No.
He spun on his heel and nearly ran from that suite. When they’d checked in, Claire had been given a separate room, and he was in front of that room moments later. He had a key, and he opened the door, not bothering with a knock. He was too pissed for a knock. The woman didn’t get to just run out of his bed in the middle of the night.
Her room was smaller than his, and in an instant, he knew she wasn’t there. The bed hadn’t been touched. Her bag was gone.
Hell, no.
The woman wasn’t about to pull one of her disappearing acts on him. Not when he could still taste her on his tongue.
Not when I want more.
Then he saw the note. Folded, right in the middle of her pillow.
He scooped it up and instantly recognized the hotel stationary. He should, he’d picked that shit out.
A flowing, feminine handwriting told him…
Thank you, Noah. You taught me more about pleasure than I ever expected.
And she’d made him hungry for more.
Noah balled up the note and shoved it into his pocket. We’re not finished yet, Claire.
Three minutes later, he was storming outside of the hotel. He turned to the bellman. He knew the guy—Blayne—had started at the hotel just a few months back. “Claire Kramer.”
Blayne swallowed nervously and straightened his suit.
“Blonde hair, five foot ten. Slender. She would have left here alone, probably within the last two hours.”
The bellman nodded. “I saw her. She was in a big hurry. Only stopped to talk with me for a few moments.”
“Which taxi company did she use?” Because he could call them. Track her down.
“She didn’t use a taxi, sir. I offered to get her one but…” Blayne pointed down the street. “She just started walking that way.”
Noah glared down that street.
It’s not that easy, Claire.
He started walking.
***
Vincent Finch stared down at the senator’s body. He’d called the cops less than fifteen minutes ago, and they were already on the scene and trying to push him out of the room.
“You found him just like this?” The detective asked. The detective was a woman, barely five feet tall, with coffee cream skin. Her partner was a blond male, and the guy towered behind her.
Vincent nodded. “I…I came in to my room late.” Because he’d been trying to pick up the waitress who worked at the bar across the street. “H-his door was open. I thought something was wrong and—” He broke off, gagging a bit, because he’d seen the spray left behind when the bullet sank into Colby’s head.
His brain.
“And you said the victim was Colby Harrison?” The female detective pushed. “Why do I know that name?” she murmured, as if to herself.
“He used to be a senator.” Vincent swallowed. He could smell the blood. “From Alabama.”
The detective—she’d introduced herself as Gwen Lazlo—scribbled down that bit of information.
“I’m guessing a senator could have a lot of enemies in D.C.” This came from the detective’s blond partner. Vincent couldn’t remember the man’s name.
After he swiped a hand over his mouth, Vincent eased out a slow breath. “There was an…incident earlier tonight.” And Vincent knew that he had to tell them the rest.
“What kind of incident?” the male demanded.
The screaming match would be in the news. Vincent had caught sight of the reporter at York Towers. “A woman from his past,” he muttered. “Her name’s Claire Kramer. She’s in town. She and the senator…they had words tonight.” Though now that he thought about it, he wasn’t sure that Claire had actually spoken to the senator at all during that tense exchange.
“She an ex-lover?” Detective Lazlo asked as her eyebrows rose.
Vincent shook his head. “She was involved with his son, Ethan.” He turned away from the hotel room. He didn’t want to look in there anymore. So Vincent stared down at his hands. “Ethan went to jail for killing Claire’s parents.”
The blond whistled.
“Sonofabitch,” Gwen Lazlo muttered. “That’s why I remember the guy’s name.”
There was more. Say it. “On my…on my way into the hotel…before I found the body…” His hands clenched. I’d always felt a bit sorry for her. “I thought I saw Claire outside.” He looked up and found the blond watching him.
The blond detective asked, “You think she might have killed the guy?”
Vincent held his gaze. “Claire’s parents were both shot in the head. Just like the senator was tonight. And Claire…Claire hated Colby Harrison.” With good reason. I hated the old bastard, too. “I don’t know if she killed him, I just know…Claire is a very distinctive woman. You don’t forget her once you see her.” Maybe he’d been wrong to feel any sympathy for her. “She was outside of the hotel. She was here.” Don’t look back at that room. “And now Harrison is dead.”
***
Claire sat on the stone steps, her arms curled around her up-drawn knees. The Lincoln Memorial was behind her, glowing in all its glory. In the distance, she could see the Washington Monument, reaching straight up into the dark sky.
Despite the fact that it was close to 4 a.m., Claire wasn’t the only one hanging out near the Lincoln Memorial. So many people were there. Walking. Talking. Taking their pictures.
Plenty of people.
So why did she feel so alone?
“I figured I’d find you here.”
At that deep, familiar voice, Claire’s head turned and she saw Noah, walking up the steps toward her. She scrambled to her feet.
He kept coming. Slowly. Stalking up those stairs.
Her heart was racing in her chest now. He wasn’t supposed to come after her.
Noah didn’t stop his advance, not until he was right in front of her. “Why did you run from me?”
She shook her head.
“You liked being with me. I know a woman’s body. I could feel your pleasure.”
A lump rose in her throat, and it took Claire two attempts to actually speak. “I screamed for you,” she whispered, not wanting anyone but him to hear her words. “I-I…never expected that.”
“Then why leave me?” His words were harder. Sharper.
Claire squared her shoulders. Her bag was at her feet. “Because you don’t f**k your employees.”