Claire had been fifteen years old then.
She’d been happy.
“Claire!”
Her head snapped up at Noah’s call. Her hold tightened on the frame.
He stalked toward her. “You were supposed to stay in the hall.”
She shook her head. “He’s not here anymore.”
“Dammit, you’re bleeding.”
“It’s just a cut.” Her voice sounded so hollow. “Nothing to-to worry about.”
“Christ, Claire, there’s plenty to worry about. Some asshole broke into your room. Destroyed your things. And now you’re hurt.”
A small wound, nothing more. She’d suffered plenty worse. But he took the frame from her and led her into the matchbox-sized bathroom. He put her hand under the rush of water in the sink. “Here,” Noah said, “let’s push up your sleeves…”
Because she was still so shocked by the savagery in her room, it took Claire a moment too long to react to his words.
He pushed up her sleeves.
Claire glanced down. Saw the white scars on each wrist. “No!” She jerked away from him but Claire knew it was too late. He’d seen those marks. “I’m fine.” Her voice was stronger now. She whirled to face Noah. “I’m fine.”
His gaze held hers.
“I need the frame. The picture.” Her voice was softer now. “Nothing else matters.” It couldn’t matter. It was all gone.
She brushed past him.
“What in the hell happened here?” At that bellow, Claire looked toward the doorway. The Hamlet’s Hotel manager—a man with thinning hair and small, dark eyes—glared at her. “Did you have a party? We don’t allow—”
Noah was across that room in an instant. He grabbed the manager and shoved him up against the thin wall of the room. “Does it look like a damn party?”
The manager’s small eyes got very big.
“Someone broke into her room because the security at your hotel is shit.” Noah’s voice vibrated with fury. “He got in here, and he wrecked Ms. Kramer’s things. If she’d been here, he could have hurt her.”
“I-I know you,” the manager gasped out as his eyes widened with recognition. “You’re Noah York!”
In this town, most people knew him. Or, knew of Noah.
“Call the police,” Noah snarled at him. “Call them now. I’m sure they have this place’s address memorized.” He let the guy go. The man stumbled away.
Noah focused on Claire once more. She held the frame in her hands. He rolled back his shoulders and demanded, “Has this ever happened to you before?”
Having her place trashed? Unfortunately, it had. Claire nodded.
His jaw hardened. “How many times?”
“It hasn’t happened since I lived at home, back in Alabama.” She never let her southern drawl slip out. She’d worked hard to lose her past.
But the past wouldn’t let go.
“At first, people blamed me,” Claire confessed quietly. At first? That was a lie. Claire knew that too many still blamed her for what happened down in Alabama. “The house was trashed a few times back then.” Goosebumps were on her arms. “This—this was just a break-in.” It couldn’t be related to her past. “The thieves must have realized I’d taken my purse, that nothing valuable was left behind, so they trashed the place.”
His eyes glittered.
“It was just a break-in,” Claire repeated, willing herself to believe those words. “Like you said, the police have this address memorized. Crimes happen here all the time.”
“I don’t want you ever coming back here,” he gritted out the words.
She looked around the room. “There’s no reason to come back. Not anymore.” But it looked as if she’d be starting her new job with just the clothes on her back.
And with the memory of her past rushing through her mind.
***
He watched as the police came. They would find no clues in that dank, little hotel room. Nothing that could be tied back to him.
He never left clues behind.
Claire was there. Broken Claire Kramer. She stood in front of the Hamlet, clutching tight to her photo.
Nothing was left of Claire’s family. They were all bones in the ground. She was alone.
Except…who is that guy with her?
Because there was a man near Claire. A man who let his body brush against hers. A man who wrapped his arms around Claire’s shoulders even as the man seemed to bark orders to the cops.
No, no, no! Claire didn’t get to turn to another. That wasn’t how this worked.
And Claire…Claire didn’t like to be touched.
Only that man was touching her.
That man was also loading Claire into the back of a big, dark limo.
What in the hell?
Rage pulsed within him. He’d made sure that Claire was at the end of her rope. He’d pushed and pushed her. She should have been falling apart then.
Just like she did before.
No white knight was supposed to ride to Claire’s rescue. That damn well wouldn’t happen. Claire Kramer deserved to be punished for her crimes.
And no matter what, he would see to it that she was punished. She’d suffer, just as Claire had made others suffer.
Punishing Claire was his job, and he was very, very good at that job.
Chapter Two
The knock at her door woke Claire the next morning. She rolled over, pushing away the memory of blood and death and gunshots, and a quick glance at the bedside clock showed her that it was six a.m.
Claire had slept in a hotel robe last night. There hadn’t exactly been tons of options for her. So as she rose from the bed, Claire secured the robe once more and hurried toward that demanding knock.
She glanced through the peep-hole and saw Noah standing on the other side of the door.
He wasn’t alone.
Her hand automatically flew up to try and smooth down her hair. She had to look like hell. She had to—
“Open the door, Claire.”
How had he known that she was standing there?
Claire opened the door. Noah immediately pushed his way inside. “Bring in all the clothes. Put them in her closet.”
Two men hurried in after him. They were both wearing York Towers jackets, with the distinctive YT emblem, and both men were also carrying armfuls of bags.
The names displayed on those bags told her that the items inside had come with a very hefty price tag.
“Noah, what did you do?”
He stood close to her. Not touching, but still making her too aware of the warmth that always clung to him. His gaze was on the frame near her bed. She…liked to keep it close.
After a moment, while the other men got busy unpacking those bags, Noah turned back to glance at her. “You look good in the morning.”
What?
“No makeup. Just soft lips. Wide eyes.” His voice was low, carrying only to her ears. “And you even have a little sprinkle of freckles across your nose. Your makeup hid that from me before.”
Claire shook her head. “Who are those men?”