by Cynthia Eden
Trace ducked, then he drove his fist right into Parker’s ribs. All of the breath left Parker with a whoosh of sound. The bat dropped from his limp fingers.
Trace punched him again. Again.
Parker fell to the floor. “Y-you’re gonna get my blood on your fancy suit…”
“Like I give a damn,” Trace muttered. He grabbed Parker’s shirt and hefted the guy up. “You’ve been watching Skye.”
Parker spat at him.
Wrong move.
Trace drove his fist into the man’s face. Parker howled at the impact.
“Right, I can break that nose again. I can do it in an instant. So start talking. Why were you following Skye?”
“Because he-he made me realize how much the two of you had messed up my life!”
“He?” Trace caught immediately on that point.
“He made me realize…it’s all screwed because of you. You and your rich ass!” Parker smiled at him. “But I’ll get mine, and I’m about to get it right now…”
“You’re not going to get any damned thing,” Trace promised him. “Nothing, do you hear—”
“Weston! Let him go, now!”
Parker’s smile widened.
The authoritative shout had come from behind Trace. It was a voice that Trace easily recognized. Detective Alex Griffin’s voice.
Hell. I left the door open. He’d shoved his way inside and had left the door ajar behind him. He’d been busy with other things, like getting the truth from Parker, and he’d made an amateur mistake.
But it will be my only mistake.
“Trace,” a softer cry sounded then. Feminine. “What are you doing?”
Skye.
No, she couldn’t be there.
“Help!” Parker cried suddenly. “This man just broke into my apartment, he attacked me! Help!”
Sonofabitch. But did Parker really think he wasn’t prepared for this situation? He’d known it was possible that the message he’d left actually would get to Alex.
I just didn’t count on Skye being here.
Trace stepped back. His control was in place. Holding steady. “I came here to talk with Parker. H-he jumped me right after I knocked at his door.” Trace rolled his shoulders, wincing a bit as if he were in pain. “I had no choice but to defend myself.”
“No!” Parker screamed. “That’s not what fuckin’ happened!”
“Of course,” Trace murmured, “Now that you’re here, Alex, I’ll step back.”
“He attacked me!” Then Parker leapt at Trace.
Trace took the punch. Because he knew the game.
“Stop! Step back!” Alex’s cry.
Then the cop was between them, shoving Parker away.
Alex had his weapon out and it was locked right on Parker. Go ahead. Pull that trigger, Alex. Do us all a favor.
But Alex was showing no signs that he’d be ending Parker’s life.
Unfortunately.
Skye wrapped her arms around Trace and pulled him back beside her. “You said you’d let the authorities deal with him.”
Why was she here?
“And you said you were going home,” Trace told her, his voice grim. “I suppose that means we both lied.”
She dropped her hold.
“Why the hell are you all here?” Parker demanded. “Griffin, get them out! Wait, arrest him for assault!”
“Parker…” Alex sighed his name. “Do you know anything about the hit-and-run on Mayer Boulevard last night?”
Parker shook his head, but his eyelids flickered.
“Are you sure? Because the driver of a blue BMW got cut at the scene of that accident. His blood is in the car. That means we have his DNA.”
Parker blanched.
“It was you,” Skye said. “You came after us.”
“Because you kept sending the cops after me!” This time, Parker lunged for her.
The hell he did.
Trace drew back his fist, more than ready to break Parker’s nose again and do a whole lot more.
But Alex caught Parker in a steely grip. He spun the guy around. Slammed him into a wall, and cuffed him.
“Parker Jacobs,” Alex stated, voice biting, “you’re under arrest. You have the right to remain silent…”
“No!” Parker howled. “It should be him! Not me! Trace attacked me!”
Alex kept right on going, reading the struggling Parker his rights even as Parker shouted.
Then Alex hefted Parker around and marched him toward the door. “It’s not over,” Parker growled as his gaze darted from Trace to Skye. “Not even close.”
Trace leaned toward him. “For you, it’s over.” His words were a promise.
But Parker laughed. “You won’t see him coming. I told him. Told him everything. And you won’t be able to stop him!”
“Move,” Alex barked.
“He’ll take what you value most—and then he’ll destroy you!” Parker was still laughing.
Skye shivered and followed Alex into the hallway.
Trace glanced around Parker’s apartment. The place was a mess. It was—
A glinting object caught his eye.
Trace bent over the couch, and snatched up the object.
Small, rectangular.
A military issued dog-tag.
