No way. Screw this. Trace stepped forward. He caught Skye’s hand. Threaded his fingers through hers. Together, they faced the cop.

“A slit throat. A knife wound directly to the heart. This sure does seem familiar.” Alex’s brows furrowed. “Is it seeming familiar to you, too, Weston?”

Sharpe’s murder. “Yeah, it’s familiar.” So why bullshit when they could cut right to the chase? “Two similar kills in the same city. Looks like you’ve got someone hunting here, Detective.”

“Yes, I do.”

Trace shifted his gaze to Skye. “But it’s not her, and you know it.”

“You’re so sure?”

Yes, he was. “Wounds like you’re describing…I know what they can do.” Too well. “When Parker’s throat was cut, there would have been spray. The blood would have gone straight toward the attacker. Gotten on the skin. The clothes.” He tightened his hold on Skye. “She doesn’t have a drop of blood on her.”

“She did…Skye had a few drops on her fingers.”

“Because I tried to help him!” Skye said. “I told you that already!”

“You knew he was dead from the first glance, Skye.” Alex fired back at her. “Doesn’t make sense to save the dead.”

“It does if you’re desperate.”

Alex slapped his hand against the top of patrol car. “You hated the man. You think I don’t know that? After what he did? Look, when I found out, I wanted to beat his ass, too. But you know what you don’t do? You don’t try to save the man who nearly raped you. The man tried to run you down and kill you. No one does that shit so stop lying to me.”

“That’s enough,” Trace told the detective, his voice hard and grim. “You don’t talk to her like that. No one does.” And sure as hell not in front of him. “Skye’s answered your questions. You can see clearly that there is no arterial blood spray on her—”

Alex’s brows shot up.

“She didn’t kill him. Now you can back off. Any other questions can be handled through my attorney, Craig Guthrie.”

“I never thought she’d killed him,” Alex snapped back. “The guy’s head was nearly severed, and she sure doesn’t look like she has the strength to do that. But you…” Now his stare swept over Trace. “I think it would be easy for you to do something like that. Especially if rage was pumping through you. Making you crazy.”

“We should leave,” Skye said. She shifted from her right foot to her left.

“You killed for her once before, right, Weston?” Alex was still pushing. Pushing. “Did you do it again? You were furious when I told you that Parker had made bail—”

Hell, yes, he had been. “Because he could’ve come after Skye again!”

“Trace.” Skye’s voice was urgent.

“And you had to stop him, right? Had to make sure that he never had the chance to get at her again.”

Trace lifted his hands, and Skye’s hand rose with him because he wasn’t loosening his hold on her. “Do you see blood on me?”

“Maybe you were out changing. That’s why I didn’t find you at the crime scene.”

“Good luck proving that.”

The body was loaded into the back of the coroner’s van. Covered in a black bag, zipped up, then shoved in the rear of the vehicle.

Probably not the ending that Parker had expected.

“How’d you know to come down to this alley?” Alex demanded. Suspicion filled his gaze. “If you’re such an innocent guy, Weston.”

“I was looking for Skye. When I got to the street, it was rather damn hard to miss the flashing lights.”

Alex advanced until he and Trace nearly stood nose to nose. “You think I don’t know what you are?” Alex whispered.

“I think you have no clue.” The noise around Trace dimmed. “And believe me, you don’t want to push me.”

“I can see right through the veneer you wear. You’re a killer. Through and through.”

Trace smiled.

“Enough!” Skye demanded. “Just…stop!” Then she shoved between them. “If you want me to come down to the station and answer more questions, Alex, I will—”

“With our attorney,” Trace threw in.

“He’s not our attorney. He’s yours. And I don’t have anything to hide.” Her breath heaved out. “Neither does Trace. He wasn’t even here.”

“So where was he?” Alex queried. “I mean, I’m sure he has an alibi. Just like last time, right?”

Not exactly. “I was in my office. Working.”

“And someone can verify that?”

“I’m sure my assistant, Sara, can.” Like she’d ever go against anything he said. Sara owed him.

“Right. Your assistant.” Alex’s lips twisted.

“I-I have a class to teach.” Skye suddenly blurted. “I have to go. It starts at two.”

Now that seemed to surprise Alex. “Skye, you can’t—”

“I’m not just going to leave my students.” She was adamant. “It’s four blocks away. If you need me, you know where to find me.” Then she marched away from the detective, and she kept her grip on Trace, pulling him with her.

Alex’s glare followed them.

A crowd had gathered to watch the scene. Curious folks who were whispering about the murder that had happened so close to them. There were a lot of murders in that city each year—too many—but when the crime was fresh, the fear struck everyone the strongest.

Skye was silent as they walked down the street. Trace noticed that she had her left hand shoved into the pocket of her sweatshirt. Her right hand held his. But, after a few more feet, she pulled away from him.

“Skye,” he began.

“Not here.”

Trace had to strain to hear her words.

“Not yet,” Skye added.

He frowned at that response.

Then they were back at her studio. A few dancers were waiting outside, their gear bags at their feet. Skye pasted on a smile for them, welcoming each person.

She unlocked the door. Waved them inside.

When the dancers slipped in to begin their stretches, Skye turned back to him. She seemed to brace herself in the doorway. Her eyes searched his. “You’re glad he’s dead.”

He saw no point in lying about that. “I’m sorry you found him. I wish you’d never seen him that way.”

A laugh—no, a sob?—trembled from her lips. “That’s not what you’re supposed to say. He was butchered in that alley and thrown away.”

He braced his hand up on the door frame. “Tell me the truth, baby. Aren’t you glad he’s dead?”

