Mine to Keep (23 page)

“Your reactions are always off, unless Skye is close. That’s the only time you ever seem even half-way normal.”

Well, when he was with her, those were the only times he
felt
normal, too. Alive. Instead of feeling as if he were just going through the motions. Mimicking everyone else around him.

“Her attacker drove a blade into her heart,” Dr. Dulane said. “Based on the size of her injury, I think it was the same type of blade used on the other two victims. But this time…there were defensive wounds.”

She pulled back the sheet and pointed to Sara’s wrists. “The bruising is coming through. It looks like he had to restrain her.”

Take care of my sister.
“Sara had something to fight for.” 

“Did she get the perp’s DNA?” Alex asked. “Tell me you found it under her fingernails.”

Dr. Dulane shook her head. 

“There were no signs of forced entry at Ms. Kramer’s house,” Alex said. “And she was…dressed provocatively.”

“She was sleeping with the man who killed her.” Trace had already figured that part out himself.

“She didn’t sleep with him the day she died. There was no sperm,” Dr. Dulane said with a shake of her head. “No sign of any sexual penetration.”

So the guy hadn’t fucked her before he killed her. Was that supposed to be some kind of mercy act?

Trace wanted to destroy the bastard.

“Show us the other bodies,” Alex directed.

Dr. Dulane headed toward a wall of vaults. She bent. Swung open one door, and pulled out a slab. A black body bag filled the space.  The hiss of the zipper seemed too loud as Dr. Dulane revealed the body.

Sharpe’s body was ghost-white. His eyes were closed. His muscles tight and frozen in death.

“A two-sided blade went into his chest here,” Dr. Dulane said, tapping her gloved fingers near the wound. “The assailant knew exactly what he was doing.  The attack was dead-on.”

Trace had already reviewed the report, so he knew about the type of blade used.

Tucker had always carried a two sided weapon.  Always. “There were no signs of struggle?” Trace asked.  There had to be something there. If the killer had left Trace’s dog tags with Parker, then some sort of message had been left with Sharpe.

Trace just had to find the message.

“None.  The fact that Mr. Sharpe didn’t have time to struggle is a good thing. It meant he probably didn’t have long to suffer.”

“He would’ve wanted to fight.” Dying easily hadn’t been Ben Sharpe’s style.

“
I’ll be damned.
You have an idea who the killer is, don’t you?” Alex suddenly demanded.

Trace looked over his shoulder at the detective. “Not yet.”

Alex’s gaze called Trace a liar.

“Nothing else was found with the body?” Trace asked. He had to be missing something.

But then his gaze fell on Sharpe’s throat.  On the wound there.  “That’s wrong.”

Alex pressed closer. “Yeah, getting your throat sliced open is wrong and—”

“No, I mean the wound looks wrong.” His stare flashed to Dr. Dulane. “I need to see Parker’s body.
Now.
”

She opened the next vault. A burst of cold air drifted out, rising as the body bag appeared.

The zipper hissed down. Trace leaned forward, studying the knife wound at Parker’s throat. Parker’s throat had been sliced clean, from ear to ear.

But with Sharpe…

“The wound stopped half-way across.” He could see the jagged V where the knife had lifted out of Ben Sharpe’s throat for an instant. “Then the killer finished the job.”

Not a defensive wound.

A hesitation?

Why? The kill had already been complete by that point.

Then, understanding came.
You didn’t want to cut his throat.

He whirled around and rushed back to Sara’s body.  He stared at her throat and saw that same V notch on the skin. Just a jagged tear, but Trace
knew
exactly what he was staring at.
You didn’t want to cut her throat, either. But you did.

“The killer hesitated with her, too,” Trace said.

“I-I made note of the injury pattern in the file,” Dr. Dulane said, sounding a bit offended. “I measured the wound and included that—”

“You didn’t say the killer hesitated,” Alex snapped.

“Because you can’t know that for sure! Maybe the blade slipped. Maybe—”

“Why didn’t he hesitate with Parker?” Alex asked, focusing on Trace.

Trace knew the answer, and that made this dangerous game even more complicated. “Because he thought Parker deserved to die.”

