Mine to Take (Mine #1)(32)

Coming from the club down on the corner of her street.

The music drove out the sound of that ticking clock.

Before she gave herself a second to think, Skye grabbed her shoes and her bag. She nearly ran from her apartment and down the stairs. Her legs pumped. Her left calf twinged.

Then she was outside. A line of people snaked around the side of that club, waiting to get inside.

Laughter, voices, and music drifted on the wind.

She wanted to get close to that music. She needed it.

No, not the music.

She slipped into the line.

She needed to dance. Dancing always helped her to forget the most painful moments of her life. Dancing helped her to cope. To survive.

She’d go in the club. She’d dance. She’d be like everyone else for a time.

I’ll forget.

Because if she didn’t forget, for at least a little while, Skye thought she might just go crazy.

***

“It looks like the lady’s going clubbing,” Carol Jones said as she settled back into her car. An unmarked vehicle, it blended pretty well on the busy street. Friday night in Chicago. Sure, it was after two a.m., but the city usually just got pumping at this time.

She tightened her hold on the phone. “She’s going into the club alone.” What was the name of that place? The neon letters were flashing. Extreme. “It’s a place called Extreme.”

She sure hoped that she wasn’t given orders to go in that club.

Not my scene.

The beat of the music was already giving her a headache.

She’d rather take traffic duty over this detail any day.

But, if she had to follow orders…

Carol sighed. She’d do her job.

***

“Your detective made a serious mistake, captain!” Trace’s lawyer snapped as he grabbed his briefcase. “He deliberately provoked my client and—”

“The charges have been dropped, Guthrie, what more do you want?” The captain, older, with gray shooting through his red hair, sighed. “Mr. Weston is free to go.”

Alex Griffin stood at the captain’s side.

Trace had no doubt that Alex had been ripped a new one by the captain. You shouldn’t have gone after me.

The charges might be dropped, but the situation between Alex and Trace was a long way from over.

“Where’s Skye?” Trace asked quietly.

Alex’s features tightened. “She went home.”

“By herself?” He swore. “Dammit, I’m not the threat to her. Someone else is out there, and you just let her go—”

“Officer Carol Jones is keeping an eye on her.” It was the captain who spoke. “Carol took her home, and then we gave orders for Carol to stay and keep watch on Ms. Sullivan’s place.”

His racing heart calmed a bit. The cops hadn’t completely screwed up.

Not yet.

“That’s good to know.” He jerked his head toward Craig Guthrie. “Let’s go. I’ve seen enough of this station to last a f*cking lifetime.”

Guthrie nodded. The guy was on retainer. Five minutes after Trace had called him, Guthrie had rushed into the station.

The lawyer had been threatening a law suit even as the door swung closed behind him.

But, by then, the charges had already been dropped.

Alex was jerking me around.

The detective should know better than to play out of his league.

Trace’s hands slammed into the main door and sent it flying open as he hurried outside. He needed to get to Skye and—

“I don’t know who the girl is,” Guthrie said as he grabbed Trace’s arm. “But with the cops involved, it might be wise to back off a bit.”

Trace paused. He glanced over his shoulder, looking back at the station’s entrance. Alex had followed him out.

Not surprising.

“Backing off isn’t an option,” he said and he shook off Guthrie’s hold. His gaze met Alex’s. “Not a f*cking chance.”

***

The club was packed.

Lights flew over the crowd even as the music pumped out from the stage.

At first, Skye didn’t move.

Her gaze swept the club.

Some women wore short and low-cut dresses. They writhed on the dance floor.

Others were dressed like Skye—snug jeans, loose tops.

The music kept blaring. The beat was hard, driving.

A blond guy headed toward Skye. “Want to dance?” He had to yell to be heard over that pounding music.

Skye nodded. Dancing. It was what she needed. The only thing.

Trace lied. He lied.

She took the blond’s hand.

Then she went onto the dance floor. She stopped thinking. Started feeling the beat.

And, finally, finally, stopped hurting.





Chapter Seven


The f*cking * had his hands all over Skye.

Trace stood a few feet from the dance floor. His eyes had found Skye the instant that he stepped inside the club.

He could always find her.

Some blond jerk had his hands on Skye’s hips. Skye was undulating and moving fluidly to the beat of the music.

Sensual temptation.

She pulled away from the man. Danced toward the center of the floor.

Spun. Rolled her body.

Another partner grabbed her.