The little bit of color in her cheeks bleached away.

Trace tensed. “Skye…”

“I-I have to take care of my class.”

“I’ll wait for you.” Because she looked so fragile.

“No.” Her immediate denial. “I-I’ll come to you when I finish today. We need to talk.”

“You found a dead body. Do you really think I’m just going to walk away and leave you on your own?” When it looked like she could shatter any minute?

“I want you to walk away now, Trace. I’ll come to you.”

Something was off. “Why were you in that alley?”

She glanced over his shoulder. He didn’t even need to turn his head in order to see the uniform who waited on the other side of the street. Trace had been aware of the guy following them from the crime scene. No doubt, on Alex’s orders. “I went for a walk,” she said, her voice wooden.

Lie.

“I’ll come to you.” Then she left him as she went inside her studio.

Trace turned around slowly. His eyes locked with the cop’s.

First, Sharpe had been killed.

Now Parker.

Who would be next?

I won’t risk her. With his eyes on the cop, Trace pulled out his phone. Two seconds later, Reese was on the line. “I need you to guard Skye.”

She’d be furious when she found out what he’d done, but she’d be alive.

***

Skye had made it through the day. Her muscles ached, her stomach was tied in knots, and she was limping.

For the first time in ages, that damn limp couldn’t be controlled.

She pulled on her sweatshirt and shorts. Grabbed her bag. And when she went outside, Skye wasn’t even mildly surprised to find Reese waiting on her. After what had happened, she’d known Trace would be back to his old routine.

Reese focused on her face. “Not gonna yell at me for doing my job, are you?”

“Too tired to yell. Well, at you, anyway.”

His lips hitched up into a half-smile.

“Take me to him,” Skye said as she climbed into the back of the car.

Reese nodded and closed the door behind her.

When the car eased down the street, her gaze found the alley and the line of bright, yellow police tape that sealed it off. She couldn’t get the sight of Parker’s body out of her mind. His neck…I will never forget that image. She could still smell the blood, too. Blood and garbage and death.

She’d hated Parker.

But had the man deserved to die like that? Did anyone?

Her hands tightened on her bag. Life wasn’t supposed to be like this. She wasn’t supposed to be so afraid.

And she sure wasn’t supposed to fear the man she loved.

All too soon, they were pulling up to the curb. She didn’t wait for Reese to come back to her. Skye jumped out of the car. Henry was waiting at the door. He frowned at her. “Ms. Sullivan, are you all right?”

She was far from that. “I’m fine.” She didn’t slow down because she didn’t want Henry looking too closely at her.

When the private elevator doors closed behind her, Skye exhaled in relief. Goosebumps covered her whole body.

Parker’s head had nearly been severed from his body.

Was that what it had been like for Sharpe, too? Had that poor man been attacked so viciously?

Only a monster would kill like that.

The elevator stopped its ascent. Skye crept out and made her way inside the penthouse.

The door squeaked open.

Trace sat on the couch, waiting. He was leaning forward, his hands between his knees.

His eyes locked on her.

For an instant, she thought about turning and running.

“Skye?”

She shut the door behind her.

He didn’t move, but he watched her with the gaze of a predator. Part of her wondered if he was about to pounce.

“I realized today…” She took a step toward him. “I would do anything for you.”

“You know I would do—”

“You would never hurt me. I’m certain of that. Not physically, anyway.”

He jerked as if she’d struck him.

“But there are other ways to hurt,” she whispered. Another step brought her closer to him. Her fingers were tight on the straps of her bag.

“It’s the guards,” he said, swallowing. She heard the faint click of his throat. His hair was tousled, as if he’d plunged his fingers through it over and over again. “I’ve told you about my enemies…”

He hadn’t told her enough. “Sharpe was here. He threatened me.”

She remembered that instant so clearly. She couldn’t forget how Trace had reacted. Are you threatening her? She glanced to the left. Trace had put his forearm under the man’s throat. Right there. In that exact spot.

She wet her lips. “And Parker tried to kill us both.” Her gaze turned back to him. “Both of those men…they threatened me, and they wound up dead.”

His eyes widened. “You think I killed them?”

“I think you killed to protect me before.” But this…this wasn’t the same. “But Sharpe—he never so much as touched me. He needed help, Trace. He needed—”

Trace shot to his feet. “Why haven’t you asked me if I killed them?”

Her fingers shook, fumbled, and dove into the bag. She found what she needed and she lifted the object, her hand a fist around it. “I found this on top of Parker’s body.”

She dropped the dog tag onto the end table.

“Your name, Trace. Your tag.”

“Fuck.”

She felt the same way.

He lifted his hands, as if he’d touch her, but then he hesitated. “They’re not my kills.”

She studied his eyes, searching desperately. She’d been able to see his lie before, but this time, Sky just wasn’t sure. He’s too good at hiding from everyone, even me. “I can’t tell when you’re lying or when you’re telling the truth. There should be some sign, right? I should know?”

“They’re not.”

“You lied about your alibi at the time of Sharpe’s murder.”

“I told you, I was back here. You were sleeping.”

“And…I tried to call you before I found Parker’s body, but you didn’t answer me. Not on your cell, not on your office’s private line.”

His jaw hardened.

“You weren’t in your office, Trace.” That had been another lie.

“I wasn’t in the alley killing Parker!”

Her gaze fell to the dog tag. “I didn’t hesitate. When I saw that on him, right in the middle of all that blood, I took it.” Her arms wrapped around her stomach. “What does that make me?”

The violent image was there again, rising fast in her mind. Parker’s head, sagging back against the dirty ground. The blood thick around him. A twisted smile where his neck should have been.