She searched his eyes, wondering if he was telling her the truth…or feeding her the lie he knew she needed to hear.
Carol Jones gazed across the street at the old fire station. Skye Sullivan had sure been determined. She’d gone through five buildings, touring them all with her guard right at her side, before she’d stopped at this place.
“And the guard is gone,” Carol murmured as she watched the fellow hurry away.
Since Trace Weston had strode into that old fire station a few moments before, the guard’s departure wasn’t a real big surprise.
But…Detective Griffin didn’t trust Weston. He thought the man was guilty as sin.
Maybe it wasn’t safe for Skye to be alone with him.
Carol eased open her car door. Then she headed swiftly across the street. Her phone was at her ear as she entered the alley. “Hey, Griffin, it’s me.” She didn’t wait for him to respond but hurried to add, “Skye was looking for a new building to rent. She stopped at the old fire station on Ninth, and Weston just joined her.”
“Are they there alone?”
“I think so. I’m going in for a closer look.”
“Be careful,” he warned her.
Always. Carol eased into the alley. Maybe there was a window back there that she could use for a little observation.
She tucked her phone into her pocket and took a few more steps forward.
Yes. There was a window. One covered in grime. She leaned toward the bricks, trying to ease up closer to that window so that she could see—
Someone grabbed her from behind. A rough hand closed over mouth. “You shouldn’t get involved in business that doesn’t concern you,” a snarling voice—a male voice—grated in her ear.
She reacted immediately, driving her elbow back into her attacker’s mid-section. He grunted and his hold eased, just for a moment. She jerked away from him. Carol grabbed for her weapon as she spun to face the man who—
He shoved a knife into her chest.
Carol’s fingers squeezed the trigger, but her attacker was already lunging away from her.
Her knees hit the ground. The gun slid from her trembling fingers and fell beside her. Her blood soaked her, and Carol didn’t even have the strength to scream.
When the gunfire blasted, Trace grabbed Skye. He pulled her against his chest and curved his body protectively around hers.
One thunderous blast…then, nothing.
He glanced over his shoulder. That gunshot had come from out back, in the alley. Trace shoved back his coat and pulled out his own weapon.
“Wh-when did you start carrying that?” Skye asked him. Her eyes looked huge—and scared.
“I always carry it. I just usually made sure you didn’t see it before.” Because he hadn’t wanted to frighten her away. But this moment wasn’t about reassuring Skye. It was about finding out what the hell was happening in that alley.
He pushed open the rear door, but he made sure to stay low. To stay covered and—
“She’s hurt!” Skye’s cry.
Trace had seen the woman, too. A cop in uniform sprawled on the dirty ground.
Skye tried to lunge toward the woman, but Trace kept her back. “Wait…” Because whoever had injured the cop could still be close by. Waiting to strike again.
He looked to the left. To the right.
A weak moan escaped from the woman, and, at that sound, Skye sprang away from him. She hit her knees beside the cop and reached for the knife in the woman’s chest.
“Don’t!” Trace ordered as he lunged forward. His left hand flew up, locking around hers. “Leave the blade in.”
“What?” Skye demanded, expression shocked. “We have to help her! She’s dying!”
“And she’ll die faster if you pull out the knife.” He’d seen attacks like this before.
“It’s Carol,” Skye whispered. “Carol Jones. She took me home last night.”
And she’d apparently stayed around to keep an eye on Skye.
He released Skye’s hand. “Call 9-1-1,” he told her. “Tell them that a cop is down.” They’d haul ass getting to that location then. He kept his gun in his right hand. The attacker had to be close. He wanted to break away and search for the SOB, but Carol was choking on her own blood right then.
Shit.
He tilted Carol’s head. Tried to help her breathe. Blood covered her lips. Her eyes were hazy, pain-filled.
“It’s going to be all right,” Trace told her. He wanted the words to be true and not a fucking lie, but the killer had known exactly what he was doing when he attacked. The knife had plunged straight into her heart and…Trace leaned forward.
The bastard had twisted the blade. For maximum damage and maximum pain.
“The ambulance is coming,” Skye whispered. “Help’s coming, Carol. Just hold on.” Skye’s fingers curled around Carol’s hand.
Carol’s breathing seemed so ragged and loud.
That bleary gaze of hers flickered to Trace, then it darted over his shoulder.
“You saw him,” Trace said.
Carol’s breathing wasn’t quite so loud.
Her gaze darted over his shoulder again.
“He ran that way?”
Her lips parted. She tried to speak.
“Carol?” Skye cried. “Carol?”
Carol’s eyes were still open. Still looking over Trace’s shoulder.
But the officer was dead.
In the distance, an ambulance’s siren wailed.
Too late. Too fucking late.
He surged to his feet. Spun toward the snaking alley that Carol had been looking at in her very last moment.
You couldn’t have gone far, you SOB.
“Take this,” Trace told Skye. He shoved his gun into her hands. “Stay with the cop. Help’s not far away.”
But he wouldn’t waste any more time.
“No! You need a weapon!”
He yanked out his back-up weapon from his ankle holster. “I’ve got it covered.” Then Trace took off running down that alley even as Skye shouted his name.
Carol fired her gun. Did she hit you, asshole? Did she?
He glanced down and saw the spatter of blood drops.
She did. And I’m gonna follow your fucking trail of blood until I find you.
“Trace!” Skye yelled.
He kept running. He was ending this, before Skye was the one he found dead in a blood-soaked alley.
Skye stared down at Carol. The cop’s eyes were closed now. Skye had closed them. Carol’s face was chalk-white. Her lips stained red with blood.
The scent of blood filled Skye’s nose.
Carol Jones hadn’t deserved this. To die in an alley, surrounded by garbage.
