Mine to Keep (24 page)

Claire was in the game now.

Until death.

***

The plane touched down on the runway. A small, narrow patch of concrete in the middle of Piedmont, Texas.

The town was a dot on the map.  Tucker had talked often of the place. He’d said that it let him breathe. That he could see for miles and miles there.

That the place made him feel free.

Trace walked away from the plane, his hand locked with Skye’s.  He’d come to this town because he needed to see one person. A phone call wouldn’t have done the job. 

The light of dawn rose on the horizon.  Trace climbed into the rental vehicle that waited. Arranging for the SUV had been easy enough.

The meeting that was coming?

Not so damn easy.   

“I know you have a plan,” Skye said.    

He did. 

“Want to share it with me?”

He drove away from the little landing strip. He’d been in Piedmont twice before. Once with Tucker.

Once when he’d come to bury Tucker. Only…Tucker hadn’t been in that empty grave. It had just been a ceremony. A headstone with no casket in the ground.

“Tucker’s father still lives in the area.  I have some more questions for him.”  Because if Tucker truly had somehow made it out of that frozen hell, he would’ve come home. Tucker had been so close to his father.

“Did you tell his father you were coming?”

Trace shook his head.  “He doesn’t exactly like me, Skye. The man blames me for his son’s death.” His fingers tightened around the wheel. “With damn good reason.”  But Quint Hawk just thought Trace hadn’t done a good enough job of covering Tucker’s ass on the mission.   

He didn’t realize that Trace had been the one to fire the shot that ended Tucker’s life.

They rode in silence. The miles drifted past.  They turned off the pavement and fish-tailed down a long, dusty dirt road. The road ended in front of a ranch house. Two dogs ran out to meet them, barking excitedly.

Trace killed the engine. Stared at that house. Tucker had grown up there. Laughed and lived.

The front door opened. Quint appeared, holding tight to his cane.

Trace climbed from the SUV. He hurried around to Skye’s side, but she’d already slipped out.

“Who the hell are you?”  Quint demanded. “And what are you doin’ on my property so damn early?”

Bracing his shoulders, Trace advanced. “It’s me, Mr. Hawk.” He took a few more steps. The dogs bounced around him, their tongues hanging out as they panted. “Trace Weston.”

Quint shuffled forward.
Tap. Tap.
His cane hit the wooden floor of the porch. “What are you doin’ back here?” His eyes narrowed as he glanced over Trace’s shoulder. “And who’s she?”

“That’s my fiancé,” Trace said. “And I’m here because I need to ask you a few more questions about Tucker.”

“We don’t got nothin’ to say.” Quint pointed a bony finger at Trace. “Now load up your pretty girl and get the hell off my property.”

Right. That was the reception he’d expected and why he hadn’t just called. “I can’t leave. No, I
won’t
leave.” Trace strode toward the house. “Not until we talk. I know you blame me for Tucker’s death. And you’re—”

“He had a fiancé, too,” Quint suddenly said, cocking his head. “I got his last letter to me. A week after I buried him, I got that letter.”

Trace tensed. He looked over his shoulder and saw that Skye had come closer to him. Then he focused on Quint. “Do you have that letter, sir?”

“It’s all I have left of him.”  Quint’s hold on his cane tightened. “When I got it, I thought—them bastards were wrong. My boy’s alive.” He stared down at the porch. “Then I realized…he’d just sent it to me before he died.  Mail is so slow…so slow…but for a moment there. A moment…I had my boy back.”

“Sir, I’d really like to see that letter.”
A fiancé? 
Tucker had never said that he and Anna Jean were getting married.

“He did some bad things.” Now Quint’s shoulders stooped. “I know that now.” His gaze found Trace’s. “That’s what killed him, isn’t it?”

Trace shook his head. “Tucker was a good man.”

“Once, he was.”  His knuckles whitened around the cane. “If I let you see the letter, I never want you comin’ back, understand?  You…” His voice thickened. “You remind me too much of what I lost.”

Trace nodded. “You’ll never see me again.”  Beside him, Skye was silent.

Quint disappeared into the house.
Tap. Tap.

Trace didn’t follow him.

“Did you know about his engagement?” Skye asked softly.

“No.”

“Do you…do you think there were some other things that you didn’t know?”

Tap. Tap.

Quint pushed open the door. Crept onto the porch. His fingers were shaking as he handed Trace an envelope. “Take it, then burn it.”

Trace frowned. “But—”

“I was better off not gettin’ that note.”  Quint leveled a hard stare at Trace. “And, son, you’re better off not readin’ it.”

No, he wasn’t.

Quint turned away. Stopped.  His back was to Trace as he said, “My debt is paid to you, son.”

“You never owed me a debt.” Trace carefully held that envelope. 

“I was losin’ this place. The bank was gonna take it from me. Then…one day…I come out here to see the deed in my mail box. Paid in full.”
Tap.
“I know what you had to do to my son. But you don’t owe me anymore. And I don’t owe you. We’re done.” 

The door closed behind him.

“Trace?”

He knows.

Trace jerked his head toward the SUV. The dogs were still barking like crazy. “Let’s get back inside.”

After Trace shut the passenger-side door behind Skye, he walked back around the vehicle. He paused in front of the SUV.  The sun was rising.  He glanced at the old, wooden fence on the right. For an instant, he could imagine Tucker there. Laughing.

Then the image of Tucker was gone. 

Trace climbed back into the SUV and slammed the door behind him. He stared down at the old envelope. The handwriting had faded some but he still easily recognized it as Tucker’s writing. The stamp had torn, but he could make out the post date—a week before Tucker had died. 

He opened the envelope. Pulled out the paper. He could feel Skye’s eyes on him, but she didn’t speak.

Trace unfolded the paper.

Dad,

I know I don’t write enough, and I’m sorry about that. I think about you. About mom. I still miss her so much.

I’m in love. I always wanted to find someone to love the way that you loved mom. So completely.

We’re going to get married. We have plans to start a new life, just me and my Anna Jean. But we have a job to do first. And it’s a job that I hate.

I always tried to do the right thing.  But doing right doesn’t always give you the reward you need. Anna Jean has a deal set up for us.  It’s a one-time shot. We do this, and there are no more battles. No more crawling on my belly through the mud or the snow or the blood.

I’ll be free.

There’s a price to pay for freedom. I’m not proud of what I’m doing, but I want to give Anna Jean the life she deserves.

I won’t be coming back. With what we’ve planned, I can’t. 

You were a good father.

I wish I’d been a better son. 

“Sonofabitch,” Trace whispered. His head lifted. He turned and met Skye’s worried stare. “He was in on it.  Tucker was working with Anna Jean. He betrayed us all.” 

***

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.