He wore a dark suit, one that emphasized the darkness of his hair and made his blue eyes gleam even brighter.
“Yes, Skye,” he said, voice curt. “You need to slow down. Your last place was torched less than twenty-four hours ago. Don’t you think that was a message? It’s not safe for you to do this. You have to—”
“I have to make this work. I have to believe that I can do it.”
Dancing was the only thing that had always gotten her through life.
When she danced, she became someone else. Someone stronger.
Without it…I’m lost.
His hands closed around her shoulders. “It’s too dangerous.”
“I thought I was the one doing this to myself,” she snapped at him. “Isn’t that the story going around now?”
“That story is bullshit.” His fingers tightened on her. “You trust me, and I trust you.”
Her breath caught in her throat. She wanted those words. Wanted them so badly.
She searched his eyes, wondering if he was telling her the truth…or feeding her the lie he knew she needed to hear.
***
Carol Jones gazed across the street at the old fire station. Skye Sullivan had sure been determined. She’d gone through five buildings, touring them all with her guard right at her side, before she’d stopped at this place.
“And the guard is gone,” Carol murmured as she watched the fellow hurry away.
Since Trace Weston had strode into that old fire station a few moments before, the guard’s departure wasn’t a real big surprise.
But…Detective Griffin didn’t trust Weston. He thought the man was guilty as sin.
Maybe it wasn’t safe for Skye to be alone with him.
Carol eased open her car door. Then she headed swiftly across the street. Her phone was at her ear as she entered the alley. “Hey, Griffin, it’s me.” She didn’t wait for him to respond but hurried to add, “Skye was looking for a new building to rent. She stopped at the old fire station on Ninth, and Weston just joined her.”
“Are they there alone?”
“I think so. I’m going in for a closer look.”
“Be careful,” he warned her.
Always. Carol eased into the alley. Maybe there was a window back there that she could use for a little observation.
She tucked her phone into her pocket and took a few more steps forward.
Yes. There was a window. One covered in grime. She leaned toward the bricks, trying to ease up closer to that window so that she could see—
Someone grabbed her from behind. A rough hand closed over mouth. “You shouldn’t get involved in business that doesn’t concern you,” a snarling voice—a male voice—grated in her ear.
She reacted immediately, driving her elbow back into her attacker’s mid-section. He grunted and his hold eased, just for a moment. She jerked away from him. Carol grabbed for her weapon as she spun to face the man who—
He shoved a knife into her chest.
Carol’s fingers squeezed the trigger, but her attacker was already lunging away from her.
Her knees hit the ground. The gun slid from her trembling fingers and fell beside her. Her blood soaked her, and Carol didn’t even have the strength to scream.
***
When the gunfire blasted, Trace grabbed Skye. He pulled her against his chest and curved his body protectively around hers.
One thunderous blast…then, nothing.
He glanced over his shoulder. That gunshot had come from out back, in the alley. Trace shoved back his coat and pulled out his own weapon.
“Wh-when did you start carrying that?” Skye asked him. Her eyes looked huge—and scared.
“I always carry it. I just usually made sure you didn’t see it before.” Because he hadn’t wanted to frighten her away. But this moment wasn’t about reassuring Skye. It was about finding out what the hell was happening in that alley.
He pushed open the rear door, but he made sure to stay low. To stay covered and—
“She’s hurt!” Skye’s cry.
Trace had seen the woman, too. A cop in uniform sprawled on the dirty ground.
Skye tried to lunge toward the woman, but Trace kept her back. “Wait…” Because whoever had injured the cop could still be close by. Waiting to strike again.
He looked to the left. To the right.
A weak moan escaped from the woman, and, at that sound, Skye sprang away from him. She hit her knees beside the cop and reached for the knife in the woman’s chest.
“Don’t!” Trace ordered as he lunged forward. His left hand flew up, locking around hers. “Leave the blade in.”
“What?” Skye demanded, expression shocked. “We have to help her! She’s dying!”
“And she’ll die faster if you pull out the knife.” He’d seen attacks like this before.
“It’s Carol,” Skye whispered. “Carol Jones. She took me home last night.”
And she’d apparently stayed around to keep an eye on Skye.
He released Skye’s hand. “Call 9-1-1,” he told her. “Tell them that a cop is down.” They’d haul ass getting to that location then. He kept his gun in his right hand. The attacker had to be close. He wanted to break away and search for the SOB, but Carol was choking on her own blood right then.
Shit.
He tilted Carol’s head. Tried to help her breathe. Blood covered her lips. Her eyes were hazy, pain-filled.
“It’s going to be all right,” Trace told her. He wanted the words to be true and not a f**king lie, but the killer had known exactly what he was doing when he attacked. The knife had plunged straight into her heart and…Trace leaned forward.
The bastard had twisted the blade. For maximum damage and maximum pain.
“The ambulance is coming,” Skye whispered. “Help’s coming, Carol. Just hold on.” Skye’s fingers curled around Carol’s hand.
Carol’s breathing seemed so ragged and loud.
That bleary gaze of hers flickered to Trace, then it darted over his shoulder.
“You saw him,” Trace said.
Carol’s breathing wasn’t quite so loud.
Her gaze darted over his shoulder again.
“He ran that way?”
Her lips parted. She tried to speak.
“Carol?” Skye cried. “Carol?”
Carol’s eyes were still open. Still looking over Trace’s shoulder.
But the officer was dead.
In the distance, an ambulance’s siren wailed.
Too late. Too f**king late.