Mine to Keep (Mine #2)(44)

When the private elevator doors closed behind her, Skye exhaled in relief. Goosebumps covered her whole body.

Parker’s head had nearly been severed from his body.

Was that what it had been like for Sharpe, too? Had that poor man been attacked so viciously?

Only a monster would kill like that.

The elevator stopped its ascent. Skye crept out and made her way inside the penthouse.

The door squeaked open.

Trace sat on the couch, waiting. He was leaning forward, his hands between his knees.

His eyes locked on her.

For an instant, she thought about turning and running.

“Skye?”

She shut the door behind her.

He didn’t move, but he watched her with the gaze of a predator. Part of her wondered if he was about to pounce.

“I realized today…” She took a step toward him. “I would do anything for you.”

“You know I would do—”

“You would never hurt me. I’m certain of that. Not physically, anyway.”

He jerked as if she’d struck him.

“But there are other ways to hurt,” she whispered. Another step brought her closer to him. Her fingers were tight on the straps of her bag.

“It’s the guards,” he said, swallowing. She heard the faint click of his throat. His hair was tousled, as if he’d plunged his fingers through it over and over again. “I’ve told you about my enemies…”

He hadn’t told her enough. “Sharpe was here. He threatened me.”

She remembered that instant so clearly. She couldn’t forget how Trace had reacted. Are you threatening her? She glanced to the left. Trace had put his forearm under the man’s throat. Right there. In that exact spot.

She wet her lips. “And Parker tried to kill us both.” Her gaze turned back to him. “Both of those men…they threatened me, and they wound up dead.”

His eyes widened. “You think I killed them?”

“I think you killed to protect me before.” But this…this wasn’t the same. “But Sharpe—he never so much as touched me. He needed help, Trace. He needed—”

Trace shot to his feet. “Why haven’t you asked me if I killed them?”

Her fingers shook, fumbled, and dove into the bag. She found what she needed and she lifted the object, her hand a fist around it. “I found this on top of Parker’s body.”

She dropped the dog tag onto the end table.

“Your name, Trace. Your tag.”

“Fuck.”

She felt the same way.

He lifted his hands, as if he’d touch her, but then he hesitated. “They’re not my kills.”

She studied his eyes, searching desperately. She’d been able to see his lie before, but this time, Sky just wasn’t sure. He’s too good at hiding from everyone, even me. “I can’t tell when you’re lying or when you’re telling the truth. There should be some sign, right? I should know?”

“They’re not.”

“You lied about your alibi at the time of Sharpe’s murder.”

“I told you, I was back here. You were sleeping.”

“And…I tried to call you before I found Parker’s body, but you didn’t answer me. Not on your cell, not on your office’s private line.”

His jaw hardened.

“You weren’t in your office, Trace.” That had been another lie.

“I wasn’t in the alley killing Parker!”

Her gaze fell to the dog tag. “I didn’t hesitate. When I saw that on him, right in the middle of all that blood, I took it.” Her arms wrapped around her stomach. “What does that make me?”

The violent image was there again, rising fast in her mind. Parker’s head, sagging back against the dirty ground. The blood thick around him. A twisted smile where his neck should have been.

And I touched him. I took the tag from the hole above his heart.

She squeezed her eyes shut, but the image wouldn’t fade. Nausea built, and she tried to fight it. Again and again and again.

She couldn’t.

Skye ran for the bathroom. Trace called her name, but she slammed the door shut behind her.

***

Trace stood in front of the bathroom door. “Skye?” He jiggled the knob. She’d locked it. “Baby, let me help you.”

“Go away.” Her voice was soft.

“I want to help you.” Trace felt as if he were tearing apart.

“Don’t, Trace. Don’t.”

He backed away. Forced his gaze off the door.

The damn dog tag waited. Trace grabbed it, smoothing his fingers over the letters of his name. This tag should’ve been in an icy grave.

Maybe I should’ve been in that grave with it.

The tag wasn’t buried, and neither was his past.

He heard the rush of running water. His shoulders tensed. Skye would be coming back.

I have to tell her.

His fingers were trembling. That wasn’t supposed to happen. He was always rock-steady. Never hesitating.

He’d been dead-on in battle. In the boardroom.

His business was secrets. Protecting them. Exploiting them.

He’d kept his own secrets so well over the years. But Trace knew with utter certainty that if he didn’t tell Skye everything, he would lose her.