Mine to Hold (Mine #3)(51)
Author: Cynthia Eden

“To screw with your head.”

She flinched.

“Think about the call. Did he respond to any questions that you asked him? Or was it just his voice? Rambling?” Because Noah had even used a tactic like this one before, on an enemy when he needed to get a guard to back away. A little voice manipulation, some splicing of a recording, and bam, he’d gotten exactly what he needed.

“I said he was dead.” Claire’s voice was leaden. “And he asked if I thought death could keep him from me.”

Rage surged within Noah, but he held tight to his control.

Claire’s long lashes swept down. “He said there wouldn’t be anyone else, not for him and not for me.”

“It wasn’t him.”

A knock sounded at his door. A visitor was the last thing he wanted. “Not now!”

But the door opened anyway. “Payback,” Trace muttered as he came inside. “You did the same thing to me once.”

Noah’s eyes narrowed on him. “This isn’t the time, Trace. I need to talk with Claire.” He had to chase the fear from her eyes.

“I’m here about Claire.” Trace’s gaze slid to her. “My men tracked down Sloan Hall’s phone.”

Finally. Some damn progress.

“Did you find Ethan?” Claire asked, voice sharp.

Trace glanced at Noah.

Noah shook his head.

Trace cleared his throat. “We just found the phone. It had been left at the Hamlet Hotel.”

Fuck. The phone had been left at the same hotel Claire had stayed in when she first came to New York? The caller was definitely enjoying his head games.

“I did some talking to the staff there,” Trace continued with a slow nod. “Turned out they remembered seeing a man who fit Sloan’s description, right around the time Claire checked in to the place.”

“He trashed her room,” Noah said. But that was exactly what Austin had told them.

“I think so.” Trace rubbed the back of his neck. “There were no prints on the recovered phone. It had been wiped clean and dumped at the Hamlet’s front desk.” His lips twisted. “You know the security at that place is crap, so, of course, no one saw anyone actually leave the phone.”

That would have been too much to ask for.

Claire stepped away from Noah. “Do you have agents down in Alabama?”

Trace nodded. “I sent them down after I heard about the explosion at the cemetery.”

“Are they sure Ethan is dead?”

Noah rubbed his chest. The ache there just got worse.

“I mean, maybe he got out before the car exploded. Maybe he—”

“He was in the back of the cop car,” Trace said softly, “so he wouldn’t have been able to open those doors. He was trapped in there.”

Her hands twisted together. “I know his voice. That wasn’t a recording last night. It was him. He called me!”

Noah had to touch her again. He reached for Claire.

She flinched away.

That one move hurt. She hadn’t pulled away from him, not since the beginning. “Claire?”

She whirled to stare into his eyes. “I need you to believe me. I’ve believed you, everything you said, right from the beginning.” Tears glinted in her eyes. “He’s alive, and he’s going to come after me.”

Then she started backing toward the door. “I need to get away. He knows that I’m at the Towers. I can’t stay here.”

She was trying to run again.

“Claire.”

She stilled. He hated the fear in her eyes.

“You said you believed in me, right?” Noah asked her. Did she even realize how important those words were to him?

Her head moved in a faint nod.

Trace silently watched them.

“Then believe that I won’t let anything happen to you. Whoever called you, I’m going to get him. I will stop him. You don’t need to fear anything when I’m with you.”

Her breath slowly eased out. Some of the wild panic seemed to fade from her eyes.

But then there was another knock at his door. Dammit. Why was everyone trying to rush inside his office?

Before he could call out, the door opened. Jonathan, one of his administrative assistants, rushed inside. “Sir, I’m so sorry. You said Mr. Weston was always clear and the others—”

Others?

A man and a woman came in behind Jonathan.

A tall, blond male. A petite and fierce woman—he would recognize her dark glare anywhere. “Detective Lazlo.”

She smiled. It was a shark’s smile.

Jonathan glanced around with wide eyes.

“That’s all, Jonathan,” Noah said because he didn’t want the guy hearing what was to come.

Jonathan scurried away and shut the door behind him as quickly as possible.

Noah’s glance slid over Gwen Lazlo. She had an envelope in her hand. This isn’t good. He caught Claire’s hand. Pulled her closer to him. Trace had taken up a position to Noah’s right. “Detectives, what brings you both to New York, and so far away from your jurisdiction?”

Gwen’s smile widened. “I hear congratulations are in order.”

“You came this far to congratulate me? I’m touched.”

Gwen’s attention focused on Claire. “You don’t exactly look like a thrilled bride-to-be, though. What’s wrong? Did you discover some not so great news about the soon-to-be-hubby?”

“I-I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Claire hadn’t tried to slip away from Noah again. Good.

Noah looked up and found the blond’s gaze locked on him. Lane Scott. He’d run a check on the guy. Both Lane and Gwen were supposed to be very good at their jobs. Honest cops who worked hard.

So why are they here?

Gwen lifted the envelope in her hand. “I got a package last night. Seems someone in D.C. managed to take a few photos during your last stay in my city.”

He knew this wasn’t going to be good.

Gwen crossed the room and spilled the contents of the envelope on his desk. “This is you, Claire. Right in front of the senator’s hotel.”

“I never went inside his hotel.” Claire’s voice was flat. “I didn’t see him.”

“No, I don’t think you did.” Gwen’s fingers brushed through the photographs.

Noah caught sight of the next image. Shit.

Gwen’s index finger tapped on the picture of Noah’s face. “But York here, he went inside.”

Because Noah was staring at Claire when the detective made her announcement, he saw the ripple of shock that went over Claire’s face.