Mine to Take (14 page)

She called me by your name.

“No one is stalking Skye,” Mitch continued, his voice strengthening. “She’s a severely troubled woman. Just like her mother. She needs an evaluation, medical treatment—”

“I’m not crazy.”

John hadn’t locked the door. Shit.   

Skye must have been eavesdropping outside. She’d just shoved the door open. She stood on the threshold now, chest heaving, cheeks stained red. “I’m not
imagining
what is happening to me!”

Mitch’s whole body jerked, like a puppet on a tight string. “I-I didn’t mean for you to hear this—”

“Obviously, but I did hear it.” She licked her lips and her chin notched up into the air. “Someone is after me, and it’s not some figment of my imagination. What’s happening to me is real.”

Mitch eased toward her. His voice was low and soothing as he said, “I know you think it is…”

“Yeah, I do! Because it’s real!” She shoved her hair back. Pointed at him. “You want to talk about that night? Fine. Let’s talk.  I called you by Trace’s name
because I was thinking of him.
I wanted him, okay? I always think of him.  Every lover—it’s him. That’s wrong and confused, and, maybe even a little crazy, but I
know
what I’m doing. I wanted him that night, so I called for him.”  She shook her head. “I didn’t do it because I’m having a breakdown! I did it because I wanted
him.”

Mitch’s face had turned stone. “No one can find any evidence of your stalker. Not the cops in New York. What about the ones here? I’m betting they can’t, either. Even Weston Securities has turned up nothing because he’s not real. Just like your mother, you’re—”

“Don’t talk about my mother.” Her voice trembled with pain.

That was it for Trace. He leapt forward. Grabbed Mitch’s arm and jerked the guy toward the door. 

“Wait!” Mitch squealed. “What are you doing? Stop—”

“Get your ass on a plane, and get out of Chicago. If you aren’t gone by noon, I’ll know.  Then I’ll come after you.” Trace glared into the doctor’s eyes. “You don’t want that, got me?”

Mitch swallowed. “I-I just want her to get help.” He cast a worried glance toward Skye. She’d backed away from the door. “I care about you. I want to
help
you.”

“How? By getting me committed?” Red still stained her cheeks and her eyes glinted with fury. “The stalking is real.
He
is real.” 

“No.” Mitch sounded sad and certain. “He’s not.”

Trace took immense pleasure in throwing the doc’s ass out of the building.

“Uh, sir…” John began as he watched Mitch storm off down the street.

“He doesn’t get past the door,” Trace ordered. “Not ever again, got it?”

John quickly nodded. “Indeed. I’ve…got it.”

“Good.” He strode back to the office—and found that Skye hadn’t moved. Her gaze was on the window.  “Skye…”

She glanced over at him.  “Go talk to Reese. He can tell you that someone else was in that studio. I’m not crazy.”

“I never said you were.”

Her smile held an edge of sadness. “But do you wonder?”

He took her hands in his. “No, I don’t.”

She flinched. “I thought you were better at lying.” Then Skye pulled away from him. “I thought you were much better…” 

***

“I only saw Skye…” Reese shifted restlessly in the hospital bed, a bandage taped around the left-side of his head.  “I felt like someone whacked me with a baseball bat, but I didn’t see anyone but her.”

Dammit. Trace had been hoping for more. “You didn’t hear anyone?”

“If I had, the asshole wouldn’t have gotten the drop on me.”  Reese exhaled slowly. “Skye went in the studio first. I think she forgot her bag. I can remember her going in…” His fingers clenched around the white sheets. “Then not a damn thing until I woke up in this place.”

Trace put his hand on Reese’s shoulder. “It’s okay. You just rest.”

“You got me out, didn’t you? I heard the doctors talking…”

Trace nodded. “I wasn’t going to leave you to the fire.”

Reese gave him a tired smile. “Does that make three times…or four…that you’ve saved my life?”

“Doesn’t matter. I stopped counting long ago.”  He squeezed Reese’s shoulder and slipped away from the bed. “Get some rest, man.”

“Wait…”

Trace glanced back at him.

“I do think…I remember one more thing.”  His eyes became slits as he seemed to struggle with the memory. “Your girl, telling me she was sorry…again and again. I swear, I can hear her saying that.” He squeezed his eyes shut. “But that doesn’t make any damn sense. Probably just the drugs they gave me.”

