by Cynthia Eden
He saw snow. Blood. Death.
“You shouldn’t have come here.”
The voice whispered from the darkness.
His head jerked up. He reached for the knife at his belt.
Gone.
Weston had taken the weapon. He hadn’t given it back.
Ben reached for his ankle sheath.
Fuck me, gone! He’d left Weston’s place without his weapons. Stupid, stupid mistake.
Ben straightened. “I-I was trying to help—”
A blade shoved into his chest. “You should have stayed away.”
Rain pelted down on Ben.
And his blood dripped into the mud around him.
Chapter Three
“Where were you last night?”
Trace glanced up at the soft question. Skye stood just inside the kitchen, staring at him with her deep green eyes. She had on yoga pants and a loose top.
She looked sexy as sin.
“Trace?” She lifted a dark brow.
He put down his coffee. “You want something for breakfast? I have a chef on call here, and I can get—”
“I want to know where you were last night.” She walked toward him. Skye had a soft, graceful stride. She’d been made to dance. And even though she didn’t want the stages of New York anymore—
“Trace.”
He smiled at her, enjoying the bite in her voice. “I had business to take care of.”
“Business…like with that man, Ben?”
Yes. “He won’t be bothering you again.”
“He never bothered me. What bothered me was you. Or, more specifically, you not telling me about your past.”
And he wouldn’t tell her. Trace forced a careless shrug. “The past is dead and buried. I told you before, I only care about our future.”
Her lips tightened. The woman had gorgeous lips. Full and red, and so wonderfully soft. He could kiss her for hours.
For a moment, he thought she’d argue with him. Skye braced her delicate shoulders and she said, “I’m going back to my dance studio today.”
He blinked. Ah, tricky lady. She’d thrown him off. But he nodded. “Of course, Reese can drive you and stand guard while—”
“No.” Her voice was flat and adamant. “I can get to the studio by myself, and I don’t need any sort of guard.”
His hands braced against the table. “After what happened to you—”
“The man who was stalking me is dead. I don’t have to worry about him anymore.” Her slightly pointed chin kicked up into the air a notch. “I don’t need a guard, Trace. What I need is to be able to lead my life on my own terms.”
He’d suspected this was coming. He’d dreaded this confrontation for days. “What about the press?”
Her laughter held a bitter edge. “We ran away from them. Wasn’t that the point of our trip to the Keys? To hide out there until the reporters moved on to the next juicy story.”
A prima ballerina who’d been abducted and held captive for days by her ex-lover definitely counted as a juicy story. Her face had been splashed on all the papers in the country, and her story had been broadcast again and again on the TV news shows.
“I have to get back to normal. I need normal.” Then she shook her head. “And I need my dancing.”
She always had. Dancing had gotten Skye through some of the darkest moments in her life. Dancing had also taken her from his life.
“I want you to keep a guard with you,” he began.
Skye opened her mouth to argue.
“Please,” Trace said, the word grating from him. “At least for the first few days, just until we make sure the reporters aren’t going to swarm like locusts on you.” He closed the space between them. Caught her wrist in his hand. Such a fragile wrist. The black bruises from the handcuffs no longer marked her.
That bastard Mitch had kept her handcuffed for days. He’d starved her. Tried to take her away.
But the bruises had faded.
She’d healed.
Trace hadn’t forgotten the fear.
“Let Reese stay with you,” he said, as his fingers smoothed over her wrist. “Just for a few days.”
“F-fine. Just at first, okay? Because I won’t be kept prisoner by anyone. Not even you, Trace.” She pulled away from him. “I have to get back to my routine. I want to open that dance studio, and I will do it.”
Skye. Always so determined. Her determination was one of the things he loved about her.
He watched her for a moment longer as she puttered around the kitchen. “You didn’t like the diamonds.” He’d been worried about that. Skye wasn’t the type for flash, but he wanted to shower her in diamonds.
She glanced back at him in surprise. “Of course, I did. They’re incredible.”
He had the feeling she was just saying those words to make him happy. The woman didn’t get it. Everything he did was for her. If she didn’t like diamonds, then he’d get her rubies. He’d buy her anything and everything that she wanted.
But, well, he knew that what she wanted—Skye wanted to head back to her dance studio and work herself down to the bone again.
Trace cleared his throat. “I took the liberty of having some…upgrades made to the studio while we were away.” He figured he might as well tell her about those additions now.
Before they’d left town, Skye had rented an old fire station and she’d planned to convert the place into her new dance studio. He’d…helped…with those conversion plans.
“Upgrades?”
“Security. Cameras. Alarms.” Because he wouldn’t put her at risk. “I knew you’d want to go back.” He shrugged. “And I needed you to be safe when you did.”
Her lips tilted up and her eyes seem to warm. “I love you. You know that, don’t you?”
He did. Skye’s love was his certainty in life.
Sometimes, he felt like it might be his only one.
He smiled back at her. “Of course, you do. What’s not to love?”
