instinct he had was screaming at him.
This meeting wasn’t about blackmail. It wasn’t about Claire’s innocence or guilt.
It was about them being lured to this hotel. To this empty, abandoned spot.
“Claire, come on!” But he didn’t wait for her to come. Noah wrapped his arm around her stomach, and he lifted her up against him. He ran, nearly falling down those stairs.
Get away. Get away. Get—
The explosion sent chunks of the old building spiraling into the air. The boards covering the windows shot out. Shards of glass rained down on Noah, and he tried to hunch his body over Claire’s. But the blast had him flying through the air, too, and all he could do was hold her, as tightly as he could.
They hit the ground. Hard enough to rattle his bones. He felt blood sliding down his right arm, and a board slammed into his back.
Claire was beneath him. The flames from the explosion scorched his skin as he tried to keep covering her.
One explosion so far, but there could be more.
I have to get her out of here.
“Come on, Claire,” Noah whispered. “We have to make a run for it.”
Claire didn’t respond. When he lifted her up, her head sagged back weakly. “Claire?”
Her eyes were closed. Blood trickled down the side of her head.
No!
He lifted her up and ran then, as fast as he could toward the fence that circled the property. Another explosion had the ground trembling beneath his feet, but Noah didn’t stop. He kept going. Kept holding her as tightly as he could.
Then he was free as he slid through the opening in the chain-link fence. He rushed across the street. Traffic had stopped. People were screaming, running, but he barely saw any of them. They were just smoke covered blurs to him.
He put Claire down on the sidewalk. “Baby?”
Her eyes were still closed. He brushed back her hair. Blood was on his fingers, and it smeared across her cheek. But when he moved her hair, Noah saw the gash on her head. About an inch long, and already, the skin around that wound was turning a dark, bruised purple.
Sirens screamed in the distance. Help, coming in fast.
“Claire.” He put his hand to her throat. Her pulse was steady. He checked for other injuries but only saw the gash on her head.
Be okay, baby. Be okay.
They hadn’t gone in the building.
They’d been so close, but Noah had stopped just steps away from the entrance. He’d gotten that phone call, and the guy had started to pull Claire back.
He’d had to detonate then. There had been no choice.
A few steps. Noah had been so close to death.
But not as close as Claire.
As he watched, she was loaded into the back of an ambulance. Noah was with her. Standing so close. Jumping into the back of that emergency vehicle when she was pushed inside.
He’d wondered just how close Claire and Noah truly were. Now he realized…
Claire has got to Noah, too.
She had a real talent for drawing in her lovers. Winding men around her finger. Batting those blue eyes and getting them to do anything for her.
Lie.
Steal.
Kill.
But Claire wasn’t going to twist him. Her days of playing games—those days were long over.
He’d missed her and Noah this time.
Next time, they wouldn’t escape. He’d make sure of it.
Claire felt like she’d been hit by a truck. She opened her eyes slowly and winced at the pain. Her head throbbed and nausea rolled in her belly as the room before her came into focus—
And then that nausea just got a whole lot worse.
“A hospital,” Claire whispered, surprised by the slightly hoarse sound of her own voice. “No, not—”
“It’s okay.” She turned her head at that deep voice. Noah was beside her bed. His fingers had curled around her wrist. “You’re not alone.”
He’d ditched his coat. He wore a white shirt, one that had flecks of blood over the sleeves. Actually, one sleeve was cut nearly to the shoulder, and she could see the outline of a white bandage on his arm.
The shirt was also stained gray—with soot? Ash?
“The hotel,” Claire said as the memories pushed through her mind. “It caught on fire.”
His lips tightened. “Two bombs were planted there.”
Her heartbeat kicked up, and the machines near her bed began to beat even faster. “The PI tried to kill us?”
Noah shook his head. His face looked harder, the faint lines near his eyes deeper than before. “Sloan wasn’t the one who set up that meeting.”
The throbbing in her head got even worse. “But you said—”
“I thought I was talking to Sloan, but it turns out that guy was already dead when I got that phone call to set up our meeting.”
She jerked beneath his hold.
“Easy,” Noah murmured as his fingers kept stroking her. “You’ve got a concussion. You have to be careful.”
The concussion would explain the jackhammer in her head. “How did he die?” Her voice was stronger. “What happened to him?”
Noah glanced away from her.
No, no, no—
“He was shot in the head.”
Oh, God. “I have to get out of here.” She tried to climb from the bed.
Noah pushed her back. “No, stop it!” He held her easily in the bed. “I can’t let you hurt yourself.”
“What is happening?” The machines were still beeping too loudly and fear had her whole body tensing. “The shot to the head…just like the senator, just like—”
“Your parents,” he finished grimly. His hands were around her shoulders now. He eased her back into the hospital bed. “And the bomb…well, we both know a bomb just took out Ethan Harrison.”
“Someone wanted us to go out that way, too.” Bombs didn’t just kill. They obliterated. “Why? Why is someone after me?” But then horror filled her. “You.”
Noah frowned down at her.
“I-I wasn’t the one called to that hotel. You were. You were the one who was—” Claire broke off, unable to say more.
You were the one who was going to die.
She tried to get out of the bed again.
He pushed her back against the pillow. “Claire, stop it!”
She couldn’t stop. “I need to get away.” She twisted beneath his hands. “No, you have to get away from me. It’s happening again.” But he wasn’t letting her go. “Leave, Noah, just leave!”
Instead of leaving, he sat on the edge of the bed and pulled her into his arms. “You’re okay.”
This time, she was. He was. What about next time? “It’s because of me,” Claire managed to say.
Noah eased back just enough to peer down at her.
“You almost died…because of me.” Because he’d gotten involved with her. He’d helped her.
I won’t let him suffer because of me.
“It’s not because of you.” Intensity hardened each word. “Some bastard out there is playing some sort of sick game.” He shook his head. “And he’s playing with the wrong man.”
This wasn’t a game. “You need to stay away from me.” He had to see that.
Everyone close to me dies.
“That’s not happening,” he said.
Then I have to stay away from you.
The door opened behind Noah then, swinging in with a soft swoosh of sound. Noah glanced toward the door, but he didn’t release Claire. Claire followed his gaze.
She instantly recognized the man who stood in the doorway. Tall, with broad shoulders, the guy had a handsome, but hard face and glittering blue eyes.
Trace Weston.He’d been her sister’s boss, and Sara had looked up to him so much.
Sara had also feared him.
“Claire?” The soft, feminine voice came from the woman beside Trace—his new wife, Skye. Skye hurried toward the bed. Her dark hair fell over her shoulders, and her pretty face reflected her concern. “Are you all right?”