“Probably,” Trace murmured.  “I’ll check back on you soon.”

Trace shut the door behind him. 

Skye caught sight of him, and she hurried toward him. “Was Reese awake? Did you talk to him?”

He’d gone in alone because he’d wanted to gauge Reese’s responses for himself. He’d also thought Reese might speak a little more freely if they were alone.

I remember one more thing. Your girl, telling me she was sorry…again and again.

“Did he remember anyone else being there?”

Trace shook his head.

Her face fell.

He
had
to ask her. “Baby, during the fire, did you tell Reese that you were sorry?”

Her fingers twisted her purse strap.  “Yes.”

Fuck. “
Why?”

Her gaze flashed up to meet his. Anger lit her green eyes. “Because I wasn’t strong enough to get him out of the fire! Because I was using every bit of my strength, and I couldn’t get him out of there!” Her voice rose, catching the attention of two nearby nurses. “Because no matter what I did, I couldn’t get him out of the door, and I was sure that we were both going to die in those flames.”

He stepped toward her.

She jerked back. “But that’s not what you thought, is it?” All of the heat left her voice. “I’m not crazy and you—” Sadness tightened her face. “You don’t trust me.”

“Yes, I fucking do.”

But she’d already rushed toward the elevator. Swearing he ran after her. He threw out his hand, grabbing the doors before they could close. “I do, baby,” he said again. 

“This time, I’m the one who doesn’t believe you.”  Her gaze held his. “How does that feel?”

Like shit.

“I’m going to the studio. I have to—I have to talk with the arson investigator.”

“I’ll come with you.” He started to step into the elevator.

“No.” Her clipped response stopped him.

“Skye…”

Someone else brushed by him.  Maneuvered into the elevator.

“I need a break,” Skye said, her voice hoarse, as if she were trying to fight tears.  “Send one of your agents with me, but I need a break.”

From you.

He forced himself to step back.

He held her gaze until the elevator closed. 

Then Trace pulled out his phone. In less than five seconds, he had an agent ready to go. “Be her damn shadow,” he ordered. “She doesn’t take a step without your eyes on her.”

She might want her space from him, but he wasn’t about to risk her life.

It was gone. Her second chance had turned to ash.

Skye stared at the charred remains of her studio.  There was nothing she could salvage there. Everything was just…gone. Destroyed by the flames.

She’d already called her students. Skye had tried to reassure them that she
would
find another space.

She hadn’t mentioned that she didn’t have the money to rent another building.

“Are you all right?”

She glanced to the left.  As soon as she’d arrived at the scene, she’d realized that Alex Griffin was there, waiting on her. He’d come straight toward her.

He watched her with a guarded expression that made her tense. “Please don’t ask me if I’m about to have a breakdown.” Because that was the way he was staring at her. As if she’d just shatter apart. “I promise, I’m much stronger than I look.” The female cop, Carol—the one who’d given Skye a ride home the previous night—stood a few feet behind Alex. 

And Skye’s newest watchdog from Weston Securities, a guy named Adam Longtree, waited about ten steps to Skye’s right. She’d quickly discovered that Adam was the strong and pretty much utterly silent type.

“I’m sorry about your studio,” Alex said as he inclined his head toward her. “But I didn’t think you were about to breakdown. I figured if you were, well, you would’ve done that last night.”

She squared her shoulders. “Then you make one person…”

“Pardon?”

Skye blew out a hard breath. She was so seeing her dreams covered by black and gray ash. “You make one person who doesn’t think I’m on the edge of some major meltdown.”

His eyes had narrowed.  “Did you do like I asked? Did you think about Weston—”

She had to laugh. “Trace isn’t doing this to me. Hell, he thinks I’m doing it to myself.”  Her arms felt chilled so she roughly rubbed them. “Trace, the cop up in New York, Loxley—”

“Uh, yeah,” Alex cut in, “I don’t know who the hell Loxley is, but you should know that I did some more talking with Detective Fuller first thing this morning.”

“You did?”

“He got another mechanic to look at the car.  There was still no sign of a rear-impact collision, but this guy did find something else.” Her image was reflected back in his dark sunglasses. “All of the brake fluid was gone.”

