Mine to Hold (Mine 3)

“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?”