Mine to Keep (Mine #2)(61)
Author: Cynthia Eden

A muffled cry reached Skye’s ears. She frowned. That cry had come from the bathroom. “Claire?” Skye called.

“She wasn’t feeling well,” Piper told her, blinking, and glancing toward the bathroom door. “She said she kept seeing her sister.” A bitter laugh escaped her. “I guess they took both our sisters away, didn’t they?”

Skye hurried toward the bathroom. She knocked lightly on the wooden door. “Claire?”

The floor squeaked behind Skye.

She lifted her hand and knocked on the door. “Claire, are you okay?”

Something sharp and hard—a knife?—pressed into Skye’s back, freezing her. Terrifying her.

“I wouldn’t worry so much about Claire. She’s already dead but you…you still have plenty of time to suffer.” Piper’s breath blew against Skye’s ear. “And don’t even think about screaming, bitch. You raise your voice above a whisper, and I will slit your throat in an instant.”

***

Trace slammed on the brakes. The Jag stopped with a squeal of its tires. “You take the back,” Trace ordered Noah as they jumped from the car.

“And you storm the front.” Noah inclined his head. “Just like old times.”

Screw old times. Trace had taken his weapon from the car. After Sharpe’s death, he’d made sure to keep the gun close. He checked the weapon. Loaded. Ready. Then he ran toward the apartment. Reese should be upstairs, waiting and—

Noah cried out, the sound sharp and full of pain.

Trace whirled around.

Noah was on the cement, sprawled beneath a street lamp. Blood poured from beneath his body.

“Noah!” Trace yelled. Then he realized what was happening.

Shooter.

Trace dove for cover, but he moved a second too late, and he felt the burn of the bullet slice across the side of his face.

A silencer. The SOB was up there, trying to kill them both without making a sound.

Trace ducked behind the Jag. This wasn’t his first shoot-out. He might be rusty, but he knew this game, and he knew how to find the shooter. Based on the angle of those shots…his gaze swept up and to the left. Those bullets had come from the second story. Corner apartment.

Reese’s apartment?

“H-help…” Noah gasped out the plea.

Trace jerked his gaze back to his friend.

Had the shooter heard that cry? If so, he’d know Noah was still alive. Alive and a sitting duck.

Another shot would end Noah.

Trace knew he couldn’t just sit there and watch his friend die. Even if that was the killer’s plan.

Trace glanced up at the apartment. You want me? Then take your best shot. He sucked in a deep breath. An image of Skye flashed before him.

Come back to me.

He would. He would.

***

“People have no defense against an innocent face,” Piper said, sounding not the least bit shattered or scared any longer. Now, she sounded satisfied. Smug. “Men think you’re weak, and they want to protect you, and women, well, they think you’re a friend, so they let their guard down when you’re close.”

Skye was still facing the bathroom door. She’d heard no other sound from inside, but when she glanced down, she saw blood slipping from under the bathroom door.

Claire!

“Did you see her wrist?” Piper asked. “It looks like Claire tried to kill herself once. I noticed that right away. Weak bitch. I guess I helped her out this time.”

Skye tried to keep her muscles loose. “You’re not Piper, are you?”

Laughter.

And she had her answer. “You’re Anna Jean.”

The blade sliced across Skye’s back. She cried out.

“Give the bitch a cookie!” Anna Jean jerked Skye around to face her. Skye’s shoulders hit the bathroom door. “All I had to do was make myself look a little bit more like my goody two-shoes sister. Then they all stared right at me, and they believed every lie I told them.”

Skye glanced over Anna Jean’s shoulders. “Not everyone believed them.” And that was why Trace had left a guard behind. Skye tried to act like she was looking at that guard right then.

Anna Jean’s jaw dropped open. “Drake?” Then she was whirling around to face what she obviously thought was a new threat, her body vibrating with tension as she tried to follow Skye’s stare.

Only Drake wasn’t standing there.

Skye slammed her body into Anna Jean’s and she screamed as loud as she possibly could. They hit the floor. Skye grabbed two handfuls of Anna Jean’s still wet hair, and she slammed the woman’s face into the floor. Once, twice.

But Anna Jean broke free. She slashed out with the knife, and it sliced over Skye’s forearm. Skye jerked back, hissing out at the pain.

“That’s just the start,” Anna Jean promised.

Drake threw open the door. “Skye!”

Anna Jean grabbed Skye and put the knife to her throat. “Now the hero’s here,” she snarled.

The blade nicked Skye’s throat.

“Anna Jean,” Drake whispered. One of his hands held the gun—a weapon that was pointed at Skye and Anna Jean. “I see you now.”

“And I see you!” Her words were a scream. “All this time, I thought it was Trace! I couldn’t remember what happened to me—every time I closed my eyes, I saw the snow and the blood and I heard screams.”

Drake took a step forward.

“I lost four toes, Drake! It was so cold out there. You left me in the cold.”

Drake’s face hardened. Emotion—emotion that Skye couldn’t name—burned in his eyes.

“I was in that shit-hole of a hospital for months! Barely living, in pain every single day. And it was because of you!”

“Anna Jean—”

“Don’t!” Anna Jean cried out. The knife sliced across Skye’s throat. Skye felt the wet warmth of her blood sliding down her neck. “Take another step, and you know I’ll cut her throat open. I’ll enjoy doing it.”

Drake didn’t move.

“Trace’s dog tags were left.” Now Anna Jean’s voice was hoarse. “The men who found me, they said he’d been the one.”

“The men who found you,” Drake repeated. In contrast to Anna Jean, his voice was thick with tension. Anger. No, rage. “They were your partners, Anna Jean. They were the men you sent to kill us.”

Anna Jean laughed then. “But here you are, still breathing.”

“So are you,” he pointed out. He still had his gun up, but Skye knew he wouldn’t take the shot, not while Anna Jean was using her as a shield.