“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 f**king 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.
The building could work, so now she just had to come up with the down payment for the place. She’d already sold all of her jewelry. Her credit cards were maxed out.
But…there were a few people who owed her some favors. People like Robert. Maybe…maybe he could loan her the cash—
“I’m taking over, Adam. You can go now.”
Trace’s voice. She didn’t stiffen. Didn’t start in alarm. Right then, she was too hopeful and happy to stiffen up.
Adam’s footsteps padded away, but Trace’s didn’t come any closer to her.
Determinedly, she glanced to the left. She found him staring at her with a hard intensity in his gaze. “I can put the mirrors there. The barres here.” She gestured with her hands. “The open area in the center will be perfect for dancers’ warm-ups.”
His gaze didn’t leave her face. That lethal intensity didn’t lessen.
Skye swallowed. I can even use the upstairs area for an apartment. That will save me money because I can get rid of my place.
But…she’d just gotten that wonderful security system at her place. She didn’t want to lose it.
“I think you should hold off on your studio,” Trace said flatly.
“No.” An immediate denial. She whirled to fully face him.