To die in someone else’s place. My place.
Skye still held tight to Carol’s hand. But her gaze was on the alley. Trace was gone. He’d run after the attacker.
She didn’t want Trace dying in her place.
Not Trace.
Not Reese.
Not Carol.
“Come after me!” Skye shouted. “Stop hurting the others! You let me be the one! Don’t hurt anyone else!”
A tear leaked from her eye.
The ambulance’s siren was louder.
“Let me be the one!” She called out again. “Don’t hurt anyone else!”
Doors slammed. Footsteps rushed toward her. She looked up and saw Alex rushing her way. Behind him, she could see EMTs. More cops.
Alex blanched when he saw Carol.
“I’m so sorry,” Skye whispered.
The EMTs pushed her out of the way.
They tried to work on Carol.
You can’t save the dead.
Carol’s death was on her.
Skye looked back into the alley. No sign of Trace. What would she do if her stalker turned his attention on Trace?
“Skye.”
She blinked and realized that Alex was standing right in front of her. A muscle flexed in his jaw as he said, “I want you to come with me. Come with me, now.”
“Trace went chasing after the attacker. We-we didn’t see anyone, but Trace ran down the alley—”
“I’ll have men look for him.” His eyes…they burned with emotion. Pain. Grief. Fury. “But it’s not safe for you to be out here. Come on.” He took the gun from her hand. Led her to a patrol car.
“I-I’m so sorry about Carol.” Tears wanted to choke her.
Alex nodded. The pain in his eyes deepened. “So the fuck am I. She was only twenty-two. Twenty damn two.”
The EMTs weren’t trying to save Carol any more.
She saw the way the other cops were acting. Saw the way they were marking the area. This wasn’t about saving a life for them.
It’s a crime scene now.
The blood trail ended at the entrance to an old factory.
Trace kicked open the doors and rushed inside. His gun was up. Ready.
Dust and cobwebs covered the factory’s interior.
Trace searched and searched but found nothing. Because the bastard led me here.
He’d led. Trace had followed. And I left Skye alone.
He whirled around and started racing back to Skye.
Trace had only gone about five feet when the bullet hit him.
Chapter Nine
Another gunshot.
When Skye heard the thundering sound, her heart stopped. Alex ran toward the blast, and she dashed after him. Rushing faster, faster and—
Trace was on the ground. Blood was all around him.
Just like Carol.
Just. Like. Carol.
“No!” Skye screamed.
Alex bent beside Trace. Backup—more cops—raced up around them.
Skye hit the ground beside Trace. So much blood.
“I’m…all right,” Trace managed.
Her heart started to beat again.
“SOB fired from the south. Waited for me to make a target…of myself.” His breath heaved out. “Bullet’s still in my chest. I’ll be…fine.”
He’d better not be lying to her.
In his chest.
“He’s…not as good,” Trace managed, “with a gun…as he is…with a knife…”
Fear clawed at Skye’s insides. She grabbed for Trace’s hand and held tight.
Trace’s gaze—not as bright, and that dimness terrified her—found Skye’s. “Get her…out,” he rasped to Alex. “He could…be here still…”
She wasn’t leaving him. Alex tried to pull Skye away, but she just held tighter to Trace. “I’m not leaving you.”
Cops fanned out, started searching the area.
The EMTs came and loaded Trace onto a gurney. When they put him into the back of an ambulance, Skye jumped right in with him.
So much blood.
“Rode with you…too…” Trace whispered. “After…wreck…” His fingers squeezed hers. “Didn’t want to…let you go.”
“I’m not letting you go.”
The EMT pushed a needle into his arm.
The ambulance jostled, bouncing along the old road. The scream of the siren echoed around her.
The EMT cut away Trace’s shirt, and she got a good look at the wound.
Skye stopped breathing. “You lied to me,” she whispered to Trace.
“No…”
How was he still talking? Still conscious?
“Never leave…you…this won’t stop…”
The EMT connected thin tubes to him. Something started to beep.
“Blood pressure’s dropping!” The EMT snapped. Then he pushed Skye back.
Trace’s fingers slid from hers.
You lied to me.
Because she’d seen the wound, and she knew things weren’t going to be all right for Trace.
The hospital’s emergency room doors flew open. The EMTs ran with the gurney, barking out orders.
Skye sprinted to keep up with them.
Doctors and nurses jumped into action, swarming that gurney.
Please, please take care of him.
Trace vanished into the ER. The doors swung shut behind him.
She stood, alone, in that narrow hallway. Staring after him. So lost.
I can’t lose him again. She and Trace just found their way back to each other. This wasn’t supposed to happen.
“Miss?”
She turned and saw a nurse—a brunette with hazel eyes—gazing sympathetically at her. “Miss, we’re going to need you to fill out some paperwork on the patient.”
Skye licked lips that were bone dry. “He’s going to be okay.”
The nurse’s face tightened. “There’s a waiting room just down the hallway. It’s the second door on the left. You can take the papers there.”
“He’s going to be okay,” Skye said again, her voice harder.
The nurse handed her the clipboard. “You may want to notify other family members…”
Trace didn’t have other family members. “He only has me,” Skye said. Her fingers trembled when she took the clipboard.
She walked toward the waiting room in a daze. Bodies passed her in a blur. White lab coats. Green hospital scrubs.
Someone bumped into her, right as she turned toward the waiting room.
“Sorry,” a voice rasped.
That rasp…
She looked up, frowning, just as something sharp jabbed into her neck.
A needle. He shoved a needle into my neck.
The man wore a green face mask—the kind that doctors and nurses wore during surgery—but she could see his eyes—see them so perfectly.
His eyes were the last thing that she saw before everything went dark. Skye fell forward and felt his strong arms wrap around her.
