Mine to Keep

by Cynthia Eden

  ***

  “A few months after Sara came to work for me, she told me about her sister.” Trace remembered the way Sara had approached him. She’d been so hesitant. So protective.

  “Claire had a boyfriend when she was a teen. He was charming to Claire and her family, at first, but the deeper the relationship went, the more his real side started to show.”

  Alex cursed. “Let me guess, that real side was ugly.”

  “If Claire was late for a date, he thought she was cheating on him. He started by yelling at her, threatening her, and then…he hit her.”

  “Bastard.” Trace heard the fury humming in the one snarled word.

  Trace nodded. Yes, Ethan Harrison was one sick bastard. “Claire was scared. She broke things off with him. Her parents sent her out of town because they wanted her away from the guy.” Trace’s lips twisted. “He had connections, you see. To an Alabama senator. That was his old man, and the punk was used to getting authorities to look the other way whenever he got a little rough with his girlfriends.”

  Red stained Alex’s cheeks.

  “But something was different this time. Ethan didn’t want to take no for an answer. Not when it came to Claire. He went to see Claire’s parents, and when they wouldn’t tell him where she was…”

  ***

  “He killed them,” Claire whispered. “One shot to the head each. First my mother. Then my father. Th-the police said that based on the blood…they were probably kneeling. He made them kneel, right in front of him, then he shot them.”

  Skye jumped from her chair and hurried to Claire. She opened her arms, then stopped.

  I don’t like to be touched.

  “He found me,” Claire said, still staring into her past. “Right after that. I think he must have searched the house until he found a note that I’d sent to them. He came looking for me at the cabin. He had the gun with him.”

  “I’m so sorry,” Skye whispered.

  “I didn’t know they were dead when he arrived. I’d been trying to reach them, but no one answered my calls. He was walking toward me on the dock.” She gave a sad shake of her head. “It was an old, rickety dock at my grandfather’s fishing cabin. Ethan’s convertible stood out there like a sore thumb. But he didn’t care who saw him. He didn’t care what anyone said. He was coming for me.”

  “He didn’t get you,” Skye said, her voice hard. “You’re safe.”

  Claire blinked. She seemed to see Skye once more. “He did get me that day. He found me on the dock. He put the gun to my head. He made me get on my knees.”

  Dear God.

  “And he pulled the trigger. He laughed when I screamed and he told me that he’d already used those bullets.”

  On Claire’s parents.

  “He told me that I could be his or I could be dead.”

  ***

  “The senator couldn’t cover up two dead bodies. The cops started a manhunt, and they found Ethan two days later—he was in the woods with Claire.”

  Trace could still see Sara in his mind. She’d stood in front of his desk, her voice soft, emotionless, as she’d told him this tale.

  “A sniper shot Ethan in the leg. The cops got Claire away from him.”

  “The leg?” Alex’s eyes turned to slits. “He should’ve aimed higher.”

  Yes, he should have. But the senator had been standing behind the sniper, and it had been his call.

  “They took Ethan in and that’s when the SOB got real creative. His daddy got him the best lawyers he could, and they claimed that Claire was the mastermind. That she was the one who’d seduced Ethan and pressured him into killing her parents. He was just an innocent boy who’d been led astray.”

  “Tell me the jury didn’t buy that bull.”

  “Claire tried to kill herself during the trial.”

  Alex tensed.

  “She was admitted to a psychiatric ward, and she stayed there for five months.”

  “Sonofa—”

  “The jury didn’t buy his story. They found Ethan Harrison guilty of both murders.”

  “I hope they scheduled him an appointment with the needle or shoved his ass in the electric chair.”

  “The judge gave him two concurrent life sentences.”

  “So what—the asshole could be out in fifteen years, provided he has good behavior?”

  “He was almost out three years ago,” Trace said. Sara’s image was crisp in his mind. I know I don’t have the right to ask, but I need help. And I swear, I’ll work off the money. I will. “His daddy was still throwing his money around, and he hired new lawyers. An appeal was going up before the court.”

  “I’m guessin’ this is where you come in…”

  “Sara thought it was a matter of money. Convincing the right people that Ethan Harrison needed to stay in jail. But, of course, bribery is against the law. You know that well, Detective.”

