Mine to Keep (Mine #2)(33)
Author: Cynthia Eden

And she needed to figure out what she was going to say to Trace when she saw him again.

She hadn’t slept the night before. Just been in the dark, in that narrow bed, thinking about him.

Her phone rang then, the soft tone instantly alerting her because it was his ring tone.

Skye hurried over to the desk she’d set up. She grabbed the phone. “Trace—”

“He needs you.”

The voice was low and raspy. Definitely male. But…it didn’t sound like Trace. “Who is this?”

“Don’t you want to help him?”

Despite the sweat still drying on her, Skye felt chilled.

“The alley is just a few blocks away from you. Hurry. Go fast. Maybe you’ll save him.”

She didn’t move. “Is this some kind of joke?”

“Look for the art. He had a killer view.”

The call ended.

Skye pulled the phone from her ear. This was crazy. She immediately tried to call Trace back.

She just got his voice mail.

So she dialed his office. A direct line that should’ve connected her to him.

Voicemail.

What was going on?

Maybe you’ll save him.

Skye grabbed for her bag. Her pepper spray waited inside.

She rushed from the studio. Glanced to the left, then the right.

There was an art shop just four blocks away. She took off running. Maybe this was just some ridiculous prank.

Or maybe Trace needed her.

Her feet pounded over the cement. She dodged some pedestrians, barely paused at the stop lights, then, finally, she could see the sign for the art shop.

And, just beyond the shop, she glimpsed the little alley on its right.

Her hand dove into her bag. Her fingers closed around the pepper spray. Armed, Skye crept into the alley.

The scent hit her. Old garbage. Rotten food. And—something else. Something that sent an instinctive shudder through her.

“Trace?” Skye called. “Trace, are you there?”

Her phone rang then, vibrating—and peeling his ring tone.

She jerked and her left hand drew the phone out of her pocket. All the while, she kept a steady hold on her pepper spray. Her fingers swiped across the phone’s screen. “Listen,” she snapped. “I’m here and—”

“What?” Trace voice. Distinct. “Skye, where are you?”

“The alley.” Her words were quiet. She took another step forward.

She saw the foot then. A sneaker clad foot on the ground.

“What alley? Why are you there?” Trace demanded. Then, almost instantly, “Skye, get out of there, now.”

But it was too late.

Because she’d seen the foot, and she could also see the blood.

Bile rose in Skye’s throat as she stared down at Parker. His shirt was soaked a dark red, and his neck bulged open, a gaping smile of red where his throat should’ve been.

He was dead. She knew he was dead, but Skye still found herself dropping to her knees beside him. “Parker?”

“What?” Trace’s roar.

She dropped the phone. Skye leaned toward Parker. His eyes were closed. His face was ashen. And that terrible smell…

Gulping, she tried again, saying, “Parker?”

Then she saw that…something…was on his chest. Something small. Metal. Silver?

Right in the middle of all that blood.

Her eyes narrowed on the object.

It looked like a military dog tag. She inched closer and noticed the outline of the letters.

W-E-S-T-O-N.

“Skye?”

The shout came from the entrance of the alley.

Her hand swiped out. She grabbed the dog tag and shoved it into her pocket.

Footsteps thundered toward her.

She glanced up and met Alex’s shocked stare. Two uniformed officers stood behind him.

Those officers had their guns drawn and pointed straight at her.

Skye lifted her hands, holding her palms up. “I found him like this.”

Alex’s gaze was on the dead man. “That’s Parker Jacobs.”

“I didn’t kill him.”

His eyes lifted to study her hands. Crap. Had she gotten blood on her fingers when she snatched up that dog tag? “I-I saw him and tried to help.”

“There’s no helping the dead.”

No, there wasn’t.

Maybe he isn’t the one I was sent to help.

Skye rose, slowly. “I’m not a threat.”

Alex frowned.

“Th-the guns,” she said.

He looked back. Swore. “Drop the weapons!” Alex ordered, his voice snapping with command. “And call the ME. We’re gonna need the wagon for this one.”

He advanced toward her. Skye realized that she’d dropped her bag and her phone. They were still on the ground near the body.

And, of course, her phone would begin to vibrate and ring right at that exact moment.

An image of Trace filled the phone’s screen.

Chapter Nine

Police cruisers blocked the mouth of the alley. Trace jumped from his vehicle and rushed forward, but a uniformed cop held up a hand, blocking his way. “Sorry, sir, but you need to step back.”

What he needed was to find out what the hell was happening.

As if on cue, a dark van pulled up behind him. The side of the van held two simple words written in garish yellow: County Coroner.

Then he saw her. Trace caught a glimpse of Skye’s dark hair as she bent near the side of a patrol car. She was climbing into the back seat of that cruiser.

Being arrested?

He lunged toward her. “Skye!”

Her head turned at his call, and the man next to her straightened. Trace wasn’t particularly surprised to see Alex Griffin there.

“What happened?” Trace demanded. He wanted to reach for Skye and pull her into his arms, but after the scene last night, he didn’t know how she’d react to his touch. To him.

“I found Parker’s body.” Her voice was low.

His heart wouldn’t slow down.

“He’d been stabbed. And his throat was slit.”

And she’d seen that.

He glanced away from her too pale face and found Alex watching him. The suspicion was obvious in the man’s gaze.

“I just got here,” Trace growled at him. “Go talk to your uniforms. They saw me arrive.”

Because he’d raced like hell across town. When Skye’s phone had cut out, and she hadn’t answered his calls back, Trace had panicked.

“Oh, don’t worry, I’ll definitely be talking to the uniforms.” Alex focused his attention back on Skye. “I still don’t understand why you were in that alley.”