She opened the next vault. A burst of cold air drifted out, rising as the body bag appeared.
The zipper hissed down. Trace leaned forward, studying the knife wound at Parker’s throat. Parker’s throat had been sliced clean, from ear to ear.
But with Sharpe…
“The wound stopped half-way across.” He could see the jagged V where the knife had lifted out of Ben Sharpe’s throat for an instant. “Then the killer finished the job.”
Not a defensive wound.
A hesitation?
Why? The kill had already been complete by that point.
Then, understanding came. You didn’t want to cut his throat.
He whirled around and rushed back to Sara’s body. He stared at her throat and saw that same V notch on the skin. Just a jagged tear, but Trace knew exactly what he was staring at. You didn’t want to cut her throat, either. But you did.
“The killer hesitated with her, too,” Trace said.
“I-I made note of the injury pattern in the file,” Dr. Dulane said, sounding a bit offended. “I measured the wound and included that—”
“You didn’t say the killer hesitated,” Alex snapped.
“Because you can’t know that for sure! Maybe the blade slipped. Maybe—”
“Why didn’t he hesitate with Parker?” Alex asked, focusing on Trace.
Trace knew the answer, and that made this dangerous game even more complicated. “Because he thought Parker deserved to die.”
And if that were truly the case, then it meant that the killer had been watching him—and Skye—very closely.
For a long time.
You know about our pasts. And you’re using them against us.
***
Claire edged carefully into the morgue. Skye was at her side. Skye had only been in a morgue once before. When she’d gone to identify the bodies of her parents.
The smell was the same. The cold chill—one that reminded her of death—it was the same, too.
A redhead in a white lab coat stood near the door. “Ms. Kramer?”
Claire nodded.
Alex appeared beside the redhead. “This way.”
Claire shuffled forward. Skye hesitated. This was private. She shouldn’t go in.
But Claire turned toward her. “Come with me?”
Skye nodded. She entered the viewing room with her chin up.
Sara was on the table. Her body was covered with a sheet, all the way up to the top of her neck. Only her face was visible. Her face was perfect. No wounds. No pain.
“It wasn’t him,” Claire whispered. “H-he always shoots in the head. It wasn’t him.”
Then Claire grabbed Skye and held onto her tightly.
Skye stared over Claire’s shoulder. Her gaze locked with Trace’s. He’d been there, watching them all along. His eyes glinted.
No, a monster from Claire’s past hadn’t committed this crime.
Sara had just gotten caught in someone else’s battle.
Who else did the killer plan to hurt?
***
Drake Archer drained the whiskey and slammed the glass on the bar. The liquid barely burned as it slid down his throat.
Once, he’d turned to drinks too much. To try and shut up the ghosts in his head. But then he’d realized that the booze didn’t stop the voices.
The alcohol just made them louder.
“Another?” The bartender asked.
Drake shook his head and tossed some cash onto the bar. He rose, aware of the looks that were tossed his way. He’d come to the darkest, roughest bar he could find. He liked places like this dive. Places that often let him fight and push out some of the wildness that lived within him. Places that reminded him of exactly where he’d come from.
But there were no fights to be found tonight. The others eased away from him as he headed toward the door.
Darkness waited outside for him. Drake rolled back his shoulders and stalked down the street.
He’d been in a thousand towns. Walking. Fighting. Fucking. They all blurred together during the night, and when dawn came…
I’m always alone.
He turned off the main strip. The sounds were muted now. The horns distant. The growl of car engines barely discernible.
He’d rented a place close by. Coming to the city had been a mistake. But when Noah had called him…
Noah and Trace were the only friends I ever had.
Friends, enemies. Same damn thing some days.
He halted and heard the faint rustle of a footstep behind him.
Such a soft sound. One that he could’ve imagined but—
In instant, he’d yanked out the knife that he kept tucked in his boot. Ben Sharpe had been the one to get him hooked on that particular habit.
Drake whirled around. “Who in the hell is there? Show yourself!”
But only an empty street stared back at him. An empty street, and the ghosts in his head.
Chapter Twelve
“I want you to come with me,” Trace said, his voice and eyes tense as he gazed down at Skye.
They’d just dropped Claire off at the studio. Skye had made sure that Claire was settled in the upstairs apartment. She’d hated to leave Claire, but she’d realized that the other woman needed time alone.
Sometimes, you needed to grieve in private.
“Where are you going?” Skye asked him.
“Texas.”
She blinked at that terse response. “Why?”
“Because that’s where Tucker grew up. I need to take another look at that town, at the people there. I could send some more agents but…it’s personal.”
“I-I have my studio. Classes will—”
“Tomorrow’s Sunday. You don’t have any classes scheduled then, and we’ll be back Sunday night.” His voice dropped. “Please, Skye. I don’t want to leave you here while I’m gone. I need you with me.”
“What about Claire?”
“Reese will keep watch on her. Hell, I’ll call Noah, too. They’ll make sure she’s safe.”
Skye nodded. “Okay.”
His breath expelled in a fast rush. “Thank you, baby.” His fingers slid up to cup her chin. “I need you close right now. I think about what happened to Sara—that can’t happen to you.”
She pressed a quick kiss to his lips. “And it won’t happen to you.” Her vow.
***
The plane rose higher and higher into the air. Trace kept his gaze locked on Skye as they ascended.
Her eyes were currently squeezed tightly closed. Skye hated flying.
The light flashed indicating that he could unbuckle his seatbelt. He did, then slid forward and pressed a quick kiss to her lips.