“What?” The chill Skye felt got worse.

“With all the fluid gone, the car couldn’t stop.  That night, you were headed into the curve, and you must have tried to brake.” He raked a hand through his hair. “You couldn’t, and the car lost control.”

It wasn’t just her arms that felt chilled. Her cheeks felt the same way. “Someone sabotaged the car.”

Carol Jones stepped closer.

Alex darted a glance at Carol, then he focused once more on Skye. “It certainly looks that way.”

Someone had been trying to kill her, for months. “I want this to stop.”  What did she have to do?
What?
“I can’t live this way.”  Being afraid. Having a constant guard—
no.

“We’ll find him,” Alex said. “Don’t worry.”

Easy for him to say. It wasn’t his life on the line.

“With the new evidence, Fuller is re-opening the investigation in New York,” Alex continued. “The jackass doing this is going down.”

Carol gave a hard nod. 

Skye’s gaze darted between the two cops—and over to Adam Longtree. She wasn’t surprised to see that he had his phone out and at his ear. The guy was probably briefing Trace on this new development right then.
Trace…
Her gaze snapped back to Alex. “You think that jackass is Trace.”

He didn’t respond.

“It’s not.”

Carol whistled and rocked forward on the balls of her feet. “Having too much faith in the wrong man could be dangerous.”

“Everything I do is dangerous these days.”  She gave Carol and Alex a curt nod. “Thanks for your help.” 

She started hurrying away from them. Longtree immediately fell into step with her.  Her big, six-foot-plus shadow.

“Skye!”

Pausing, she glanced back at the detective’s call.

“Tell me you aren’t staying with him.”  Tension had hardened Alex’s face.

“I won’t tell you that.”  Because she wasn’t planning to return to Trace then. She hadn’t lied when she told Trace that she needed a break.

Does he trust me?

Because, even after everything, she trusted him.  She always had.  

“If you aren’t going back to Weston’s place, then where are you going?”

Her gaze slid to the wreckage. “To find a new studio because I am
not
going to let my dream be taken from me.” She’d find a way to get the cash that she needed in order to rent another studio.
There has to be a way.
Skye wasn’t going to give up. She just had to take things—  

One step at a time.

That was how she’d recovered after the accident. How she’d learned to ignore the pain and just walk.

One step at a time
.

***

Alex watched Skye walk away, his eyes narrowed.

“She didn’t seem particularly scared to me,” Carol said as she came fully to his side.

“No, she didn’t.” 

“Seemed more pissed, judging by the look in her eyes.”

He turned his head and saw that Carol’s gaze was on Skye. He followed Carol’s gaze and watched as Skye climbed into the passenger seat of a waiting car. Her newest guard slammed the door and then headed for the driver’s side of the vehicle.

“You’re sure she went home with Weston last night?”  Alex asked Carol. Dammit, he’d warned Skye. Why wouldn’t she take his warnings seriously? He wanted to help her.

But he was starting to think she had a death wish.

“I’m sure that’s where she went. It’s not easy to mistake that guy.”

No, it wasn’t.

“He rushed her out of the club and into that fancy car of his,” Carol said.  “They went to his penthouse and stayed in all night.”

I warned her.

“I guess some people like the danger too much,” he said, voice gruff. His sister had been that way.  He’d warned her, too.

Warned her, and buried her.

Am I going to bury Skye, too?

“Want me to keep up the detail on her?” Carol asked. Her short, honey blonde hair blew in the faint breeze.

“Yeah, stay close.  If you see anything suspicious, you let me know.”  Over her shoulder, he saw that the arson investigator was waiting to talk with him. 

Like he needed the guy to tell him that the fire had been deliberately set.

That was fucking obvious.

As obvious as the fact that someone was playing a sick game with Skye Sullivan.  

A game that wasn’t going to end until Skye was dead.

Just like my sister.

***

This location could work. 

Skye gazed around at the old fire station.  Okay, sure, most people wouldn’t think this place was primed to be a dance studio…  

But this can happen. I can make this work.

Excitement and determination pulsed through her.  She’d make this studio even better than the other one had been.  She could get started right away. If she worked fast enough, hard enough, then maybe she could even have the studio up and running in three weeks, maybe two.