Mine to Keep (Mine #2)(75)

Why?

His hold on the steering wheel tightened. Maybe the cop had worried that Sara knew too much, that she’d turn on him.

So did you have someone else kill her? Someone who hesitated?

Trace raced through a yellow light. He needed to go faster.

***

“I should be in jail,” Drake said. “That’s where I belong. I f*cking killed her.” His breath rasped out. “That’s what she tells me, every single night.”

Did Trace have those same nightmares? Only, for him, was it the ghost of Tucker who came back and haunted him?

Another creak came from upstairs. Skye’s gaze rose. Is Piper listening? Skye didn’t want the other woman to hear anymore.

Her fingers slid down Drake’s arm, and she headed for the stairs.

Sure enough, Piper stood at the top of those stairs. Her hands were wrapped tightly around her stomach.

Skye slowly climbed the stairs. Piper backed up, sliding into the apartment. She held the door open for Skye.

“All this time,” Piper whispered, “and I blamed the wrong man.”

“You didn’t know,” Skye told her as she closed the door behind her. She glanced quickly around the apartment, but she didn’t see Claire. The bathroom door was closed. Maybe Claire was in there.

“You think you know everything,” Piper continued, her stare glassy. “Then the truth comes along, and it rips your world right apart.”

A muffled cry reached Skye’s ears. She frowned. That cry had come from the bathroom. “Claire?” Skye called.

“She wasn’t feeling well,” Piper told her, blinking, and glancing toward the bathroom door. “She said she kept seeing her sister.” A bitter laugh escaped her. “I guess they took both our sisters away, didn’t they?”

Skye hurried toward the bathroom. She knocked lightly on the wooden door. “Claire?”

The floor squeaked behind Skye.

She lifted her hand and knocked on the door. “Claire, are you okay?”

Something sharp and hard—a knife?—pressed into Skye’s back, freezing her. Terrifying her.

“I wouldn’t worry so much about Claire. She’s already dead but you…you still have plenty of time to suffer.” Piper’s breath blew against Skye’s ear. “And don’t even think about screaming, bitch. You raise your voice above a whisper, and I will slit your throat in an instant.”

***

Trace slammed on the brakes. The Jag stopped with a squeal of its tires. “You take the back,” Trace ordered Noah as they jumped from the car.

“And you storm the front.” Noah inclined his head. “Just like old times.”

Screw old times. Trace had taken his weapon from the car. After Sharpe’s death, he’d made sure to keep the gun close. He checked the weapon. Loaded. Ready. Then he ran toward the apartment. Reese should be upstairs, waiting and— Noah cried out, the sound sharp and full of pain.

Trace whirled around.

Noah was on the cement, sprawled beneath a street lamp. Blood poured from beneath his body.

“Noah!” Trace yelled. Then he realized what was happening.

Shooter.

Trace dove for cover, but he moved a second too late, and he felt the burn of the bullet slice across the side of his face.

A silencer. The SOB was up there, trying to kill them both without making a sound.

Trace ducked behind the Jag. This wasn’t his first shoot-out. He might be rusty, but he knew this game, and he knew how to find the shooter. Based on the angle of those shots…his gaze swept up and to the left. Those bullets had come from the second story. Corner apartment.

Reese’s apartment?

“H-help…” Noah gasped out the plea.

Trace jerked his gaze back to his friend.

Had the shooter heard that cry? If so, he’d know Noah was still alive. Alive and a sitting duck.

Another shot would end Noah.

Trace knew he couldn’t just sit there and watch his friend die. Even if that was the killer’s plan.

Trace glanced up at the apartment. You want me? Then take your best shot. He sucked in a deep breath. An image of Skye flashed before him.

Come back to me.

He would. He would.

***

“People have no defense against an innocent face,” Piper said, sounding not the least bit shattered or scared any longer. Now, she sounded satisfied. Smug. “Men think you’re weak, and they want to protect you, and women, well, they think you’re a friend, so they let their guard down when you’re close.”

Skye was still facing the bathroom door. She’d heard no other sound from inside, but when she glanced down, she saw blood slipping from under the bathroom door.

Claire!

“Did you see her wrist?” Piper asked. “It looks like Claire tried to kill herself once. I noticed that right away. Weak bitch. I guess I helped her out this time.”

Skye tried to keep her muscles loose. “You’re not Piper, are you?”

Laughter.

And she had her answer. “You’re Anna Jean.”

The blade sliced across Skye’s back. She cried out.

“Give the bitch a cookie!” Anna Jean jerked Skye around to face her. Skye’s shoulders hit the bathroom door. “All I had to do was make myself look a little bit more like my goody two-shoes sister. Then they all stared right at me, and they believed every lie I told them.”