His fingers smoothed over the ID.
His ID.
“Weston, get out of there!” Alex called.
Trace pocketed the dog-tag. The last time he’d seen that dog-tag, he’d been fighting for his life.
He’d survived the battle.
His best friend hadn’t.
Or at least that was what I thought.
Chapter Eight
The penthouse was silent when Trace opened the door.
Skye was there, he knew she waited inside, but no sound alerted him to her presence.
He dropped his briefcase to the floor. “Skye?” He was ready for the fireworks that he was sure would be coming.
“I’m here.”
His gaze slid toward the floor to ceiling window on the right. She stood in front of the glass, staring back at him. She was dressed in jeans and a tight t-shirt. Her hair was swept back, accentuating the high cut of her cheekbones. Her face was scrubbed free of makeup, and she looked so incredibly lovely.
But sad.
I did that. I hurt her.
Jaw clenching, he headed toward her. “I hate you found out this way—”
“As opposed to what?” Skye asked as she slowly advanced to meet him. “Continuing to not know? Letting you keep your secrets?” When she was close enough, Skye paused and tipped her head back to gaze up at him. “Is that the way you wanted things to be? You controlling everything while I wandered around in the dark?”
“Hell, no, Skye, I just—” He broke off, yanking his temper back in check. She deserved her fury. He just had to find a way to get her calm again.
“I can see it, you know.”
His brows lifted.
“Right now, you’re trying to figure out how to handle me. I’m a problem, and you want me fixed.”
Trace shook his head. “No, no, you’re not a problem.”
“Then maybe you are.” And she pushed by him.
That was when Trace noticed the little bag that rested at the end of the couch. A small, overnight bag.
His heart stopped. “You’re leaving.” No, no, she couldn’t leave.
“I need some space. This place…” Skye waved her hands. “I see you everywhere. I feel you everywhere.”
He didn’t move toward her. If he did, Trace was afraid that he’d grab her and hold on tight.
“I need to think, and I can’t do that when I feel like you’re surrounding me.”
Right then, he could barely think. Just breathing was a monumental effort.
“I didn’t want to leave before you got back, because I knew you’d just worry about me.”
He forced his back teeth to unclench. “Where will you go?”
“The s
tudio. I have the apartment upstairs there, and I’ve been working on it for the last few days, getting it set up.”
What? “You knew you’d leave me?”
“No.” A sharp shake of her head. “I just wanted to have a place set up, just for me. We all need our refuges.”
But she wasn’t supposed to need a refuge when it came to him. He wanted to be her refuge.
“I don’t want you to leave me.” The words felt torn from him. Because they were.
She glanced down at the bag. “And I don’t want to leave.” Her laughter was soft. Even sadder than her eyes. “You know what I really want to do? I want to act as if nothing has happened. As if you didn’t keep guards on me for years. As if you didn’t lie to me. I want to sweep it all under the rug and just be with you.”
Hell, yes. He closed in on her. “Then do that. Nothing has changed. Not the way I feel about you. Not the way you feel about me.”
“I love you.” Her whisper sank into his skin. “Loving you is as natural as breathing for me, and I’m afraid. So afraid.”
He didn’t want her to fear him.
That was why she still didn’t know his darkest secrets.
“I’m afraid that if I don’t watch myself, I’d forgive you for anything.” Her lashes lifted. Her eyes held his. “I don’t want to lose myself in you.”
He didn’t have a response for that. His gaze fell on her left hand, on the ring that still gleamed there. She hadn’t taken it off.
She’s just asking for a night.
He swallowed the lump in his throat. “I’ll have a car take you to the studio.”
“And you’ll have a guard watch me all night?”
His lips thinned.
“No guards. I need to live the way everyone else does. I want to be on my own. I want to be able to face the darkness and not always need—”
“Me,” he finished gruffly.
Skye stared back at him, but then she nodded. She bent and her fingers curled around the handle of her bag. Then she was walking toward the door with her usual, graceful stride.
Was she just going to leave without looking back?
She paused. Stared straight ahead. “There are more secrets, right?”
Yes, there were.
“I don’t want secrets between us. I want all of you. Good and bad. And when you don’t tell me everything…” Her shoulders hunched. “That says that you think I’m weak. That I can’t handle you as you really are.”
No, it wasn’t like that.
“I don’t want secrets. And if you only give me part of yourself…” She drew in a deep, shuddering breath, “That’s not going to be enough for me.” Tears thickened her voice.
