“Um, not a damn bit.” He kissed her neck. “No one saw anything else at the senator’s hotel, and the car from the hit and run turned out to be stolen. It was wiped clean, no prints.” His mouth lifted from her skin.

Her breath rushed out. She wanted that mouth back on her.

“But at least I wasn’t ten feet away from a car explosion.” Now his words roughened. “Do you know how much that shit scared me when I found out what happened?”

“It was a targeted attack.” Her fingers tightened on his shoulders. “Just aimed at taking out Ethan Harrison.” And the two poor cops who’d been with him.

Lane grunted. “We know how easy it is for innocents to get caught in the crossfire.”

Yes, she’d seen that too many times.

“Someone’s cleaning house,” Lane mused.

She nodded, then realized he couldn’t see the move. “Yes.”

“You think it’s York? Because if it is…it’s gonna be real hard pinning anything on him.”

Because he was such a power player. But power players didn’t intimidate her. Never had. Never would. “If it’s him, we’ll nail him.”

“Damn straight.” He lifted her into his arms, surprising her with his strength the way he always did—the way she loved. “But let’s leave the killers alone for a while. Right now, I need you.”

His mouth pressed to hers.

“I missed you, Gwen.”

Her heart ached at his words. She’d seen so many people killed in crimes of passion. Seen others nearly driven to the breaking point of sanity because they’d lost someone close.

But Gwen had never understood those powerful emotions, not until Lane.

Now she knew all too well how emotions could twist a person. They could blind you to a lover’s faults. Make you desperate to do anything to protect your lover.

Even make you kill.

Is that what you did, Noah York? Did you kill for a lover?

Lane kissed Gwen again.

And she knew the stark truth…I’d kill for him.

Noah dreamed of death. Of a field covered in snow, and of the blood that stained that snow.

He dreamed of Claire. Claire with her deep, blue eyes and her blonde hair.

He tried to get to Claire. But she lifted her hands toward him, and blood dripped from her wrists.

“You did this,” she whispered as tears slid down her cheeks. “Why?”

Noah shook his head. He wouldn’t hurt Claire. Not ever. Things were going to be different with her. So different from the way they’d been before.

“You killed me,” she told him as the blood dripped from her wrists. She was standing in the middle of the snow, and her blood dripped down from her wounds, falling slowly.

Then Claire fell, and Noah was too far away to catch her.

Noah jerked awake, his heart racing. Claire was by his side. She was breathing softly as she kept sleeping.

He ran a shaking hand over his face. He often dreamed of that damn, snow-covered field. He’d lost a friend on that field. Barely managed to get another away from the carnage.

But Claire…

You killed me.

He turned to look down at her. Her hand was near her face, positioned loosely on her pillow. Her hand rested, palm up, and with the early morning sunlight filtering through the window, he could see the scar on her wrist.

Noah swallowed and tried to shove the images from his mind. He wasn’t going to hurt Claire. He wanted to protect her.

Protecting Claire helped him to atone for the sins of his past.

And…

I just want her safe.

He bent his head and pressed a kiss to the scar along her wrist.

I will keep you safe. No matter what.

Chapter Eight

“We should talk about it,” Noah said carefully. He’d been hesitant to broach this subject before, but they were nearly back in the city, and he had to man up and face facts.

I lost control with her.

“It?” Claire echoed. He could feel her stare on him, but Noah kept looking at the road. “What is ‘it’ exactly?”

His teeth clenched. “No protection,” Noah gritted out. “You know I didn’t use a condom last night.”

“Oh. That.”

His gaze snapped to her. The woman sure didn’t sound concerned.

“I told you I was safe,” Claire told him with a shrug. “There hasn’t been anyone for me in years.”

And he never went without protection. Well, he hadn’t. Until her. “I’m talking about the risk of pregnancy, Claire.”

“You don’t have to worry about that.”

“Uh, yeah, I do. I was the guy fucking you last night.” He forced his gaze back to the road. “So if you get pregnant, we’ll—”

“You don’t have to worry,” Claire said again, cutting through his words before he’d been able to finish his sentence. And that finish would’ve included…

We’ll get married.

The idea had come to him as he’d stood on the balcony, watching the sun rise. After his nightmare, sleep had been an impossibility. He’d had plenty of time with his thoughts.

His thoughts had focused on her.

“Are you on the pill? Some sort of contraception—”

“I don’t need anything.” Her voice was totally devoid of emotion. “I can’t have kids, okay? So, again, you don’t have to worry.”

His hands tightened around the wheel as his knuckles whitened. “You can’t have kids?”

“No…I…I was pregnant before.”

He slammed on the brakes. Car horns behind him blared. “What?” She’d been pregnant with Ethan Harrison’s baby? That hadn’t been in the reports he’d read.

Claire glanced at him. Her cheeks had paled. “That part didn’t make the papers.”

Or my reports.

The cars kept honking.

Noah started driving again. “No, it sure as shit didn’t make them.” His guts were twisted into knots. “What happened?”

“The pregnancy was one of the reasons my parents sent me away to my grandfather’s fishing cabin. I’d found out I was pregnant, and I was trying to figure out what to do.”

His heartbeat thundered in his ears.

“Then Ethan killed my parents. He nearly killed me, and I-I lost the baby after that. It was…the doctors said it was a tubal pregnancy. The baby died, and they saved me.” Her breath rushed out. “And that was when I started to think that I shouldn’t have been saved.”

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

“The doctor said it would be unlikely that I could conceive again. They told me that I’d been lucky to have the first pregnancy…Lucky,” she whispered and her voice rasped with pain. “How was I lucky if I’d lost the baby?”