And if that were truly the case, then it meant that the killer had been watching him—and Skye—very closely.

For a long time.

You know about our pasts. And you’re using them against us.

***

Claire edged carefully into the morgue. Skye was at her side. Skye had only been in a morgue once before. When she’d gone to identify the bodies of her parents.

The smell was the same. The cold chill—one that reminded her of death—it was the same, too.

A redhead in a white lab coat stood near the door. “Ms. Kramer?”

Claire nodded.

Alex appeared beside the redhead. “This way.”

Claire shuffled forward. Skye hesitated. This was private. She shouldn’t go in.       

But Claire turned toward her. “Come with me?”

Skye nodded. She entered the viewing room with her chin up.

Sara was on the table.  Her body was covered with a sheet, all the way up to the top of her neck.  Only her face was visible. Her face was perfect. No wounds. No pain.   

“It wasn’t him,” Claire whispered.  “H-he always shoots in the head.
It wasn’t him.”

Then Claire grabbed Skye and held onto her tightly.

Skye stared over Claire’s shoulder. Her gaze locked with Trace’s. He’d been there, watching them all along. His eyes glinted.

No, a monster from Claire’s past hadn’t committed this crime.

Sara had just gotten caught in someone else’s battle. 

Who else did the killer plan to hurt?

***

Drake Archer drained the whiskey and slammed the glass on the bar.  The liquid barely burned as it slid down his throat.

Once, he’d turned to drinks too much. To try and shut up the ghosts in his head. But then he’d realized that the booze didn’t stop the voices.

The alcohol just made them louder.      

“Another?” The bartender asked.

Drake shook his head and tossed some cash onto the bar.  He rose, aware of the looks that were tossed his way. He’d come to the darkest, roughest bar he could find. He liked places like this dive. Places that often let him fight and push out some of the wildness that lived within him. Places that reminded him of exactly where he’d come from.

But there were no fights to be found tonight. The others eased away from him as he headed toward the door.

Darkness waited outside for him.  Drake rolled back his shoulders and stalked down the street.

He’d been in a thousand towns. Walking. Fighting. Fucking.  They all blurred together during the night, and when dawn came…   

I’m always alone.   

He turned off the main strip.  The sounds were muted now. The horns distant. The growl of car engines barely discernible.

He’d rented a place close by.  Coming to the city had been a mistake. But when Noah had called him…

Noah and Trace were the only friends I ever had.

Friends, enemies. Same damn thing some days. 

He halted and heard the faint rustle of a footstep behind him.

Such a soft sound. One that he could’ve imagined but—

In instant, he’d yanked out the knife that he kept tucked in his boot. Ben Sharpe had been the one to get him hooked on that particular habit.

Drake whirled around.
“Who in the hell is there?
Show yourself!
”

But only an empty street stared back at him.  An empty street, and the ghosts in his head.

“I want you to come with me,” Trace said, his voice and eyes tense as he gazed down at Skye.

They’d just dropped Claire off at the studio. Skye had made sure that Claire was settled in the upstairs apartment. She’d hated to leave Claire, but she’d realized that the other woman needed time alone.

Sometimes, you needed to grieve in private.  

“Where are you going?” Skye asked him.

“Texas.”

She blinked at that terse response. “Why?”

“Because that’s where Tucker grew up.  I need to take another look at that town, at the people there. I could send some more agents but…
it’s personal.
”

“I-I have my studio. Classes will—”

“Tomorrow’s Sunday. You don’t have any classes scheduled then, and we’ll be back Sunday night.” His voice dropped. “Please, Skye. I don’t want to leave you here while I’m gone. I need you with me.”

“What about Claire?”

“Reese will keep watch on her. Hell, I’ll call Noah, too. They’ll make sure she’s safe.”

Skye nodded. “Okay.”

His breath expelled in a fast rush. “Thank you, baby.” His fingers slid up to cup her chin. “I need you close right now. I think about what happened to Sara—that
can’t
happen to you.”

She pressed a quick kiss to his lips. “And it
won’t
happen to you.” Her vow.

