He’d taken her pictures away. Packed up the office.
And the man in the video—that damn grainy video that Trace had watched again and again—he’d expertly injected Skye with that needle.
No hesitation.
The man who’d killed Carol had known just where to shove his knife. Known just how to twist that blade to cause maximum damage.
A doctor would know.
Trace headed toward the back of the building.
Waited.
When Loxley rushed out of the hospital ten minutes later, Trace was still waiting.
The doctor hopped into his car.
Sped away.
“Now it’s your turn to be stalked,” Trace whispered.
Footsteps.
They tapped across the floor, coming at a slow, steady pace toward her.
Skye was on the floor. She didn’t have the strength to stand any more.
My wrists are bleeding again.
The footsteps kept coming closer.
Skye didn’t move. She thought that perhaps she might just be imagining that sound. For days, she’d only heard—
Her heartbeat.
Her screams.
“Who…” Skye tried to ask…Who’s there? But she couldn’t get the words out. Her throat had closed up. She couldn’t even cry anymore.
“It’s all right,” his voice told her, whispering in the darkness. “I’ve got you.”
Then she felt something against her lips. Something wet and cool and so wonderful. She choked at first as the water poured over her lips.
“Easy. I’m going to take care of you…”
She gulped the water. Drank and drank.
Her stomach cramped. Her throat convulsed.
The water spilled from her lips. Over her shirt.
“Open your eyes, Skye.”
They were closed? She blinked and the light hit her. Too bright and hard and she couldn’t see anything clearly.
He was before her. A big, hulking form. Blurry.
“I’ll get you cleaned up,” he promised her.
Because she was filthy and bloody.
But I’m not dead.
“I will be the one you need. The only one. I will be the one who takes care of you from now on. You don’t have to worry about anyone else. No director telling you that you’re eating too much, that you need to work out more, to practice more…”
Robert?
“I knew you hated that life.”
She still couldn’t see him clearly. Her eyes just wouldn’t focus with that sudden light.
His voice was husky and low, as if he were talking to a lover.
Is that what I am to him?
“I would come and watch you dance. Not just at your shows, but during rehearsal. I knew you needed me…”
The water was gone.
She tilted her head back. Stared up at him.
“Sleeping Beauty…finally waking up to see me.”
Skye shook her head. “Not…Sleeping Beauty…” His features were sharpening, coming into focus before her.
“You’re my Beauty. And I’ll be the one to wake you up. The one who gives you life.” He’d pushed the water away. The container spilled, and water poured over the floor. “Or death.”
She could see him now. Skye stared into his face. Looked straight into the eyes of a man who was crazy.
As crazy as he’d accused her of being.
“There’s no going back now,” Mitch Loxley told her, “I’ve got you.”
The windows of the brownstone were boarded up. A giant KEEP OUT sign covered the front entrance.
“Yeah, yeah, got it,” Reese said into his phone.
Trace glanced over at him. The weight of his gun pressed into Trace’s side.
“The brownstone is in a cousin’s name. That’s why it didn’t come up when we did a property search for Dr. Loxley.”
Because Trace had gotten his team to look up any and all properties tied to Mitch Loxley.
But his agents had come up with nothing.
Not anymore.
Trace had known that if he got close enough, if he taunted the guy, if he pushed him far enough, Loxley would break.
But he might try to take Skye with him when he shatters.
“The cops are on their way,” Reese continued, voice roughening. “We should wait—”
Trace pulled his weapon from his holster. Thunder rumbled overhead. “No, we shouldn’t.” Because he knew Skye was in that place. Scared. Hurt?
He was getting her the hell out of there.
I’m coming, baby, I’m coming.
Chapter Ten
Mitch’s fingers slid over her cheek. “I was so mad at you. When you went back to him…”
She shuddered. Nausea rose in her stomach. “Don’t…”
“You called me by his name. When I touched you, you called for him.” His hands slid under her chin, and he shoved her head back. She hit the pole. The impact had her moaning.
“You were my Beauty, and you went to him. After all I’d done…I was the one to heal your leg. I was the one at your side when you walked. I was the one—”
“Who…made me…have the wreck?”
Her brakes…Alex had said…
The nausea deepened. Skye was afraid she’d pass out.
Mitch smiled at her. Terrified her. “It was the only way to get your attention. I couldn’t see you after the shows. I tried. Again and again. Beauty needed her hero to wake her up. I was there, and you couldn’t see me. I had to find a way to make you see me.”
He was a freaking doctor. He shouldn’t have—
“I was supposed to find you that night. Not him. He was always there. Always between us.” Mitch’s fingers dug into her jaw. “But not anymore. Weston is dead.”
Something shut off inside of Skye at those words. She could actually feel the change sweep through her.
Her heart stopped racing.
The nausea faded.
The fear vanished.
If Trace was gone, what happened next didn’t matter.
“You…killed…” Skye whispered.
“I shot him in the heart because he tried to take you away from me. That wasn’t happening. That wasn’t ever going to happen. You belong to me.”
Mitch pulled away. Fumbled in his pocket. “I’ll take the cuffs off. I’ll get you cleaned up, and then we’re going far away from this place. Starting over…”
And he’d said she was the crazy one.
Skye’s body stayed perfectly still as he uncuffed her. She’d long since lost feeling in her fingers.
He rose. “Come on, Skye.”
“I-I can’t stand.”
Silence. Then he reached down for her. He put his arms around her and lifted her up. “See, I can take care of you.” His breath blew lightly over her cheek as he shifted her body to the right.
Her eyes closed. His scent filled her nose. Disinfectant.
Death.
Skye swallowed. “I don’t…want you…to take care…”
Glass shattered. She heard the sound, coming from…above them?