“Claire…”

She cleared her throat. “I left the hospital as soon as I could. Sara knew, she always knew. The doctors had said that there was some surgery that could be done to increase my chances of conceiving again, but we didn’t have money for that. We were barely surviving back then.”

“I can get you any damn doctor you want.” If there was a way for Claire to have a baby, if she—

“I lost one fallopian tube with that pregnancy. They said the other…it wasn’t functioning the way it should. That’s why my pregnancy chances were unlikely. Surgery might be able to help me, or it might not.” Her fingers tapped against the window. “Back then, I figured it didn’t matter. I wasn’t planning to get close enough to another man to have his child.”

You’re close to me.

Her voice husky, Claire continued, “They told me the surgery might not work, anyway. That there was only a twenty percent chance of success.”

But I can get you any doctor. The best in the world.

“I figured if I ever wanted kids, I could adopt them. There are plenty of kids out there that need homes. I could love a child just the same if he came from my body or if he didn’t. Blood doesn’t make family.”

He’d stopped at a red light. Noah had to look at her again. His mother had told him something similar to that, when he’d first learned that he was adopted.

You’re mine, Noah. Blood doesn’t make you more or less my son.

“Noah?”

His breath rushed out. “Blood doesn’t matter.”

She looked relieved that he’d agreed with her.

“Hell, I know that more than anyone else.” The light changed. He had to glance toward the road once again.

There was silence in the car. Then Claire asked, “Do you want kids, Noah?”

He’d never thought about them, not until he’d stood on that balcony this morning. Then he’d imagined a little girl. He hadn’t seen that little girl clearly in his mind. He’d just had an image of Claire, smiling that full smile of hers—the one that flashed her dimples—as she bent to hug the child. “Maybe I do.”

“Then I hope you have them,” she told him, and she cleared her throat. When she spoke again, her voice was stronger as she said, “I hope you get everything that you want.”

They eased into the valet line in front of his hotel. As the valet rushed toward them, Noah offered Claire a smile. “I fully intend to do just that.”

You’re what I want.

Someone was pounding at his door.

Sloan Hall groaned as he cracked open one eye. He’d been at the hospital last night—damn broken nose—then he’d gone out to drink his sorrows away.

Maybe mixing pain pills and booze hadn’t been his best idea.

But it had sure felt good at the time.

Sunlight poured through the cheap blinds by his window. The light hurt his eyes and he swore as he headed toward the pounding.

Someone was being a dick.

He yanked open the door. “What the hell do you—” Sloan broke off when he got a look at the person on the other side of the door. “What are you doing here?”

His guest stepped forward.

Sloan hurried back.

And he started wishing that he hadn’t had quite so many glasses of whiskey.

His guest shut the door. Then the guy’s hand reached under the long, dark coat that he wore.

Fuck me, a gun!

Sloan tensed. His gaze locked on the weapon and the silencer attached to the end of it.

“No, man, no!” Sloan’s voice was frantic. His own weapon was shoved under the sagging mattress a few feet away. If he moved fast enough, maybe he’d be able to grab it. “I-I was doing my job!”

“Your services aren’t needed any longer.”

He’s going to kill me.

Sloan spun away, rushing for the bed. He’d go out fighting or he’d—

The bullet tore into the back of his head. It felt like someone had just swung a hammer into his head and then—

Nothing.

Sloan hit the floor.

Noah’s phone rang just as he entered the elevator. He glanced down, but didn’t recognize the number. “York,” he said. His gaze was on Claire. They needed to talk more. He hated that he’d brought up the possibility of a pregnancy to her because now Claire looked shaken.

She’s lost too much.

He wanted to give her everything.

“I know Claire Kramer’s secrets.” The voice was low, growling.

Noah frowned. “Who the hell is this?”

“We met last night. I had such a nice view of you and Claire.”

Sloan. The guy’s voice was so low that Noah had to strain in order to hear him.

The elevator rose.

“Look, dumbass,” Noah snarled. “I thought I made myself clear when we—”

“Claire killed the senator, and I have proof. I was watching her. Always watching. Come to meet me, or I’ll go to the cops.” Laughter. Rough. Taunting. “I’ll go to that pretty D.C. cop. She already thinks that Claire is guilty. It’ll be so easy, and Claire will finally get just what she deserves.”

Claire’s eyes had flared with alarm. “Noah? Noah, what’s happening?”

Noah shook his head. “Where. When.”

“You’ve just bought a new building here in town, right? The old Claymire Hotel.”

The building was completely empty right then. His crews would begin renovation work the next week.

“Meet me there at three, or, by four, I’ll be on my way to D.C.”

The caller hung up.

The elevator’s doors slid open.

Claire touched his arm. “Noah, what’s happening?”

He didn’t speak, not there. He caught her hand and led her to his suite. When they were alone, when he was sure that no one could overhear, Noah said, “I have to know the truth.”

“What truth?” Claire shook her head as confusion flashed across her face. “I’ve always told you the truth—”

“Did you kill the senator?”

Her eyes widened in surprise.

He didn’t have a lot of time. Protect her. He pulled her closer. “Did you?”

“No!”

“Then why did that jerk PI just tell me that you did? He says that he has proof, Claire. Proof that can lock you up.”

“I-I was at the senator’s hotel, but I didn’t go in. I didn’t see him.” Her voice shook. “I told you this already. You believe me, don’t you?”

“I have to know the truth.” His eyes never left hers. “If I don’t know what I’m facing, I can’t cover our tracks well enough.”

Her breath caught. Understanding filled her eyes. “Oh, my God.” She yanked away from him. “All this time…have you actually thought I killed him?”