“Skye,” he began.
“Not here.”
Trace had to strain to hear her words.
“Not yet,” Skye added.
He frowned at that response.
Then they were back at her studio. A few dancers were waiting outside, their gear bags at their feet. Skye pasted on a smile for them, welcoming each person.
She unlocked the door. Waved them inside.
When the dancers slipped in to begin their stretches, Skye turned back to him. She seemed to brace herself in the doorway. Her eyes searched his. “You’re glad he’s dead.”
He saw no point in lying about that. “I’m sorry you found him. I wish you’d never seen him that way.”
A laugh—no, a sob?—trembled from her lips. “That’s not what you’re supposed to say. He was butchered in that alley and thrown away.”
He braced his hand up on the door frame. “Tell me the truth, baby. Aren’t you glad he’s dead?”
The little bit of color in her cheeks bleached away.
Trace tensed. “Skye…”
“I-I have to take care of my class.”
“I’ll wait for you.” Because she looked so fragile.
“No.” Her immediate denial. “I-I’ll come to you when I finish today. We need to talk.”
“You found a dead body. Do you really think I’m just going to walk away and leave you on your own?” When it looked like she could shatter any minute?
“I want you to walk away now, Trace. I’ll come to you.”
Something was off. “Why were you in that alley?”
She glanced over his shoulder. He didn’t even need to turn his head in order to see the uniform who waited on the other side of the street. Trace had been aware of the guy following them from the crime scene. No doubt, on Alex’s orders. “I went for a walk,” she said, her voice wooden.
Lie.
“I’ll come to you.” Then she left him as she went inside her studio.
Trace turned around slowly. His eyes locked with the cop’s.
First, Sharpe had been killed.
Now Parker.
Who would be next?
I won’t risk her. With his eyes on the cop, Trace pulled out his phone. Two seconds later, Reese was on the line. “I need you to guard Skye.”
She’d be furious when she found out what he’d done, but she’d be alive.
***
Skye had made it through the day. Her muscles ached, her stomach was tied in knots, and she was limping.
For the first time in ages, that damn limp couldn’t be controlled.
She pulled on her sweatshirt and shorts. Grabbed her bag. And when she went outside, Skye wasn’t even mildly surprised to find Reese waiting on her. After what had happened, she’d known Trace would be back to his old routine.
Reese focused on her face. “Not gonna yell at me for doing my job, are you?”
“Too tired to yell. Well, at you, anyway.”
His lips hitched up into a half-smile.
“Take me to him,” Skye said as she climbed into the back of the car.
Reese nodded and closed the door behind her.
When the car eased down the street, her gaze found the alley and the line of bright, yellow police tape that sealed it off. She couldn’t get the sight of Parker’s body out of her mind. His neck…I will never forget that image. She could still smell the blood, too. Blood and garbage and death.
She’d hated Parker.
But had the man deserved to die like that? Did anyone?
Her hands tightened on her bag. Life wasn’t supposed to be like this. She wasn’t supposed to be so afraid.
And she sure wasn’t supposed to fear the man she loved.
All too soon, they were pulling up to the curb. She didn’t wait for Reese to come back to her. Skye jumped out of the car. Henry was waiting at the door. He frowned at her. “Ms. Sullivan, are you all right?”
She was far from that. “I’m fine.” She didn’t slow down because she didn’t want Henry looking too closely at her.
When the private elevator doors closed behind her, Skye exhaled in relief. Goosebumps covered her whole body.
Parker’s head had nearly been severed from his body.
Was that what it had been like for Sharpe, too? Had that poor man been attacked so viciously?
Only a monster would kill like that.
The elevator stopped its ascent. Skye crept out and made her way inside the penthouse.
The door squeaked open.
Trace sat on the couch, waiting. He was leaning forward, his hands between his knees.
His eyes locked on her.
For an instant, she thought about turning and running.
“Skye?”
She shut the door behind her.
He didn’t move, but he watched her with the gaze of a predator. Part of her wondered if he was about to pounce.
“I realized today…” She took a step toward him. “I would do anything for you.”
“You know I would do—”
“You would never hurt me. I’m certain of that. Not physically, anyway.”
He jerked as if she’d struck him.
“But there are other ways to hurt,” she whispered. Another step brought her closer to him. Her fingers were tight on the straps of her bag.
“It’s the guards,” he said, swallowing. She heard the faint click of his throat. His hair was tousled, as if he’d plunged his fingers through it over and over again. “I’ve told you about my enemies…”
He hadn’t told her enough. “Sharpe was here. He threatened me.”
She remembered that instant so clearly. She couldn’t forget how Trace had reacted. Are you threatening her? She glanced to the left. Trace had put his forearm under the man’s throat. Right there. In that exact spot.
She wet her lips. “And Parker tried to kill us both.” Her gaze turned back to him. “Both of those men…they threatened me, and they wound up dead.”
His eyes widened. “You think I killed them?”
“I think you killed to protect me before.” But this…this wasn’t the same. “But Sharpe—he never so much as touched me. He needed help, Trace. He needed—”
Trace shot to his feet. “Why haven’t you asked me if I killed them?”
Her fingers shook, fumbled, and dove into the bag. She found what she needed and she lifted the object, her hand a fist around it. “I found this on top of Parker’s body.”
She dropped the dog tag onto the end table.
“Your name, Trace. Your tag.”
“Fuck.”