Page 164 of Ruthless Claim

But the eight-week relationship didn’t. I know I had only been there for six weeks total. She was lying about the duration of our relationship. And if she was lying about that…

“I need to go,” I say abruptly, standing up.

Claire blinks owlishly at me, startled. “What? But you just got here⁠—”

“Something came up. Work. I’ll call you.”

I leave before she can respond, my mind racing.

The third crack comes from an unexpected source.

I was leaving the hotel when I ran into Sonny, one of Connor’s lower-level guys.

Sonny does surveillance work mostly—tailing people, gathering intelligence, the kind of grunt work that doesn’t require much finesse.

“Boss,” Sonny says respectfully. “Didn’t expect to see you here.” He eyes the hotel door curiously.

“Just staying here temporarily,” I say shortly, not needing Sonny to run back gossiping to the men. “What are you doing in this area?”

“Following up on something for the boss.” Sonny hesitates, then adds, “Actually, I was going to call you. I did that background check you ordered.”

I freeze. I hadn’t asked Sonny to do any background check. “What are you talking about?”

Sonny looks confused, his bushy brows furrowing. “On the woman? Claire Murphy? You asked me to pull her records a few days ago.”

What the fuck? “I didn’t—” I stop. Someone had ordered a background check on Claire. If it wasn’t me, then who?

Leo? No, none of Connor’s men would ever take orders from a Santoro. It definitely wasn’t Valentina, so the only one it could possibly be is goddamn Emma.

I’m going to kill her.

“Show me,” I tell Sonny.

He glances around. “We should probably go somewhere first.”

We head into a nearby diner, the smell of old grease and coffee permeating the establishment.

We sit at a table that has an odd film on it that’s slightly sticky. I keep my hands on my lap.

“Show me what you found,” I order impatiently, my nerves on edge.

Sonny pulls out a folder.

“That’s the thing, boss,” Sonny says, looking around furtively to make sure no one’s looking. “There’s not much to find. She’s got no credit history before three years ago. No employment records, no social media presence, no paper trail. It’s like she materialized out of thin air three years ago and just started existing.”

My stomach drops. “That’s not possible. Everyone has a paper trail.”

“Ah, not if they’re trying to hide it,” Sonny says. “Or if someone scrubbed it for them. I’ve seen this before—when people go into witness protection, or when they’re running from something. The old identity gets buried and the new one gets created.”

“Or when someone creates a new identity from scratch,” I say slowly, feeling the pieces come together.

Sonny nods quickly. “That too. I kept digging, tried to find records from Belfast. And you know what I found? Nothing. No marriage certificates, no birth records for any children under her name, no rental history. She’s a ghost.”

“That’s not possible,” I say slowly. “She lived there. Or lives there. She has specific details. Neighborhoods, streets⁠—”

“I’m telling ya, I found nothing. But claims and records are two different things. Boss, a woman can’t live somewhere for years and leave absolutely nothing behind. A lease. A bank account. A phone contract.” He taps the thin folder. “There’s nothing. It’s like she was never there.”

It feels like the ground is shifting under my feet. “No birth records? But—but she has a child who goes to school.” Or so I’ve been told.