“Go back to your fancy life,” her sister told her now. “Go back to your stupid piano and your hotels.
Go back to where you don’t have to earn everything you get. I don’t want you here. I’ve never wanted you here. Do you know why?”
Claire stood her ground, sensing her sister had to say it and it was Claire’s job to take it all in.
Nicole’s blue eyes burned with white-hot rage. “Because every night after her death, I prayed God would turn back time and make it you instead of her. I still wish that.”
CLAIRE SAT ON THE BED in the guest room and let the tears come. They rolled down her cheeks, one after the other, washing away nothing, simply seeping from the great open wound inside of her.
She’d known about Nicole’s anger and resentment, but she’d never thought her sister wished she was dead.
The situation was hopeless, she thought grimly. She’d come home for nothing. No one wanted her and she had nowhere else to go.
She covered her face with her hands and cried for a few more minutes, then sniffed and realized she couldn’t feel sorry for herself forever. But maybe the rest of the night would be acceptable.
She stood and walked over to her suitcase. A small photo album lay at the bottom. She carried it back to the bed and sat down.
There were only a dozen or so pictures inside, all of them taken before she’d left Seattle when she was six. She and Nicole laughing. She and Nicole on a pony. Their identical Halloween costumes, when they’d both been Dorothy from the Wizard of Oz. One photo showed them in bed together, sleeping, curled up like kittens.
Claire touched the cold, flat surface, remembering and wishing, knowing neither would change what time and distance had destroyed.
After washing her face, she grabbed a box of tissues and set it by the bed, then changed into an oversize T-shirt she’d bought in London—one with a huge head shot of Prince William on the front—and crawled into bed. She knew she wouldn’t sleep, but curling up would make the whimpering easier.
She flipped channels on the small television on the dresser. As the pictures flashed in front of her, she wondered if she and Nicole could ever make peace with the past and each other, or were they forever destined to be strangers. She wasn’t going to give up but she was also only half the equation.
And what about Jesse? Claire thought about their conversation from that morning. How could Jesse have violated Nicole’s trust like that? Had she really slept with Drew? Could it have been a misunderstanding? If not, reconciling those two was going to be a nearly impossible task. Not that she was making great progress herself. Honestly, her personal life sure put her professional troubles in perspective.
Claire’s eyes closed. She felt herself drifting off and welcomed the escape of sleep. What seemed like a few seconds later—although it could have been a couple of hours—she heard a creak on the stairs. She stirred and heard it again.
Just footsteps, she told herself, prepared to roll over. Then she sat up. Nicole couldn’t use the stairs and Jesse was too slight to make that much noise. The possibility of Wyatt flashed through her brain, but the steps sounded too stealthy…as if the person climbing was trying not to make noise.
Claire got out of bed and crept over to her door. She cracked it and glanced out. Sure enough, a strange man stood on the landing, staring at Nicole’s door.
He was only a few inches taller than her and not all that big. Instinctively, she glanced around for a weapon. The only thing she saw was a pair of high-heeled shoes. She grabbed one and quietly eased into the hall.
The man crossed to Nicole’s door and opened it. Claire didn’t stop to think, she charged, jumping onto his back and hitting him with the heel of the shoe. The guy shrieked, then stumbled into Nicole’s room, all the while yelling at her to get off.
“Call 911,” Claire screamed as she and the guy went down.
She braced herself for the impact. Fortunately he crashed into the hardwood floor, and she only landed on him. While he was still gasping for breath, she dropped the shoe, grabbed his right wrist with both hands and pulled it against his back, up high, near his shoulder blades. He yelled in pain. At the same time, she planted her foot on the back of his neck and pressed down as hard as she could.
The man swore loudly. “I’m fucking bleeding. Goddammit, Nicole, what the hell is going on here?”
“Call 911,” Claire repeated. “I can’t hold him much longer.”
Nicole sat up and stared at them. “Claire, I have to say, you’ve really impressed me. When did you learn to do that?”
Claire felt her strength fading. “I took martial arts classes off-season for a couple of years. Plus, I’ve seen my bodyguards at work.”
“You have bodyguards?”
Talk about the wrong thing to say, she thought with a sigh. “Not all the time. Not in New York, but sometimes in Europe. Fans can be aggressive.”
“Nicole!”
The shout came from the guy. Claire looked at him, then at her sister. “He knows you?”
“Apparently. You can let him go. That’s Drew. My husband.”
Her… “What?” Claire released the guy’s wrist and stepped off his neck. “Drew?” The cheating bastard who slept with his wife’s sister?
The man in question rose slowly and glared at her. “Who the hell are you?”
He seemed good-looking enough, she thought absently, if one ignored the deep, oozing gouge in his cheek and the second one just under his ear. The wounds gave the phrase “killer high heels” a whole new meaning.
She ignored him and picked up her shoe. “I’ll be down the hall if you need me.”
Nicole looked at her. “Thank you.”
“No problem.”
Claire left Nicole’s door open, then retreated to the guest room. As she shut her door, she heard Drew’s impatient repeated question, “Who the hell is she?” but couldn’t hear Nicole’s response.
Feeling proud of herself and empowered, Claire sank onto the bed and grinned. She’d done good. Maybe she should start working out and get stronger. Maybe take up martial arts again. She could be a dangerous killing machine. She looked down at her long, tapered fingers—a part of the freak hands she was supposed to protect at all costs. Maybe not.
She turned her attention to the television when what she really wanted to do was listen at the door. But that would be rude. She did her best to get interested in a show on HGTV only to jump when Drew started yelling.
“You’re taking this all wrong.”
“How am I taking it wrong?” Nicole demanded, just as loud as Drew. “Are you saying you just slipped on the carpet and ended up having sex? She’s my sister, you bastard. My baby sister. If you had to whore around, at least keep it out of the family.”
“Look, I know it’s bad, but it’s not what you think.”
“Saying it didn’t mean anything is not going to help you.”
“I’m not saying that. It’s just I want you to know I’m sorry for how much this is hurting you.” His voice dropped.
Claire muted the television and tiptoed to her door. When she still couldn’t hear anything, she opened it a tiny bit.
“I never wanted to hurt you,” Drew said.
Claire frowned. She was willing to admit she knew nothing about men and women and the complications of their relationships, but it seemed to her Drew was apologizing for the wrong thing. The problem wasn’t that he’d hurt Nicole. The problem was he’d had sex with her sister.
Nicole seemed to agree with her. There was a loud crash, followed by a “Get out, you slimy bastard. Get out!”
Claire opened her door wider. If she had to, she was prepared to escort Drew out of the house. She wondered how he’d gotten in, then wondered if he still had a key. She would have to talk to Nicole about changing the locks. Before she could decide if she wanted to interfere, she heard more footsteps on the stairs. Who now?
Wyatt couldn’t believe Drew had been stupid enough to show up here. There were some relationships that couldn’t be fixed and his marriage to Nicole was one of them. There was no recovering from sleeping with Jesse. He couldn’t figure out if Drew was too optimistic or just too stupid to know that for himself.