He stood, rooted to the spot, as she left him.
The door closed softly behind her.
***
He didn’t run after her. Skye had never expected Trace to do that. He wasn’t the running sort.
She managed to keep her tears back until she was in the elevator. Then they slid down her face.
The overnight bag dropped from her hand.
Leaving him felt so wrong.
I need a night. Just a night to think.
Because if she stayed, Skye had no doubt that they’d wind up in bed together. The need and lust always seemed to burn between them, surging strongly no matter what else was happening.
How many lies has he told me?
The elevator doors opened. She wasn’t particularly surprised to find Reese standing on the other side of those doors. Without a word, he bent and scooped up her bag.
She swiped away her tears and crossed the lobby.
They rode in silence to her studio.
Reese parked, then came to open her door.
When she rose, his fingers slid around her wrist. “You know he’s not an easy man. He just…he just wanted to keep you safe.”
This was the part that Trace didn’t seem to understand, either. “For ten years, I thought he’d forgotten me. Just left me. I ached for him, and he was gone.” His choice. “Now I learn that for the whole time, he had guards on me. He sent them, but he never said a word to me.” Inside, she felt a seething mix of pain and betrayal. She looked up, but the darkness concealed Reese’s expression. “You know more of his secrets than I do.”
“Don’t you know he’s afraid?” Reese asked. “He doesn’t want to lose you.”
“So I’m supposed to forgive everything? Live with his secrets?” She shook her head. “I can’t.” Skye took her bag from Reese and went into her studio.
***
“She’s safe and sound, boss.”
Trace stared down at the bed. Without Skye there, it seemed too big and too damn empty. “Thanks, Reese.” Her sweet vanilla scent drifted in the air.
“You want me to stay here? Keep an eye on the place tonight?”
Skye wanted her solitude. And she wanted her guards gone. I’m the woman you kept in a cage, only I didn’t even know it.
“No.” His voice was hoarse. “If she’s in the studio, then you’re done.” The place was wired with a top of the line security system. His system. She’d be safe.
“All right…but…are you okay?”
“Of course,” Trace said as he stared at the bed. He ended the call.
And he threw the phone across the room. “Never. Fucking. Better.”
***
The little ballerina had left Trace Weston.
The move was unexpected.
Infuriating.
She wasn’t supposed to leave him. She was supposed to stay with Trace. To make him weak.
Did she leave you? Or did you tell her to leave? It was so hard to be certain. Trace was good at driving people away from him.
Nothing would work if Trace wasn’t tied to the woman. He couldn’t suffer if he didn’t love.
And he’d been so convinced that Trace loved her.
Lights glowed from the second floor of the converted studio.
All alone.
He could get to Skye Sullivan right then. He could kill her easily, but if Trace was severing ties with her, what would be the point?
Wait…wait and see…
This game was all about Trace Weston. About him paying for the crimes he’d committed and the lives that he’d stolen.
And it’s about me getting what I deserve.
The lights flashed off.
Sleep well, ballerina. I’ll join you soon enough.
***
“What the fuck do you mean…Parker made bail?”
Trace glanced up from the pile of papers on his desk. He’d been at the office since 4 a.m. Sleep hadn’t exactly been happening at home, not without Skye there, so he’d escaped to the office.
Alex Griffin shifted uneasily before him. “The judge granted bail. Fifty thousand dollars.”
Trace surged to his feet. “And where did Parker get that kind of money?”
“Hell if I know.”
Parker was out. On the streets. “Have you told Skye?” Trace demanded.
“I called her.” Alex inclined his head. “I wasn’t overly worried that she’d go out and beat the crap out of the guy, though. I figured that was more your department.”
Right. “And that’s why I warranted the private visit.”
Alex’s gaze dipped to Trace’s hands. “I can’t help but notice that nice bruising you got on your knuckles. You know, Parker never stopped spinning the story about you breaking into his place and assaulting him.”
Trace forced himself to take slow, easy breaths. “You think I’m going after the guy again?”
“I think you needed a warning. Watch yourself, Weston. A jerk like Parker isn’t worth the trouble you can find heading your way.” Then Alex gave him a little salute and turned for the door.
But Trace wasn’t done. “Why did you bring Skye to Parker’s place yesterday?”
Alex glanced back at him. “Because she called me. She wanted to confront Parker, and she wanted me at her side.”
Trace’s heart raced faster.
“She was afraid of what might happen if you got to him before the cops did.”
