The other guy was Marcel Reed.
They’d been good enough, for cops.
Marcel opened one of the car’s back doors. Ethan knew the reporters close by had been waiting for this shot. The picture of him being loaded back up for jail.
The cops didn’t cuff him.
He’d counted on that.
So he waved to the crowd. He sucked in a deep breath of that free air. And he remembered Claire.
He slid into the car.
Marcel and Bo headed toward the front of the vehicle. They climbed inside.
“Damn, son,” Marcel said as he settled into the front seat of the car. “That was sure a lot of folks to see your dad off.”
Yes, it had been. “He always liked a good show.” The old bastard had cared so much about what everyone thought.
Too bad no one had realized what an abusive prick he was.
***
The show was over. Drake strode past the grave. He glanced toward the patrol car. Ethan Harrison had just been loaded up in there and—
The force of the explosion threw Drake back about five feet. He nearly landed right in that damn grave.
Drake jumped up as fast as he could, then stared with narrowed eyes at the sight before him.
The patrol car was a ball of flames. People were screaming, running, and Ethan Harrison…
He was burning.
The little cop ran toward the car. Damn foolish mistake. Amateur hour. He grabbed her, jerked her back and—
Another explosion sent the flames surging even higher.
“There are men in there!” The cop screamed. “Two officers, I saw them load Ethan in—”
And all he could see was fire now. “They’re dead.” Someone had wanted to take out Ethan Harrison and the cops had just become collateral damage.
The heat from the flames lanced over his skin.
***
When his phone rang, Noah thought about ignoring the call. He would have, if the ring hadn’t been the distinct tone that told him Drake Archer was on the other end of the line.
“Shouldn’t you be gambling some place?” Noah asked when he took the call. Drake owned a series of casinos along the Mississippi Coast, and Noah had thought that his friend would be getting right back to business.
Noah and Claire had just arrived at his house in the Hamptons. Claire was walking along the beach. He intended to join her there in the next sixty seconds.
“Can’t talk long,” Drake said, the words low. “I’ll tell you more later, but…Ethan Harrison is dead.”
Noah wasn’t sure he’d just heard correctly. “What?”
“I was at the senator’s funeral…”
Why the hell had Drake been there?
“Everything was fine until Ethan Harrison got loaded back into a patrol car. Someone put a bomb in the car. Everything and everyone in that car are gone.”
Noah stared down at the beach. “You’re sure he’s dead?”
“Unless the man can walk through fire, hell yes, he’s gone.”
Good.
“Be careful,” Drake warned him, “there’s a cop here. A woman from D.C. She’s asking a lot of questions about you.”
“I’m always careful.” Claire was free.
“I’ll see what I can find out from the authorities down here. But, shit, Weston’s the one who is good at investigating things, not me.” There was the murmur of voices in the background. “Got to go.” The line went dead.
Noah kept staring down at the beach. Claire had turned and was walking toward him. She wasn’t smiling, but she didn’t look as frightened as she’d appeared back in the city.
He moved to the edge of his deck. The wind tousled Claire’s hair as she climbed up the steps. Her gaze darted to his phone. “Is everything okay?”
Just tell her. “Ethan Harrison is dead.”
She stopped.
“Drake was at the senator’s funeral.” Why? “A bomb was put in the car, and he’s…Ethan is gone, Claire.”
Her breath heaved out, and Claire hunched over, clutching her stomach.
“Claire!” He ran to her. Put his hands on her arms.
She looked up at him. Tears streamed down her cheeks. “He’s dead?”
“Yes.” If Drake had said the man was gone…he was gone.
Noah didn’t mention that when it came to demolitions, Drake was an expert. He’d always been the one to set the detonations for their team.
And Drake just happened to be at the funeral? Shit, but this could get bad, fast.
“Ethan won’t ever come after me,” Claire whispered. She was crying and smiling, and breaking the heart that Noah didn’t think he still had. “He’s gone!”
Then she threw her arms around Noah and held him tight. He held her just as tightly.
Ethan Harrison might be gone, but things weren’t over. Not yet.
The senator’s dead. Harrison’s dead. Would that be the end of the killings? Or were things just getting started?
He pulled her closer. Noah didn’t know what was happening. Someone had just saved him one hell of a lot of trouble though. Because Noah had already put a plan in motion to eliminate Ethan.
Claire looked up at him. “I don’t have to be afraid any longer.”
He nodded. He didn’t tell Claire what he was thinking. What would be the point?
Maybe he was wrong.
The senator…Ethan…their deaths might not touch Claire at all.
His fingers slid down her back.
He was the only one touching her, and anyone who wanted to hurt Claire would have to go through him.
***
“Will you take me out on your boat?” Claire asked. Her stomach was in knots. It had been that way, pretty much all day long. The knots had gotten even worse when she found out the news about Ethan’s death.
He’s dead. Dead. He can’t hurt me. He can’t find me. I’m finally safe.
Noah was cooking dinner for her. Such a normal, domestic task, and one that she never would’ve pictured Noah York performing. The guy always seemed to have an army of chefs at his beck and call.
But out there, it was just him. Just her.
Exactly as he’d promised.
He glanced up at her. “My boat?”
She blinked. He’d just sounded so wooden. “Yes, I, um, I saw the boat down by the dock. I thought—I thought you might want to go out.” When she’d been younger, she’d loved heading out on the water with her grandfather. She’d always felt so free then.
His stare turned toward the window. Darkness had fallen, so he wouldn’t be able to see the boat. “I don’t usually take anyone out with me.”