***

Claire Kramer tip-toed down the stairs, her bag clutched tightly in her right hand. She didn’t head into the main studio. She already felt like more than enough of an intruder in that place.

Her fingers slid over the knob at the back door. She opened it and eased outside as the alarm gave a reassuring beep. She took two steps—

“Going somewhere, Ms. Kramer?”

Claire screamed—and then she threw her bag at the tall, dangerous looking man who had been waiting for her.

The bag bounced off his shoulder, and Claire tried to yank open the door and rush back inside. But his palm flattened against the door, and his body slid behind hers. “Easy.” He wasn’t touching her, but he surrounded her. Too big and muscled. Fear and fury battled within her.

He’d been waiting for me.

Claire sucked in a deep breath. Then she attacked. Her elbow slammed into his solar plexus even as her fist flew up in a backhanded snap move. Her knuckles should’ve collided with his nose, giving a nice, satisfying crunch as the cartilage broke on impact.

But he caught her hand.

Claire stomped down with her left foot. He grunted.

That’s right. I’m not easy prey. Not anymore. She’d spent years learning how to protect herself.

Claire spun around now, yanking her wrist free of his grip. She had keys in her left hand, and she brought them up, ready to shove those keys right into his eye—

He caught that hand, too. He didn’t hurt her. He just held her, his strength undeniable. “You’re good,” he said, flashing a golden eyed stare at her. She planned to seriously damage those golden eyes. “But I think I’m a little bit better.”

Those words infuriated her. He dared to taunt her? Hell, no.

Not again. Not again. The words rang in her head. They were Claire’s vow to herself. She’d never be a victim again. She wouldn’t be hurt.

He would.

Claire jerked up her knee, intending to hit him in the groin as hard as she could.

He pushed her back, flattening her against the door. A strong, muscular thigh pushed between her legs. “I think you need to settle down before someone gets hurt—”

She head-butted him.

“Dammit!”

His lip was bleeding.

Claire gave him a grim smile. “Looks like someone just got hurt. And guess what? More pain is coming.”

He stepped back, freeing her and swiping at his bleeding lip. “You?” He tossed that out as if he were shocked. She’d shock him again with a punch to the face if he so much as inched toward her again.

“You’re the grief-stricken sister that I’m supposed to be watching? I thought you needed a guard. No one told me you were so…” He waved his hand and drops of his blood fell on the pavement. “Violent,” he finished.

You needed a guard.

“Who are you?” Claire asked him.

“Noah. Noah York.” One dark brow rose as his eyes swept over her. His eyes unnerved her. She’d never met a man with golden eyes before.

“I’m not the enemy, sweetheart.”

Her spine snapped straight at that.

“Delicate flower, my ass,” Noah muttered. “Trace has you pegged all wrong. You’d think by now he’d be smart enough not to get fooled by a pretty face.”

She swallowed and realized that she was choking back her fear. “Trace sent you?”

“Yeah. He had to leave town. Took Skye with him. Because you know, he can’t breathe without her or some shit.” Then he muttered, “Lovesick idiot that he is.”

Her heart was starting to slow down, but she didn’t trust the stranger. Not yet. “Give me proof.”

“Proof?”

“How do I know you aren’t lying?”

“Because I’m Noah York!”

“Is that supposed to mean something to me?”

His jaw dropped. That bottom lip of his—a sexy lip, despite the blood dripping from it—caught her attention.

Her gaze swept slowly over his face. The guy was handsome, and that put her on edge. She’d learned how dangerous handsome, lying men could be. His cheek bones were high, his nose a sharp blade, and his jaw was perfectly square and hard.

Too perfect.

Not for me.

He stared at her a moment, gazing deeply into her eyes, then he smiled. A dimple flashed in his cheek.

Not. For. Me.

“No,” he said softly, “I don’t think the name should mean a thing to you.” He rolled his shoulders. “Tell you what, I saw Reese parked in front of the building. I’m guessing you met him already right? Trace’s driver-slash-guard?”

