Mine to Keep

He heard her sharply indrawn breath.

“A-a knife to the heart?” Skye asked. “Just like—”

“Like Sharpe and Parker? Yes.” And there was more. “Slicing the throat is a personal way to kill. We saw attacks like that during our time together. When you wanted to send a message, when you wanted to be sure that your prey—and their family—didn’t talk, the killers slit their victims’ throats.”

In the glass, he saw her reflection. Skye walked—very tentatively—toward him. “What are you saying?”

“I’m saying that my dog tags should’ve still been in a grave outside of Siberia. But I found one in Parker’s apartment, and you found the other on his dead body. When it comes to messages, I think that’s pretty clear.” He faced her. “Maybe I didn’t leave a dead man out there after all. Maybe Tucker survived, and now he’s come back to make sure that I suffer for what I did to him.”

“You think…you believe he’s going to kill you?”

His hand lifted, and he stroked her cheek. Such smooth, silken skin. “I told you that I understood how he felt.”

She nodded.

“Killing me would be too easy. Death won’t be quick for me. He’ll want me to suffer.” He and Tucker had been too alike, in many ways. “At the end, he made me a promise.”

“What sort of promise?”

“He said, ‘You’ll know…you’ll lose…all.’” And Trace knew exactly what Tucker meant. Tucker had wanted Trace to feel the same agony that he experienced.

“H-how will he do that?”

Trace stared back at her, and he forced himself to tell her the terrifying truth, “By hurting you.”

Chapter Ten

Alex Griffin shone his flashlight to the left. Then to the right. He was in another alley. One that reeked of piss and garbage.

He had a small team of uniforms with him. Grumbling rookies who weren’t happy to be on the backstreets of Chicago searching through dumpsters.

Like he gave a damn if they were happy or not.

Trace Weston hadn’t needed to carry on about the arterial spray from Parker Jacobs. Alex had seen the splash of blood before at crime scenes. He knew how death worked. His job gave him an up-close and personal look at death each day.

Even before Weston had spoken, Alex knew that Parker’s killer would’ve been hit by the spray of blood.

And I also knew that the killer would need to ditch his clothes.

Because when you walked around, covered in blood, peopled tended to notice.

“He wouldn’t have gone back to the main street, not right after the kill,” Alex said.

The uniform closest to him, Sean Coleman, gave a quick nod. “So he ran away through the alleys.”

“I don’t think it was a panicked run.” Alex stopped next to another big, green dumpster. “I think he planned to kill Parker all along, and I think he had back-up clothes waiting.” The better to blend in with everyone else.

Sean raised his brows and glanced at the dumpster. “Hell, another one.”

“Up and in,” Alex told him, shining the light.

Sean hefted himself into the dumpster. “It’s like finding a microscopic needle in a—” Sean broke off.

Alex grabbed the side of the dumpster. “What is it?”

Sean rose. His gloved hands held a shirt, and when Alex’s light hit that shirt—blood. “I’ve got you,” Alex whispered. That shirt was his key. The techs could scan it for DNA, for evidence…this was it.

He was going to stop the killer. No more victims would fall on Alex’s watch.

***

The shower water thundered down on Skye. After Trace’s confession, she hadn’t exactly been sure what to say.

She’d survived the attack of one maniac before. Now she was supposed to just wait, knowing that some other crazy jerk wanted to come after her?

Sometimes, life could just be a hard kick in the face.

You think you’re happy. You think you have a chance…

And then the chance is ripped right from your hands.

She leaned forward, putting her face under the spray. All of the blood was gone now. It should be. She’d scrubbed herself until her skin felt raw.

Tendrils of steam floated in the air around her. The glass that surrounded the walk-in shower had completely fogged over.

She put her hand on the glass. It was hard. Cool.

The water pounded down.

Her fingers swiped over the glass. She cleared a small section so that she could see—and, through that glass, Skye saw Trace.

Standing on the other side. Watching her.

She opened the door. The shower had been so loud that she hadn’t heard him come inside the bathroom.

He was still dressed. In his too expensive designer pants and the shirt that she knew must’ve been cut just for him.

The faint lines on his face were deeper. The shadows under his eyes were darker.

“Why were you just standing there?” Skye asked him. She didn’t try to cover her nudity.

“I wasn’t sure you wanted me with you.”

Ah, that was the part he just didn’t seem to get. “I always want you.” That was the problem. She lifted her hand to him, inviting him closer.

He took a fast step forward, then stilled. “I don’t want any more secrets. If you stay with me, I’ll tell you everything.”

“Don’t make a promise you can’t keep.”

“I’ll keep it. I swear.”

She kept her hand up. “Tell me that you didn’t kill Parker.” Skye hadn’t asked for the words before because she’d been afraid of his answer. But now…

“I didn’t kill Parker.”

Her lips trembled, then curved. “I need you.”

Skye thought he would strip before he joined her. The clothes had to be worth a small fortune but—

Trace didn’t strip.

He came straight into the shower, the water—pumping from two shower heads—poured down on them. His mouth took hers. The kiss was deep and hard. Consuming.

Exactly what she wanted.

Her hands closed around his shoulders. The water soaked his shirt, making the fabric cling to him. Her bare breasts pressed against his shirt-front, her nipples pebbling.

Trace.

Only Trace.

He was the one man who’d always been able to get past her defenses. The one man who could make her want and need more than anyone else.

His fingers slid down to her waist and he lifted her up against the marble wall of the shower. His mouth didn’t leave hers. His tongue thrust past her lips, and Skye arched toward him. In that moment, she was greedy and desperate for all that he’d give to her.

He was aroused. Trace’s thick cock pushed against the front of his pants, and she felt the ridge against her. She wanted that ridge in her.

