Bullshit.
“Skye told me about someone breaking into her apartment back in New York, she told me that she felt like she’d been watched—she told me everything…” Loxley’s words trailed away.
“But you didn’t believe her,” Trace finished, disgusted.
“Because it wasn’t happening. I would be with her on the street, when she was so sure someone was behind her. No one was ever there. No one ever broke into her apartment. Nothing happened.” A muscle jerked along his jaw. “Her mother was in her early twenties when her schizophrenia first presented itself.”
Fuck. “You went into her mother’s medical records.”
“Delusions,” Mitch muttered. “Paranoia. That’s how it began for her mother—and how it begins for dozens of others. And that’s how it’s beginning for Skye.”
No, it wasn’t. “You’re wrong. Someone is after Skye. She was attacked at her studio. She got a concussion—”
“Did anyone see the attack?”
No, his agent had found no one at the scene.
Mitch shook his head. “How do you know she didn’t do it to herself?”
Because I know Skye. You damn well don’t. “A fire nearly killed her tonight. Are you seriously standing here, trying to tell me that she might have done that, too? That she torched her own place?”
“Did anyone see her attacker there?”
Trace didn’t answer.
“I thought so.” Loxley’s breath heaved out. “You think I want this to happen? To her? I don’t. I care about Skye. But her behavior was becoming increasingly erratic back in New York. When I told her that she needed help…that’s when she fled.”
Trace studied the man for a moment in silence, then demanded, “Why didn’t you say something when I questioned you at the hospital?”
“Because I wanted to be wrong! I wanted to be, but my gut told me I wasn’t. I came here, heard about the fire just a little while ago on the news—and I knew that I had to see you. I had to warn you.” He whirled away and strode toward the window on the right. “Believe me or don’t, but you’ve been warned. I think—I think Skye can be dangerous. As dangerous as her mother was.”
Trace kept his eyes on Loxley’s back. “She didn’t just leave because you tried to get her ‘help’.” He wasn’t buying that line. “When we were in New York…” And this had been bothering him… “You mentioned something about ‘that night’—how it all changed then.” He waited a beat and said, “Do you really think Skye didn’t tell me about what happened?” Lying was easy for him. Especially when he was facing someone like Mitch Loxley.
The doctor’s shoulders stiffened. “No.” He sighed out the word. “I figured she had.” He turned to face Trace once more. “But doesn’t that just prove my point? She confused the two of us. She called me by your name. She thought I was you. For an instant, Skye didn’t know who I was—or even where she was.”
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?”