And she laughed. A true, beautiful laugh. Light and free. He could see it then—see her coming back to him. Skye was pushing past her fear and trying to be happy once again.
He would do anything, everything, to make sure that she stayed happy.
“Arrogant,” she teased.
His head tilted in acknowledgment. He was. Arrogant. Controlling. Trace was well aware of his many faults.
And Skye still loved him? He was a lucky bastard, and he knew it.
“It’s a good thing you’re sexy,” she said, giving him a wink. “Something has to balance that arrogance.” And she left him, giving a saucy roll of her hips as she walked away.
He didn’t move. Just watched. Enjoyed the view.
I will always love you, Skye. Always.
When she gazed at him, love was in Skye’s eyes, too. Yet Trace couldn’t help but wonder…if she ever learned the full truth about him and all the things he’d done, would Skye still look at him the same way?
***
Trace had done more than a little bit of work at the fire station. “Upgrades, my ass,” Skye whispered.
He’d completely renovated the place.
Skye stepped inside the converted fire station, her gaze darting to the left and the right.
The hard-wood floors gleamed. Barres had been placed to run the length of the right wall. Floor to ceiling mirrors circled the main room, throwing her reflection back at her.
And there were—there were even storage lockers down the narrow hallway that snaked back from the main room. Shining, silver lockers for her students to use.
When she actually got her students to start attending her new dance studio.
“He said he’d installed new security here,” Skye said.
“Uh, well, you know the boss,” Reese replied from beside her. “The guy doesn’t believe in doing things half-way.”
No, he didn’t.
“He knew you’d want to come back here,” Reese continued. “And he told the crew that everythin
g had to be ready for you.” He walked forward and motioned to the speakers that had been mounted on the ceiling. “Surround sound, you know, for that full dance experience.”
She’d come in, ready to get her hands dirty and her muscles aching, as she tore this place into shape.
But, in true Trace fashion, he’d done it for her.
“I can’t tell if you’re pissed or pleased,” Reese said, his drawl deepening as he scratched his jaw. “Kinda hard to determine from your expression.”
She stepped forward. “I think I’m both.” Pissed because he’d done all of this without her input but pleased because he’d cared enough to try and give her the dream she wanted.
Pissed or pleased?She still wasn’t sure.
Skye turned around and marched out of the main studio room. Trace’s crew had knocked out some walls, opening up the space. Columns secured the ceiling. The place looked huge.
“He left the fireman’s pole,” Reese said as he followed after her.
She glanced to the right. The fireman’s pole gleamed.
“The boss thought you might like it so he left strict instructions for the workers.”
Her gaze followed that pole upstairs. “What about the apartment up there?” Her hands had come to rest on her hips. Had Trace organized the apartment, too? Or had he been so sure that she’d move in with him that he hadn’t even bothered to touch that place?
“Uh…” Reese coughed. “Security was set up there, but I don’t think much else has been done.”
“Then I’ll do it,” she said, giving a firm nod. Because that upstairs area was still hers. She might be living with Trace, but she could use the upstairs apartment area as a refuge from the dance studio. She’d decorate every inch of it herself.
“He wanted to make you happy.”
Her attention shifted to Reese. He shrugged. “Trace…you know the boss doesn’t think like most people. He knew if you came back here, the way this place was…you’d work like a fiend to get it in shape. He wanted to help.”
“Trace likes his control.” Even in the bedroom. “But this time, it’s all right.” Because the studio’s condition meant that she could get her business up and running faster. She already had clients scheduled from weeks ago. She could contact them and get this place going—
And then she’d pay Trace back for the work he’d done. Every cent.
Because the studio is mine. She needed it to be.
Skye rolled her shoulders. This was going to happen. A smile spread over her face. “We’ll count this as a tentative pleased,” she said, “but if—”
A knock sounded at the main door. Skye turned, frowning. She hadn’t told any of her students-to-be that she was back in town yet.
“This way,” Reese said. He directed her to what had previously been a closet, but when she opened the door, she saw the area had been expanded. Four television screens were mounted on the wall. One showed the rear exterior of the old fire station, two showed the sides of the building, and the largest screen showed the entrance—and the man who stood there.
“Like the boss said,” Reese told her, “he upgraded your security.”
She leaned toward the big screen. “That’s Alex—Detective Griffin.” The one cop who’d finally believed her story about a stalker.
She turned away from the screen and hurried toward the front door. She hadn’t seen Alex in weeks. Before my abduction.
Because Mitch had taken her to New York, the NYPD had taken over the case. They’d closed the file on Mitch Loxley.
After quickly unbolting the door, Skye swung it open. “Detective Griffin!” A broad smile split her face. “It’s good to see you.”
He blinked at her, and an answering smile slowly stretched across his handsome face. Alex Griffin was just a little shorter than Trace, and his shoulders weren’t quite as wide, but the cop was fit and smart. And he’d been there for Skye when she’d been at the end of her rope.
