Mine to Take (Mine #1)(21)

Crap. Had she neglected to mention that part?

“But I wouldn’t do that to Skye! I would never do anything to hurt her.” And Robert reached for Skye again. His fingers locked around her arms. “You know how much I need you. I wouldn’t hurt you, not for—”

“Get your f*cking hands off her.”

Goosebumps rose on Skye’s skin.

Robert immediately jerked away from her. “Look, mate, I—”

Trace caught Skye’s hand and pulled her to his side. “I’m going to need confirmation that you haven’t left the city.”

“Y-you’re asking me for an alibi?” Robert sputtered.

“Damn straight, I am.”

Now Robert was the one to flush. “A dozen dancers can tell you that I’ve been working their asses off for the last twenty days. They can all confirm that I haven’t left the city.”

“Good.” Trace flashed a hard smile, one that held an evil edge. “I’ll get them to confirm that before I leave today.”

Skye’s breath expelled in a fast rush. “Robert, did you ever see anyone hanging around my dressing room? Anyone that lingered after a show?” She’d asked stagehands the same questions before, but no one had seen anything. After a performance, it was too chaotic to keep track of people.

Robert’s eyes had narrowed on Trace. He seemed to be searching Trace’s face with a dark intensity.

“Robert?” Skye pushed.

“There are always fans who try to get back to the dancers,” Robert said, rolling his shoulders. “I’ve told you before, when you dance, you become something…quite different.”

That…different…had been what drew him to her. A night of long practice had turned into something more for them. But it hadn’t lasted with Robert. It never lasted because…

No other man is Trace.

“You didn’t see anyone?” Trace questioned. “Dammit, what about video cameras?”

“We don’t have them backstage.” Robert shook his head. “After a show, it’s chaos. Plain and simple. Hell, do you have any idea just how many flowers get delivered after a show? It’s a f*ckin’ madhouse here.”

And someone had slipped into that madhouse far too easily.

“I’ll check, okay?” Robert offered as a knock sounded at the door. “I’ll ask around and see if anyone remembers anything but, Skye, you know how fast the backstage groups turn over. We’ve got new staff working this show.”

With every new show, there was a rotation.

A knock rapped again at the door. “Wolfe!” A woman’s voice called. “They need you on stage.”

“Be right there.” He straightened his shoulders. Met Trace’s stare. “Check my alibi. Talk to the dancers. Like I said, I would never hurt Skye, and I sure hope you find the bastard who did.” Then he glanced her way. The gold in his eyes heated. “Come back to me. I want you to dance for me again.”

Angry tension seemed to roll off Trace’s body.

“I…can’t,” Skye said softly.

“How do you know?” Robert asked her, tilting his head as he studied her. “Unless you try?”

The knock pounded again. It was much more impatient this time. “Wolfe, they’re screwing up out here! We need you.”

He gave a curt nod to Skye and Trace, and Robert hurried away.

The door hung open behind him, just a few inches.

“Before we leave,” Trace spoke slowly, “I’ll talk to the stagehands here and see if anyone remembers something.”

She nodded. “It’s been too long, hasn’t it?” If Trace had been here to question people sooner, to run his investigation, then perhaps more evidence, more clues could have been found.

Trace exhaled slowly. “I’ll find him. He’s not getting away.”

She hoped that he wasn’t. She started to slip by Trace.

He caught her arm. “You left New York without trying to dance again? You just ran from the city?”

Her throat had gone dry. “It took me weeks to walk again.” That was only after all of the surgeries. “And I did try.” That painful memory would never go away. “The first time I tried to dance, I fell on my face.” The first time, the second, the third. Her lashes lifted so that she could meet that bright blue stare. “Robert is the most demanding choreographer I’ve ever worked with. I knew what he would see if he watched me dance. I didn’t want to hear him say—”

You’ve lost it, love.

She could hear his words clearly in her mind.

“There are some things that you know on your own.” She’d had enough humiliation and pain by that point. Running had seemed like her best plan. Escape.

And she didn’t want to talk about this anymore. “I’ll go talk to some of the dancers.” Her words tumbled out quickly. “I’ll see if anyone remembers or—or maybe if anyone had something like this happen to them.” So she was grasping at straws. That room was too small. Too filled with memories, and Skye wanted to get out of there.

So she fled. After all, she might suck at walking sometimes, but when it came to running away, she had that one down cold.

***

The Brit was a bastard who touched Skye far too freely. Trace could still feel the jealousy coursing through him.