  Alex held his gaze. “Sometimes, it’s not about money. It’s about power. And we both know you have too damn much of that.”

  ***

  “People believed him when Ethan said I told him to kill my parents. I could see it…people who’d known me for my entire life were suddenly doubting me. Strangers called me a whore. Men on the street shouted that I should die. So…I thought maybe I should.” Claire glanced down at her wrist. Skye saw the faint, white line there. “I’d almost bled out by the time Sara found me.”

  I’m so glad Claire didn’t see Sara covered in all of that blood.

  “I got better,” Claire said with grim pride. Then she whispered, “But the nightmares never stopped.”

  They were about two feet apart. Claire was a few inches taller than Skye. A little younger. But, on the inside, Skye felt as if they were the same.

  “I have nightmares, too.” Skye said. “Sometimes, they’re memories. Other times, they twist. They become something else.”

  “Yes.”

  “But when I wake up each day, those nightmares fade away.” That was the way it had been when her parents died, and that was the way it happened for her now. “Because nightmares can’t hurt us. We’re alive. We’re getting through this world, one step at a time, and it doesn’t matter what anyone else says or what anyone else calls us.” Skye willed Claire to believe what she was saying. “All that matters is that we know…we’re survivors.”

  Claire rubbed at her eyes, obviously trying to stop the tears. “He almost got out a few years back. On some kind of-of technicality.” Her chin lifted. “But Sara fixed that for me. She had connections, see. She used them. They sent him back. She told me that Ethan would never hurt me again.”

  “She was protecting you. Sara sounds like one incredible sister.”

  “She was. I just-I wish I could’ve protected her.”

  ***

  “What the hell is your deal, Weston?” Alex demanded. He jabbed his index finger into Trace’s chest. “You know I want to hate you.”

  “Yeah,” Trace replied, “I got that clue.”

  “You’re twisted. I can feel it in you. I know because—”

  “Because when you look at me, you see the same darkness that stares back at you from the mirror each day?”

  Alex clamped his lips together and yanked his hand back. He stomped down the hallway.

  “Dammit to hell.” Alex’s growl.

  Trace lifted a brow that the detective couldn’t see.

  “Fine,” Alex snapped. “You can see the other two bodies, but you so much as touch them, and I’ll have you in a cage.” He threw a glare over his shoulder. “Understand me?”

  “You’re welcome,” Trace told him.

  More red heated Alex’s cheeks.

  “And that ‘you’re welcome’—it was actually for me not going straight to the DA and demanding that your ass get yanked to traffic duty after that little stunt you pulled with the search warrant.” As if Trace had forgotten about that incident. He took his time heading down the hall. “You were right when you said I had plenty of power. Remember
that the next time you feel the urge to get…overzealous with me.”

  “The door…” Alex huffed out the words, “is to the damn left.”

  Trace inclined his head. Then he opened the door. Inside, the temperature was a good five degrees cooler, and the room smelled of bleach.

  And death.

  A tall, curvy redhead appeared. She pushed her glasses higher on her nose and frowned at Trace. “Can I help you—”

  “Dr. Dulane,” Alex said as he followed Trace inside, “we need to see the three stabbing victims.”

  Dr. Dulane shook her head. “But I was just finishing some work on the female—”

  “Sara,” Trace forced the name out. “Her name is Sara Kramer.”

  Sympathy flashed over Dr. Dulane’s face. “Are you family?”

  “Close,” Trace said.

  Alex added, “Her family’s outside. Her sister needs to see the body. Get her…presentable, would you, doc? Face only. The woman out there needs some closure.”

  Dr. Dulane pulled on a pair of latex gloves. “Seeing the dead here never gives them closure.” She inclined her head. “But I’ll do what I can.” Her gaze flashed back to Trace. “Come with me, and I’ll show you the others.”

  She led them into the back.

  When Trace saw Sara, he stumbled to a stop. Her body was drained of color now. Her hair spread behind her. The blood had been washed away. She looked—

  Broken.

  I’m so sorry, Sara. I will find him. I will make him pay for what he did.

  Trace jerked his gaze off her, and he found Alex staring straight at him. “Watching my reaction?” Trace growled at him.

