“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?”

“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.

“I don’t remember you mentioning to us that you’d been to see the senator right before he died,” Lane murmured. “Want to tell us why you didn’t mention that fact before?”

Not particularly, but it seemed like there wasn’t a choice then. “I didn’t see him before he died.”

Claire was staring down at the picture. He wondered what she was thinking. Keep believing in me, baby.

Her eyes rose. Met his.

“I got to the hotel after he was dead. His door was open. I went inside, just a foot or two, and I saw him.” He’d intended to warn the senator off. To tell the man to stay the hell away from Claire.

But his warning hadn’t been necessary.

“We’re supposed to buy that story?” Lane demanded. “I don’t think so.”

“Buy whatever you want.” Noah kept his voice mild, and he managed to drag his gaze off Claire. “I didn’t kill him.”

Gwen was watching him with narrowed eyes. “You’re used to getting exactly what you want, aren’t you, York?”

“Most days,” he allowed.

Trace had stepped closer to stare down at the photos.

“You walk in,” Lane’s voice had roughened. “You find a dead body, and you don’t call the cops? Bullshit.”

“I walked in,” Noah said, “I found the dead body, and I got worried.”

Claire jerked.

“Worried about Ms. Kramer?” Gwen scooped up the photos. “Because you thought she’d killed Harrison?”

He had to give them the truth here. “Yes.”

Claire rocked back on her heels.

“I thought she’d killed him, and my first instinct was to get to her.”

“Because…” Now Gwen’s sharp-eyed stare raked him, then Claire. “Because Ms. Kramer has a history of instability, and you worried that the confrontation in the lobby had—what? Driven her over the edge?”

Claire’s hands fisted at her sides.

“I just wanted to make sure she was safe,” Noah said. Damn, this sucked. He wanted to grab Claire and pull her close. He wanted—

You’re used to getting exactly what you want, aren’t you? The detective’s question had been spot-on.

Hell, yes, he was used to getting what he wanted. Noah shifted his body, and his hands curled around Claire’s shoulders. “It wouldn’t have mattered to me,” he said as he stared into Claire’s eyes. “I want you to know that.”

“Uh, it wouldn’t have mattered if she’d just killed a man?” Lane asked in disbelief.

Noah didn’t take his gaze off Claire. “I needed to find you and see that you were safe.” His breath heaved out. “You were, and I realized damn fast that you hadn’t killed the senator.” His eyes searched hers. For once, Claire seemed closed off from him. He couldn’t tell what she was thinking or feeling and that drove him crazy. “My priority is protecting you, it has been from the beginning.”

Not because of some debt he owed.

Because she was…Claire.

“Another little interesting coincidence we found,” Gwen announced, drawing Noah’s attention. “When I was down in Alabama, I met a man named Drake Archer.”

Hell. Noah kept his hold on Claire as he waited for Gwen to drop another bombshell.

“It turned out the guy has a military record, one linked to you and…” She inclined her head toward a silent Trace. “You, too, Mr. Weston. You are Trace Weston, correct? Because you look just like the pictures I saw online.”

“I’m Weston,” Trace agreed. His expression could have been carved from stone.

Lane whistled. “Seems you three were quite the deadly team back in the day.”

Back then, and now.

Suspicion shone in Gwen’s eyes. “Archer had demolitions training. I’m thinking it would be pretty easy for him to rig a car to explode.”

Yes, it would be. Noah let his brows climb. “So now you think I’ve got my friends killing, too?”

“I think you get what you want…just like I said before.” She flashed another hard grin. “This time, though, I’m about to get what I want.”

“Trace…” He growled his friend’s name because he knew what was coming. “Stay with Claire.”

“You’re a person of interest in the murder of Senator Harrison.” Gwen pulled a small, white envelope out of her jacket pocket. “And I have the authority to take you in for additional questioning.”

“You’re going to drag me back to D.C.?”

“No, I’ll be dragging you down to the NYPD. We’re cooperating with them, you see. Because we think the murders of a PI named Sloan Hall and Senator Harrison are connected. Same MO. And the ballistics match proved the killer used the same gun for both crimes.”

Claire gave a frantic shake of her head. “You’re wrong. Noah didn’t kill Sloan. He was with me! He didn’t—”

“Every minute? Was he really with you every, single minute?” Lane pressed, his doubt obvious. “Because I’m betting he could have slipped away, and I think you know that, too.”

Claire swallowed. “Noah didn’t do it.”

“Then he can just explain to us who did kill the senator and Sloan Hall…he can explain all that down at the NYPD.” Lane slapped his hand on Noah’s shoulder. “Let’s go, York.”

“Call my lawyer,” Noah said to Trace. Because he knew the cops were about to go after him with every bit of power they had.

Lane pushed him past Claire.

“Stay with Trace,” he told her. “Stay with him.”

“Noah?” Worry darkened her eyes.

“I’ll be back before you know it.” But he would be damned if he’d leave her unprotected until he got this shit sorted out.