Yes, she remembered Reese.

“He can tell you that I’m safe. Then maybe you’ll stop trying to attack me.”

She glanced down the length of the building. They were in the narrow back alley. It would only take a few moments to race to the front of the building and check out the guy’s story.

Claire didn’t move. “Why would Trace tell you both to guard me?” Suspicion had her eyes returning to Noah.

“I know, sounds like overkill, right? That’s Trace.” His smile invited her to smile back with him.

She didn’t.

His smile slowly faded. “I see it,” he said and his voice was grim now.

“What do you see?” Claire instantly demanded.

“Your pain, sweetheart. I see it in your eyes.” He took a step toward her. “I’m sorry, I—”

“I don’t need your pity.” She’d seen pity more than enough times in the eyes of people she met. Pity. Anger. Hate.

Been there, done all of that.

She usually got those stares from most people, sooner or later. Except Skye hadn’t looked at her that way. Skye hadn’t judged her.

“Too bad,” he snapped right back at her. “Because you’re getting it. I didn’t know Sara, not personally, but I’ve heard she was one hell of a woman. I’m sorry the world lost someone like her.”

Her eyes stung. “R-Reese is around front?” She needed to verify who this guy was and get away from him, no matter what. Her stomach was in knots. Her heart twisted, and each time she looked into those golden eyes, Claire just felt…off.

“I’ll go first,” he said, his voice soft but deep. A rumble that got beneath her skin. “You’ll feel better that way, won’t you?”

She nodded. “I’m not about to turn my back on you.”

“Then I guess I’m the one who has to show trust.”

He marched ahead, moving easily through the narrow space.

She didn’t follow, not at first. She let him get a few feet in front of her, then Claire scooped up her bag.

He rounded the corner and Claire quickly darted after him. Her gaze scanned the area. Sure enough, Reese was waiting by the studio’s front door. He was leaning against his parked car.

When Reese saw them, he quickly straightened. “What are you doing here?” Reese demanded as he hurried toward Noah.

“Guard duty,” was the instant reply, “same as you.”

Reese’s eyes widened. “Are you bleeding, man?” He advanced on Claire. “Are you okay, Ms. Kramer? Were you attacked?”

“No, she was the one doing the attacking,” Noah said.

Reese’s eyes widened, but he seemed to recover from his surprise quickly. “Good, that’s—”

“I’m looking for Skye Sullivan.” The voice—a woman’s smooth, cultured voice—cut through Reese’s words.

They glanced to the right and saw a redhead standing there. Her eyes were hidden by dark sunglasses, but her head was tilted toward them, and Claire could feel the weight of the woman’s stare.

“You’re not Skye,” the woman said, as if dismissing Claire instantly. “I was told this was her studio.”

“Skye Sullivan’s not here now,” Reese said. “Something I can help you with?”

The redhead laughed. “No, you can’t help me at all. I’ll come back for Skye.” Then she turned. She had on shoes with three-inch heels. Claire wasn’t even sure how the woman managed to walk in them.

Frowning, Claire looked away from the redhead. Her gaze focused on her real problem—Noah.

Noah’s gaze was still on the other woman. His eyes were narrowed.

Right. Cue the lady in the tight skirt and low-cut shirt, and, of course, that guy would be all over her.

“She’s familiar,” he whispered.

The woman lifted her hand. A taxi jerked to a stop just two feet away from her.

“The nose is different…the lips are fuller. Hair’s red, not blonde…” It sounded like Noah was just muttering to himself.

Claire rubbed her temples. They were throbbing again.

“Ms. Kramer?” Reese asked. “Were you going somewhere?” His eyes were on the bag that she still held.

“A hotel,” she heard herself say. “I just can’t impose on Skye. I need to—”

“It’s all different,” Noah snapped. Still talking to himself? “But the walk is the fucking same.”

