Mine to Hold (Mine #3)(50)
Author: Cynthia Eden

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—”

“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?”