Mine to Take (Mine #1)(29)

His breath exhaled slowly. He had gotten out of those flames, and he’d carried Reese to safety.

His friend was going to be okay. But if Trace had arrived at that studio just little bit later…

“I didn’t see anyone,” Skye said softly. “But I heard him, pouring gasoline.”

“How do you know it was gasoline?” Alex stopped pacing and narrowed his eyes on Skye.

She ran her hand through her hair. A black smudge slid across her right cheek. “The smell. It’s pretty unmistakable, don’t you think?”

He stared back at her.

Trace cocked his head. This was a colossal waste of his time. “Shouldn’t you be out, detective, looking for the * who did this? From my count, that’s an arson and an assault, all within a few days.” Attempted murder, more like.

Alex’s lips tightened. “You didn’t see him?”

“The lights were out.” Skye shook her head. “I only saw the flash of his match, then I heard his voice.”

Trace tensed. She hadn’t told him this part, not yet.

“What did he say?” Alex pushed.

“The same thing he said before.” She was too pale. “I will be the one.”

“You didn’t recognize his voice?” Alex yanked out the chair on the opposite side of the table. He spun it around, then sat down, draping his arms over the chair’s back. “He wasn’t familiar to you, at all?”

“He was rasping, whispering.” Her shoulders rolled. “So, no, I didn’t recognize his voice. I still don’t know who this guy is or why he’s doing this to me.”

Alex’s fingers tapped against the chair. “You think he’s the same man who caused your accident in New York?” Then he reached forward and opened a manila folder that was on the table. He shoved some stark, black and white photos across the table.

Photos of a totaled vehicle. Skye’s car.

She was trapped there.

He looked up from those photos and found the detective’s gaze on him. “While you were away on your little trip, I did some more digging,” the detective said.

Good. I’m glad you’re doing your job.

“I talked with a detective Fuller in New York.” The detective glanced over at Skye. “He said you were sure someone had forced you off the road.”

Skye nodded.

Trace pushed the photos back toward the detective. “We just talked to Fuller, too. The guy didn’t buy Skye’s story—”

“Because there was no evidence of anyone else at the crash scene. No paint from another car. No sign of a rear impact.”

“My car…” Her voice was too cold for Trace as Skye said, “Rolled four times. It was smashed like a damn can. There were signs of impact all over the place.”

“Fuller thought it was a one-vehicle accident,” Alex continued. His gaze had locked on Skye’s face. “I’m not Fuller. I know you’re scared, and it sure looks to me like you have a reason to be.”

It should look that way to f*cking everyone.

“I’m guessing Weston took you to New York because he thought it might be one of your ex’s, huh?” Now Alex’s gaze swung back to him. “How’d that work out for you?”

“I’m running their alibis.” And so far, turning up jack. So…no, it hadn’t f*cking worked out for him.

Alex pursed his lips and nodded. “Running their alibis…that’s good.” He put the photos of Skye’s wrecked vehicle back inside the folder. “But what about your own alibi?” He pushed another sheet of paper toward Trace.

Trace stared down at a picture of himself. An image from a New York newspaper.

“You tend to catch attention when you go places,” Alex murmured. “Guess that’s the price of being so rich, huh? When you went to New York to see the ballet…Sleeping Beauty, right? Well, you were caught leaving the show early that night.” Alex paused. “The date on the image…that would be the same day that Skye here had her wreck.”

Skye’s hand reached for that newspaper clipping. She pulled it toward her. “You were in New York? At my show?” Her head turned toward him. A faint furrow appeared between her brows. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Oh, this isn’t the first show he’s caught.” Again, Alex reached into that folder. “Seems that when you were performing, Trace here made a point of coming to see you dance. At least once, sometimes twice a month. He was always there for opening night, but he’d go back, to catch other performances, too.”

Sonofabitch. The detective had been busy.

“You…you saw me dance?”

“He saw you, quite a lot.” Now Alex seemed musing. “He liked to stay at the same hotel every time he went to see you…that posh place right off Fifth Avenue. I believe you both stayed there on your recent trip?”

“Who did you talk to?” Trace demanded. Because someone had been talking too f*cking much. This kind of personal leak wasn’t allowed in his organization. An assistant, an agent—someone was about to get his or her ass fired.

“I grew up in New York,” Alex said with a shrug. “I’ve still got some friends there, and they helped me with my digging.” His lips pursed. “Skye, you mean to tell me that you didn’t know he was there, any of those times? With the two of you being such old…friends…I thought you’d—”