Sunlight glinted off his blond hair, and his gaze swept over her. “It’s good to see you, too.” He surprised her by pulling her into his arms and giving her a big hug. “Damn good. Because the last time I saw you…” A rough sigh broke from him as he eased back a bit and stared down at her. “You were lying unconscious in a hospital bed.”
That response surprised her. “You came to see me in New York?” The time after her abduction was a blur for her. She’d gone too long without food. Spent too much time in the darkness.
She’d come too close to death.
Alex nodded. “I needed to see for myself that you were all right.” Now he frowned. “Weston didn’t tell you I was there?”
No. He hadn’t.
Alex dropped his hold. Stepped back fully. This time, when his gaze swept over her, his attention locked on her left hand.
Or, more specifically, on the ring there.
“I’m sure…” Reese cut in, clearing his throat from behind them, “that Trace was more concerned with Skye here healing…and not giving her a full visitor listing.”
Alex didn’t glance at the other man. “Should I congratulate you, Skye?”
Her throat felt dry. There was something about his tone. A hard edge that worried her. “Yes,” she said, straightening her shoulders. “Trace and I—we’re together now and—”
“As if he’d have it any other way.” Alex’s growled words definitely held anger.
“Watch it,” Reese warned him. “Cop or no cop, you—”
Alex shook his head and kept staring at Skye. “As good as it is to see you—awake, aware, and not looking like death anymore—I’m actually here on business.”
They were still standing in the doorway. Skye backed up and bumped into Reese. “What kind of business?”
“I transferred to homicide.”
Uh, okay. She circled around him and shut the door. Her fingers flipped over the lock.
“Thought it was time for a change.”
“Congratulations.” That was the right response, wasn’t it? From the sound of things, he’d taken a new job, so she was supposed to congratulate him.
Just as he should have congratulated her.
Alex’s gaze cut to Reese. “Can your guard give us a minute? We need to talk, alone.”
“I don’t think—” Reese said.
“It’s fine, Reese.” She walked toward him and patted his arm. “Why don’t you just go and—well, take a few moments to relax?” Right, like the guy ever relaxed. She’d sure never seen it.
One brow lifted, but Reese gave a curt nod. “If you need me, I’ll be close.” Then, after one last, measuring glance at Alex, he was gone.
Alex didn’t speak, not at first. After a few tense moments, he exhaled and asked, “Still under guard duty?”
Because she’d thought the exact same thing, Skye’s words held bite as she told him, “It’s just a precaution, only for a few days. We just wanted to make sure there wouldn’t be any trouble from the press.”
“And the fact that Weston has a shitload of enemies? Deadly enemies? That has nothing to do with the bodyguard detail?”
His tone was scaring her. “You said you had business to talk about…” And he was homicide now. Oh, damn, this couldn’t be good.
“Does the name Ben Sharpe mean anything to you?”
Ben. The man’s face flashed before her. The feverish intensity of his eyes. The certainty in his voice.
He’s here. Watching. I know!
“You know him,” Alex said, apparently reading the truth on her face.
“We met last night,” she said as she rubbed at the knot of tension in the back of her neck. “Briefly.”
He stepped closer to her. “And was Weston there for this little meeting?”
“Ah, yes. He was. Trace and Ben knew each other from—”
The front door swung open with a creak. Her gaze flew to the door. She’d been sure that she locked it—
Trace stood in the doorway.
Of course, he’d have his own key.
“Griffin.” Trace bit out the cop’s name. “You moved fast.”
Alex’s eyes narrowed. “Guess you heard, huh? Or did the bodyguard call you and tell you to haul ass over here?”
“I was just a few blocks away. I didn’t have to haul ass that much.” Trace closed the distance between them. He put his body next to Skye’s but kept his attention on the detective. “You shouldn’t be questioning Skye. She doesn’t even know Ben.”
Alex’s brow shot up again. “Really? Because she was just telling me that she did. Skye said that she met him last night, with you.”
The tension between the two men was palpable.
“What is going on?” Skye demanded as she threw her hands up in the air. “Why are you asking these questions about Ben?”
But she already knew. The twist in her gut told her the truth, and she didn’t really want to hear it. She didn’t want to hear Alex say—
“Ben Sharpe’s body was found this morning, tossed away like garbage in an alley.”
Her hands fell to her sides.
So it would seem that Ben hadn’t been so crazy after all. “He said someone was watching him,” she whispered.
“Did he now…?” Alex drawled.
Her knees were trembling. “How did you know we were connected to him?”
“It was pretty easy to follow the dots.” Alex inclined his head toward her. “The guy had a picture of you—some grainy shot torn from a newspaper—in his pocket.”
She’s your mistake, and she’s going to destroy you. Ben’s words replayed in her mind.
“And, of course, there was the business card.” Now Alex’s attention shifted to Trace. “Your business card, Weston. A card that was gripped tightly in the dead man’s hand.”
Her heart raced in her chest. “Wh-when did Ben die?”