Her hands shoved between them. She unhooked his belt. Fumbled enough to get the button and zipper undone, and then that thick, strong cock spilled out.

Two seconds later, his cock was just where she wanted it to be. Driving deep inside of her.

She cried out when he filled her because it felt so good. He thrust deep, as far as he could go. His hips pinned her, her legs clasped his hips, and his hands caught hers.

He pushed her hands back against the marble. Lifted them up high and held her prisoner while he thrust.

The pleasure built. She clamped down her inner muscles, holding him as tightly as she could. Faster, faster, harder, deeper…she was chanting and she didn’t care.

Trace was fucking her, and this moment—this—was what she needed to banish the hell around them.

She came with a fury, exploding hard and fast as the orgasm rocketed through her. It took her breath. Made the world grow dim for an instant, and she reveled in it.

He came right after her. Another hard thrust, then he was pumping within her. He kissed her while he came, and Skye was sure that she could taste his pleasure.

There was no room for doubt. It was just her. Just him.

Slowly, her feet slid from his hips and she—

Laughter escaped Skye. The water was still just as warm. Jetting down just as powerfully. And… “You left your shoes on.”

He smiled down at her. One of his real, rare smiles. The kind that made the dark, cold places inside of her feel a little bit warmer.

“I was afraid that if I stopped to take them off, you’d change your mind.”

His words, so gruff, had her pressing a fast kiss to his lips.

“You didn’t run when I confessed. You believed in me,” Trace rasped the words against her lips. “I had to have you.”

And she’d needed him the same way.

He turned off the spray of water. Tossed away his soaked clothes. Ditched the Italian shoes.

He’d been wearing his shoes!

Then he wrapped her in a towel. So carefully. They went into his bedroom. Their bedroom. The darkness surrounded them as they slid into the bed. She put her fingers over his heart, reassured by the steady beat. Then her fingers trailed to the right, just a few inches. To the thick, red scar that marked his chest.

Trace had been shot by the bastard who’d abducted her. Skye tried not to think about what could have happened if Mitch Loxley had been a better shot.

I can’t think about that. She bent and put her head over his heart, needing to hear that strong beat.

His fingers brushed back her wet hair. “You are the most important person in my life.” His words rumbled beneath her. “I will do anything it takes in order to keep you safe.”

She squeezed her eyes shut because that anything—it was what she feared most.

***

Skye was in the basement once again. Handcuffed to the pole that wouldn’t move. She’d screamed and she’d screamed, but no one had come to save her.

She knew that she was going to die in that pit.

“Trace!” His name was a desperate cry from her. He would be the last person that she thought of. The last man that she—

“Why do you call for him?” The voice drifted from the darkness. “He’s the reason you’re here.”

She shook her head and yanked harder on the cuffs.

“You’re hurting, you’re dying for him.”

“Let me go!” Skye begged. “Just let me—”

Then she saw the glinting flash of a blade. The knife slashed down toward her chest.

Skye screamed.

***

“It’s okay,” Trace said, his arms strong and warm around her. “I’ve got you.”

Her breath expelled in heaving pants. Her gaze flew around the room. Sunlight slipped through the curtains.

“The dreams will stop,” he said, as his fingers stroked reassuringly down her arm. “One day, the memories will fade.”

Only this hadn’t been her usual bad dream. A new, terrifying twist had slipped into her nightmare.

“Your memories haven’t faded any,” she told him, too aware of the drying tears on her cheeks. “How long has it been since you watched Anna Jean die?”

“Five years.”

She had that to look forward to? Years of nightmares and memories that haunted her? Great.

But at least I’m alive.

Yet that time period also gave her pause. She turned in his arms and stared up at him. “If Tucker really survived, then don’t you think he would’ve come after you by now?”

A dark growth of stubble lined his hard job. “Sharpe was right when he said that you were my weakness. The whole world knows how I feel about you.” He brought her hand to his lips. Lightly kissed her ring finger.

“Because you killed to keep me alive,” she whispered.

“I kept your picture with me back then, just like I told you. Tucker saw it. All of my teammates did. So did my enemies.” His fingers kept stroking her. “Once I fell behind enemy lines on a retrieval mission that went south, and I was tortured for hours.”

She hated the thought of him in such pain.

“They were good, I’ll give them that. Never left a sign on me. But then, that’s what water boarding is all about, right? Destruction on the inside.”

She’d never realized he was in such danger. He’d been in the military, she’d worried for him but—I never knew this.

Maybe she hadn’t let herself think the worst.

“I made a mistake by having your picture with me. My captors took it. Taunted me. Told me that they’d find you. Rape you. Kill you.” His voice was so wooden that he chilled her. “But they were the ones to die. Most of ‘em, anyway. A few slipped away. I got out, thanks to Noah and Tucker. And when I was free, Tucker gave your photo back to me.” His eyes blazed down at her. “He knew, even then, how much you meant.”

She hadn’t known.

“But when I came back to the U.S., I didn’t go to you.”

“You just sent guards instead.”

He nodded. “They’d threatened to hurt you. They knew what type of missions I’d completed. I’d attacked their allies before. The men who escaped could’ve come after you. They could’ve told others…I just couldn’t risk anything happening to you.”

Except he’d missed one huge basic step. She lifted her hand and cupped his jaw. She loved the slightly rough feel of his stubble against her palm. “Next time, tell me. We’re partners, so that means you can’t leave me in the dark.”

He nodded. “If I’d…if I’d come to you then, what would you have done?” But then he shook his head, as if he regretted the question. “You were with the choreographer then, so you wouldn’t—”

The choreographer. Her jaw dropped. “You knew exactly when I was sleeping with Robert?”