This was insane.
“No thanks to you,” Anna Jean said. For an instant, she sounded…lost. “I was going to let you live, Drake. Because I thought you were the one who loved me. But you—you’re the one who left me to die?”
Red stained his cheeks. “You gave me no choice! You tried to kill me!” He sprang forward.
“And you just killed her,” Anna Jean spat back. Her hold on Skye tightened as the blade dug into Skye’s throat.
Chapter Fifteen
Trace grabbed for Noah. He expected to feel a bullet sink into him at any moment.
But it didn’t.
He pulled Noah behind the Jag. His fingers ripped open Noah’s shirt so he could see the damage. The bullet had gone straight through Noah’s chest and out his back.
“Missed…my heart,” Noah muttered. “Saw the glint of the weapon. Dodged just in time.”
The street was still dead silent. Since the shooter had used a silencer, no one else had even been aware of the shots. Trace pulled out his phone and dialed nine-one-one. “You’re going to be all right,” Trace promised him. The guy was bleeding like a stuck pig, and he was as pale as death. Trace was afraid for him. Damn scared, despite his words.
“Nine-one-one, what is the nature of your emergency?”
“My friend’s been shot,” Trace told the dispatcher. “I need an ambulance, now.” He snapped out the address.
“Have you seen the shooter, sir?”
Trace glanced up at the apartment. “He fired from one of the apartments. You need to get the cops en route now.”
And if a cop already was on the scene?
“Get…him,” Noah rasped.
Trace hesitated. “I’m not leaving you to bleed out on the street.”
“What if…” Noah’s breath heaved out. “Reese is dying, too?” Another breath shuddered from him. “I’m not…going yet,” Noah promised and gave him a weak smile. “I…envied you too long. I’ll get…what you have.”
“Man, I think you’re delirious.” Trace pulled Noah’s back-up gun from his ankle holster. He wasn’t sure where Noah’s other weapon was. “Can you hold this?” Because if he went up to find the shooter, then he had to know Noah was safe.
“Always.” Noah’s bloody fingers curled around the weapon.
Trace met his stare. “Don’t even think of dying before I get back.”
“It’s not…that bad.”
“No,” Trace lied. “It’s not.”
Noah’s lips curved. “Do me a…favor? No, two?”
Trace nodded.
“Kill the b-bastard.”
“He’s already dead.” The guy just didn’t know it.
“And then…tell Claire I was a f**king rock star…when I got sh-shot.”
“Tell her yourself.” Trace tightened his hold on his weapon. He’d keep covered as much as possible as he ran for the apartment building. But he had to hurry.
If the killer got away, there’d just be another attack. And another. It wouldn’t ever stop. Not until he stopped it.
Trace kept his head low as he ran toward the building.
***
Skye didn’t care about the pain. When the knife dug into her, she didn’t scream or try to jerk away from the blade.
Instead, she lifted up her hands and she clawed at Anna Jean’s eyes.
Anna Jean was the one to scream. The blade slipped, cutting Skye more, but she let her knees buckle and she fell right from Anna Jean’s weakened hold.
Drake grabbed Skye and tossed her across the room. Then he lunged for Anna Jean.
But he staggered to a stop when she brought up her knife.
“Going to shoot me?” Anna Jean taunted him. “Going to leave me to die alone? Again? You weren’t supposed to be the one!”
He circled her.
Skye put her hand to her throat. The wounds weren’t that deep, and she pushed the pain to the back of her mind. After all, the pain didn’t matter then. Stopping Anna Jean was all that mattered.
Why wasn’t Drake firing at her?
“You were different,” Anna Jean whispered. “I stopped him from killing you earlier because I always thought…not you, Drake. Not. You!” The knife trembled in her grasp.
He opened his hand. Held it out to her. “Give me the knife.”
She laughed at him.
Screw this. Skye raced across the room. She yanked on the bathroom door. It flew open, but only just a few inches, because it hit Claire’s prone body.
“Claire!” Skye sank to her knees beside the other woman. There was blood. So much. A growing pool of it. Not from a slit throat, but from a deep wound in Claire’s gut. Skye’s fingers covered the wound, pushing down as she tried to apply pressure.
Claire’s eyes cracked open. Her stare was glassy, nearly blind with fear. “Again,” she whispered. “It’s happening a-again.”
“No.” Skye shook her head. “You’re going to be okay. We’ll get you help.” She turned her head. Drake and Anna Jean were still facing off. What the hell? “Call an ambulance,” Skye yelled at Drake. “Claire needs help, now!”
Drake’s gaze jerked to Skye. He blinked as if waking from a dream. Or maybe a nightmare.
And in that one moment, Anna Jean attacked. She lunged forward and drove the knife into Drake’s stomach, and then she yanked, jerking the blade to the right. He fell back, stunned, his eyes wide.
“This time, you get to die,” Anna Jean told him.
His knees sagged, and he hit the floor.
Anna Jean spun to face Skye. “Your turn.”
Claire whimpered.
Skye kept applying pressure. “Claire has nothing to do with this. Let her go.” Drake wasn’t making a sound. His guilt had made him vulnerable. Guilt, love—they could wreck a person.
“I don’t give a shit about Claire,” Anna Jean yelled. She bent over Drake’s body, and when she rose, she had his gun. “Maybe he did love me,” she said as she stared down at him. “Because if he’d been smart, he would’ve shot me when he had the chance. Instead, I had the pleasure of gutting him.” Her voice dropped. “That’s what you get for leaving me in the cold.”
Drake’s body was already covered in blood. So much blood. But when Anna Jean moved to step around him, his hand flew out. His fingers locked around her ankle. “No…” Drake growled.