***

The plane rose higher and higher into the air.  Trace kept his gaze locked on Skye as they ascended.

Her
eyes were currently squeezed tightly closed. Skye hated flying.

The light flashed indicating that he could unbuckle his seatbelt. He did, then slid forward and pressed a quick kiss to her lips.

Skye’s eyes flew open. “Trace—”

He kissed her again.  Her lips had parted, and he was able to easily slide his tongue right into her mouth.  “Do you remember the first time we made love on this plane?”

She gave a little gasp at that question, and he drank it up greedily.

Then his mouth moved down to her neck. He knew she liked it when he licked her there. “You surprised the hell out of me then.  And I’ve been wanting to return the favor.”

“Trace?”

Lucky for him, she was wearing a skirt. He pulled up the loose fabric of her skirt, edging higher and higher. And her thigh highs.
Fuck, yes.
His fingers slid up her thighs and found the silk of her panties. “This time, it’s my turn,” he said.

She arched against him.  

“I get to give you pleasure,” he told her, “and I get to make you forget all about your fear.” His fingers slid under the edge of her panties.  He found her sweet flesh—warm and wet.  He stroked her, loving the way her breath caught in her throat, and she tipped her hips toward him. 

Skye’s response always made him hot.

Made him want to take her endlessly.

He pulled her panties down.  Thrust his index finger into her.

“Trace…”

“I don’t want you to be afraid. I don’t want you to feel anything but pleasure.”  Because he hated it when her green eyes shone with fear.

He pushed a second finger into her.  Her teeth sank into her lower lip. His thumb began to massage her clit, rotating in slow circles.

He licked her throat again. Bit her lightly.

Withdrew his fingers. Thrust. Again.

Worked her clit.

“Trace!”

Her body was tight against him.  So damn tight.  He loved it.  He wanted nothing more than to drive into her as deeply as he could go.

And that was why he didn’t.

This is just for Skye.
She needed to know that he could put her first.

She came with a gasp.  Her inner muscles clenched around his fingers as she rode out her orgasm. So beautiful.

So perfect.

His Skye.

He held her while she shuddered. Then he slowly withdrew his fingers. Positioned her skirt once more.

Kissed her soft lips again.

Her hand grabbed his forearm. “Trace, you didn’t—”

“I’m a selfish bastard most days. Hell, we both know that.”

“No,” she said quietly, with certainty, “you’re not.”

But Trace knew the truth.  “I am with you. I see you, and all I want to do is take.” His heart raced in his chest. “So this time, this once, just let me give.” He had to look away from her because while he was talking a good game…

I want in her.

“Do you want to know how I see you?”

Trace nodded.

“I see a man who is sexy as sin. He’s strong and he’s powerful, and sometimes, he drives me absolutely crazy because he tries to control everything.”

Trace winced.

“But he’s the man who’s saved me—twice—in my life. He was the first man to give me flowers. The only man to ask me to marry him.  He’s the man right there beside me when my nightmares come to haunt me.”

She was the only woman he’d ever dreamed about.

“So don’t talk about him as if he’s a selfish SOB.
I
can do that,” Skye said, her voice rough. “But no one else gets to say a word about him, got it? No one, not even you.”

His lips curved. His gaze came back to her. The lust was still there, always there, but so was something else. “I love you, Skye.”

She smiled at him. “I know.” 

***

Weston was out hunting. The guy thought he was such a security expert. That he could catch any criminal. That he could save the day.

Too late.

There wasn’t going to be anything left for him to save this time. 

Weston’s empire would crumble. So would he.

One loss, for another. 

The killer gazed across the street and up at the lights that burned on the second level of Skye Sullivan’s dance studio.

Sara Kramer’s sister was there. He knew that.

Just as he knew everything. 

Did the sister know about him?  Sara and Claire had been so close, and they’d talked frequently. When the grief eased, would Claire remember some half-forgotten conversation?

Will she remember me?

It was a chance he couldn’t take. Claire shouldn’t have come to town. Sara hadn’t told him about her sister’s arrival.

If she had, he would’ve planned his attack better.

Too late for regrets.