“What?”
Franco laughed. “Sorry. Couldn’t resist.” He gave her a little wave. “I’m sure we’ll be seeing you very soon.”
Then he and Paul were gone.
Claire faced Noah. “I should go use those new clothes and get dressed.” She gave a firm nod of her head and turned away to—
“Running, Claire?”
“Walking,” she said without looking back at him. “Walking very slowly.”
She’d taken about four steps when he said, “Trace Weston.”
The name had her pausing.
Trace Weston was a billionaire, a man with a dangerous reputation—and the man who’d saved her sanity once upon a time.
Claire’s sister had worked for Trace. Sara had been his assistant for several years before she’d been brutally murdered in Chicago.
Claire cleared her throat. “If you had Trace Weston investigate me, then I’m sure you discovered all of my dirty little secrets. Weston Securities is the best firm in the U.S.”
“You don’t have dirty secrets.”
Yes, she did. Everyone did. Hers were bloody and dirty and dark.
“You know, so I don’t have to tell you.” She needed to get dressed. The clothing almost seemed to be armor that she had to don in order to deal with him.
“There’s plenty for you to tell me. One day, you will.”
He sounded so certain. So confident.
Claire found herself whirling toward him. For years, she’d been the good one. The quiet one. The one who never tried to step a foot out of line.
But I still lose everyone who gets close to me. “Only if you tell me your secrets, Noah. Because I know you have them. You and Trace…your military past. You both pretend to be such good, upstanding members of society, but there’s more to you both, right? Secrets that some people would kill to know.”
His lips twisted. “Touché.”
Her breath heaved out. “I’m going to get dressed. Wait outside the suite.”
He blinked.
What? Had no one ever given the guy an order before? Money can’t buy everything, Noah York.
“I’ll go,” he said with a nod, “because we need to get ready for our flight.”
“Flight?” she echoed.
“York Towers is a world-wide operation, you know that. I rarely stay in one city too long.”
She pulled at the sleeves of her robe, making sure her wrists were covered. “Where are we going?”
“This time, it’s just a short trip to D.C.”
Claire could feel all of the blood leaving her face. D.C.
“Claire?”
“I’ll be ready in twenty minutes,” she promised him.
He’s not in D.C. any more. He’s long gone. I’ll be safe there.
“You don’t have to—”
“Outside,” she said again. Then she headed for her closet and the clothes that he’d bought for her. She heard him walk away.
Heard the soft click of the door shut behind him.
And then she heard a whisper from her past. The voice of Ethan Harrison’s father, Senator Colby Harrison.
You little bitch. I know you made my boy kill. You did this. I’ll make you pay. No matter how long it takes, you’ll pay.
And all of his rage had come at her before he’d lost his senate seat due to the scandal. After that, he’d blamed her, hated her, even more.
But Colby Harrison isn’t in Washington, D.C. I’ll be safe with Noah.
Her hands were shaking when she reached for the clothes.
***
Noah yanked out his phone as he paced in front of Claire’s suite. He didn’t give a damn what time it was. His buddy owed him.
The phone rang once. Twice. Then—
“Dammit, Noah,” Trace Weston growled, “you know I’m on my honeymoon, right?”
Yeah, he did. Lucky bastard. Two weeks ago, Trace’s fiancée, Skye, had confessed that she didn’t want to have a big wedding that would just be fodder for the gossip pages. Instead, she’d asked Trace to run away with her. To elope.
And since Trace would do anything for Skye…
They’d gotten married in Paris.
“I need your agents in New York to look into a break-in for me.” He kept his eyes on Claire’s suite door.
“Uh, then call the office there, man. Don’t just—”
“It’s about Claire Kramer, and I only want your best men on the case.”
Silence. Then… “Is she all right?”
“She’s with me.”
“That doesn’t answer the question.”
Noah yanked a hand through his hair. “The SOB who killed her parents is still locked up in an Alabama prison.”
“I made sure of that.” Grim satisfaction coated Trace’s words.
Noah knew that Claire’s sister Sara had used her connection to Trace in order to get his help. He’d used his power to convince the parole board that Ethan Harrison shouldn’t be walking outside of those prison gates anytime soon.
“Someone broke into Claire’s hotel room at the Hamlet yesterday. Slashed her clothes. Destroyed every damn thing there.”
“The Hamlet? What the hell was she doing there? Noah, I thought you said you were watching—”
“I’ve got her now,” Noah growled into the phone. “I want your men to see if they can find out who broke into her room. The cops aren’t looking hard. The Hamlet gets robbed every other day. It’s just business as usual at that place.” But the knot in his gut told him that the destruction in Claire’s room hadn’t just been the result of a robbery gone wrong.
Noah never ignored his instincts. They’d kept him alive too many times in the past, and they’d put his enemies in the ground.
“I’ll get my men on it,” Trace said, voice flat. “And if I find out anything—”
“You call me right away.” He knew he could count on Trace.
“Will do.”
“And, hey, one more thing, buddy…”
“What is it?” Worry deepened Trace’s voice.
“Give that pretty bride of yours a big kiss for me.”
“Screw off,” Trace muttered and hung up the phone.
Noah’s lips tilted as he kept staring at Claire’s door.