Mitch tried to jerk away from her.
She held him tighter. He killed Trace. “I want…” Skye gathered her strength. Every last bit of it, and she thrust her body fully against his. “I want you…to die…”
The weight of her body sent him falling back, and this time, his head slammed into that metal pole. The crack was loud and wonderful and so perfect to her ears.
Footsteps thundered, sounding close.
“Skye!”
Trace’s voice.
He’s dead.
She dropped to her knees. Mitch was still alive. She couldn’t have that.
“Skye!”
She was still hearing Trace’s voice. She’d finally gone crazy.
The voices came first. That was the way it had been with her mother.
The voices.
She liked hearing Trace’s voice. Maybe being crazy wouldn’t be so bad.
“Fuck, Skye!”
Hands grabbed her, yanked her away from Mitch and—
Now I smell him.
Trace’s scent was rich and warm. Masculine. His arms were around her, squeezing her so tightly, and shudders racked his body.
A hallucination? It was so real and so wonderful.
“Love…you…” Skye managed to whisper.
“Baby, baby, I fucking love you! You’re okay, I’ve got you, I’ve got you.”
He was kissing her. Her face. Her cracked lips. Holding her so tightly.
“You’re dead,” she said, so sad about that. Because she’d wanted to see him again. Her Trace.
“No, no, I’m not! Skye, I’m real, and I’m right here.”
She just stared into his eyes.
Fear burned in his gaze. “I’m here. Baby, baby, be here, too. Be here with me.”
A groan came from behind her. Mitch. She hadn’t finished killing him.
The image of Trace shook her. “I found you. You’re going home with me. You’re going to dance, and we’re going to fuck and laugh and be happy. Do you understand? Do you—”
“No,” Mitch’s voice. Snarling. “You’re not!”
She was thrown across the room. Ripped from the arms of her beautiful hallucination and tossed to the floor.
She’d used all of her strength. Skye couldn’t rise.
More footsteps were thundering. Again, coming from upstairs?
Then Skye realized…A basement. She was in a basement.
Her hands flattened on the hard floor. Pinpricks shot through her numb fingers.
“You’re done.” Trace lifted a gun. Pointed it right at Mitch. “You’ll never hurt her again.”
Mitch laughed. Laughed. “You’re the one who hurts her. I keep her safe. I love her—” He lunged forward. There was a knife in his hand. The blade gleamed as it sliced right toward Trace’s chest.
Not a hallucination. That’s Trace. I could smell him. I could touch him. That’s Trace.
She pushed to her knees. “No!” Skye tried to surge forward.
The bullet erupted from Trace’s gun. It drove into Mitch’s chest. But Mitch didn’t stop his attack. He swiped out with his knife.
Trace fired again.
The knife sank into Trace’s shoulder.
Trace fired. Again and again.
The knife dropped from Mitch’s fingers.
Before Mitch could fall, Trace grabbed his bloody shirt-front. “I told you what would happen.”
A gurgle came from Mitch’s lips.
Reese burst into the room.
Trace shoved Mitch away from him. The doctor hit the floor. His eyes were closed. Blood covered him.
Skye was still on her hands and knees. She wanted to move toward Trace, but her body wouldn’t listen to her. She couldn’t move. “Trace!”
He lifted her into his arms. Held her close against his heart. “I’m here. I’ve got you.”
She wanted to cry, but couldn’t.
Wanted to scream, but her voice was gone.
She could only shake and shudder in his arms. Trace. Trace.
“Let me get her,” Reese said, coming close to them. “Your injured…you shouldn’t…”
“I’ve got her,” was all Trace said. He carried her up the stairs.
Carried her through the old, dusted interior of a house. Then they were outside. Rain was falling. It pelted down on her, and it felt so clean. Good.
Not as good as Trace’s arms.
He stood there, in the rain, just holding her. Police cruisers raced to the scene. An ambulance braked to a squealing stop.
Trace held her.
Alive.
Hope came back to her.
And her tears mixed with the rain.
Flowers covered the hospital room. Bright, vibrant colors. Enough petals to fill a florist shop.
The smell was heady.
The sight was gorgeous.
Skye wanted to get the hell out of there.
She’d been pumped with an IV for way too long. She wanted freedom. She wanted—
The hospital door opened. Trace stood there. The lines near his eyes were a little deeper. His face was grimmer than it had been when she first walked into his Chicago office.
His eyes were different, too. Still as blue. Still as bright.
But now she could see the love there. He wasn’t hiding that from her any longer.
“Ready to go?”
She was more than ready.
He pushed a wheel chair into the room. “Your chariot.”
Her brows climbed.
“They won’t let you go without it. But don’t worry, Reese is waiting right outside for us.” He lifted her. Let his hands linger as he pressed a gentle kiss to her lips. “This place will be a memory soon.” He eased her into the chair.
Trace started to push her toward the door.
She caught his hand. “What happens next?”
He bent near her, putting their eyes on level. “I take you to our suite at the hotel. I fuck you until some of this damn fear leaves me.” His gaze searched hers. “Then I spend the next fifty years making you as happy as I can.”
“Fifty years,” she whispered. “That’s a long time.”
“Not long enough. I figure it’s just a start for us.”
He pushed her into the hallway. She couldn’t help but tense. I’ll always hate hospitals.
“I’m with you.”
He knew, of course. There were no secrets between them. Why should there be?
The sunlight was bright outside. Reese waited, as promised, standing beside the vehicle.
“You look good, Ms. Sullivan,” he said giving her a quick nod.
Considering that the last time he’d seen her, Skye knew she’d looked like death, so, well, anything should be an improvement over that. “Thank you, Reese. You look good, too.”