He pushed past them, his arm hitting Claire’s as he raced toward the taxi. He reached the curb just as the taxi sped away. His fists flew into the air in impotent rage. “Fucking hell!” Noah yelled. “It’s not him. It’s her.”

Chapter Thirteen

“I know what I saw.” Noah’s voice was grim as he paced in front of Trace’s desk. “The woman always had a walk of pure sin. That was how she first caught Tucker’s eye. She changed her hair, got a nose job, injected her lower lip with collagen, but she didn’t change her walk.”

Trace stared at him. He’d only been in town an hour when Noah had called and demanded this meeting. Noah had insisted they meet at Weston Securities, a private meeting—just Noah, Trace, and Drake.

Trace had told him to screw that “private” plan. Skye was with him. She stood at his side as he faced the two men who’d gone to hell with him.

I can’t keep any more secrets from her. Because he knew that the secrets were the things that would drive her away from him.

With Skye, it was all or nothing. He was trying so hard to give her all he had.

“You’re actually telling us,” Drake said, voice grating, “that Anna Jean isn’t dead? You saw her today?”

Noah rounded on him. “You tell me. I mean, you’re the one who supposedly to kill her, right? But I got to thinking…you were sleeping with her. You admitted that. So maybe at that kill moment, you hesitated. Did you hesitate, Drake?”

Drake glared back at him.

“I don’t hear a damn answer,” Noah snarled. “Did you kill her? Did you stab her in the heart? Or did you hesitate?”

A muscle flexed in Drake’s jaw.

“Stop, Noah,” Trace said wearily. “I found out more about Tucker. You both need to know that—”

“Yes,” Drake hissed.

The tension in the room kicked up about one hundred percent. Trace’s hand dropped to his side. He focused totally on Drake. “What did you just say?”

“I missed her heart.” All of the color had bled from Drake’s face. “I couldn’t do it. I know she was trying to kill me, but I hesitated, okay? I wounded her, but she wasn’t dead.”

“She died in Tucker’s arm,” Trace said. He’d been sure…the way Tucker had reacted…

Drake closed his eyes. “I’ve replayed those moments in my head a thousand times. I didn’t remember hitting her heart with the blade. I didn’t, but she still died, so I thought I was wrong. I thought I’d imagined—”

“She’s not dead.” Noah’s voice vibrated with fury. “The bitch is strolling around Chicago, looking for Skye.”

Skye jerked beside Trace. “Why would she be looking for me?”

“Probably because she wants to screw with your head,” Noah fired out. “She likes playing mind games.”

“Or because she wants to kill you,” Drake said.

Neither would happen on Trace’s watch. “You got the name of the cab company?” Noah had told him that he’d missed the cab by seconds.

“Yes,” Noah replied instantly.

That was something. “Now tell me that you got the cab number.”

Noah rattled it off.

Trace picked up his phone. In two minutes, he had the manager of that cab company on the line. Thirty seconds later, Trace said, “He dropped her at the Navy Pier.”

Noah headed for the door. “Let’s get her, let’s—”

“I’ll send a team,” Trace said, working to keep his voice free of emotion. “They’ll get her.”

Noah stiffened. He swung back around to stare incredulously at Trace. “Are you kidding me? It’s her. After all that’s happened, you’re just sending a team?”

“Yes.” Flat. “That’s exactly what I’m doing because I’ll be damned if I walk into some trap that she’s setting.” He pulled Tucker’s letter from his pocket. “Tucker knew, okay? He knew what she was doing. He knew that she was setting us all up, and I’m pretty sure he planned for the three of us—” His gaze hit on each man there. “To die during that last mission. Only we got lucky. We lived.”

Drake’s eyelids flickered. “He…knew?”

“That’s what the letter says. He was finishing his job with Anna Jean, and they weren’t coming back. They had a future all mapped out. They just didn’t count on us fighting back so hard.”