  “Your reactions are always off, unless Skye is close. That’s the only time you ever seem even half-way normal.”

  Well, when he was with her, those were the only times he felt normal, too. Alive. Instead of feeling as if he were just going through the motions. Mimicking everyone else around him.

  “Her attacker drove a blade into her heart,” Dr. Dulane said. “Based on the size of her injury, I think it was the same type of blade used on the other two victims. But this time…there were defensive wounds.”

  She pulled back the sheet and pointed to Sara’s wrists. “The bruising is coming through. It looks like he had to restrain her.”

  Take care of my sister. “Sara had something to fight for.”

  “Did she get the perp’s DNA?” Alex asked. “Tell me you found it under her fingernails.”

  Dr. Dulane shook her head.

  “There were no signs of forced entry at Ms. Kramer’s house,” Alex said. “And she was…dressed provocatively.”

  “She was sleeping with the man who killed her.” Trace had already figured that part out himself.

  “She didn’t sleep with him the day she died. There was no sperm,” Dr. Dulane said with a shake of her head. “No sign of any sexual penetration.”

  So the guy hadn’t fucked her before he killed her. Was that supposed to be some kind of mercy act?

  Trace wanted to destroy the bastard.

  “Show us the other bodies,” Alex directed.

  Dr. Dulane headed toward a wall of vaults. She bent. Swung open one door, and pulled out a slab. A black body bag filled the space. The hiss of the zipper seemed too loud as Dr. Dulane revealed the body.

  Sharpe’s body was ghost-white. His eyes were closed. His muscles tight and frozen in death.

  “A two-sided blade went into his chest here,” Dr. Dulane said, tapping her gloved fingers near the wound. “The assailant knew exactly what he was doing. The attack was dead-on.”

  Trace had already reviewed the report, so he knew about the type of blade used.

  Tucker had always carried a two sided weapon. Always. “There were no signs of struggle?” Trace asked. There had to be something there. If the killer had left Trace’s dog tags with Parker, then some sort of message had been left with Sharpe.

  Trace just had to find the message.

  “None. The fact that Mr. Sharpe didn’t have time to struggle is a good thing. It meant he probably didn’t have long to suffer.”

  “He would’ve wanted to fight.” Dying easily hadn’t been Ben Sharpe’s style.

  “I’ll be damned. You have an idea who the killer is, don’t you?” Alex suddenly demanded.

  Trace looked over his shoulder at the detective. “Not yet.”

  Alex’s gaze called Trace a liar.

  “Nothing else was found with the body?” Trace asked. He had to be missing something.

  But then his gaze fell on Sharpe’s throat. On the wound there. “That’s wrong.”

  Alex pressed closer. “Yeah, getting your throat sliced open is wrong and—”

  “No, I mean the wound looks wrong.” His stare flashed to Dr. Dulane. “I need to see Parker’s body. Now.”

  She opened the next vault. A burst of cold air drifted out, rising as the body bag appeared.

  The zipper hissed down. Trace leaned forward, studying the knife wound at Parker’s throat. Parker’s throat had been sliced clean, from ear to ear.

  But with Sharpe…

  “The wound stopped half-way across.” He could see the jagged V where the knife had lifted out of Ben Sharpe’s throat for an instant. “Then the killer finished the job.”

  Not a defensive wound.

  A hesitation?

  Why? The kill had already been complete by that point.

  Then, understanding came. You didn’t want to cut his throat.

  He whirled around and rushed back to Sara’s body. He stared at her throat and saw that same V notch on the skin. Just a jagged tear, but Trace knew exactly what he was staring at. You didn’t want to cut her throat, either. But you did.

  “The killer hesitated with her, too,” Trace said.

  “I-I made note of the injury pattern in the file,” Dr. Dulane said, sounding a bit offended. “I measured the wound and included that—”

  “You didn’t say the killer hesitated,” Alex snapped.

  “Because you can’t know that for sure! Maybe the blade slipped. Maybe—”

  “Why didn’t he hesitate with Parker?” Alex asked, focusing on Trace.

  Trace knew the answer, and that made this dangerous game even more complicated. “Because he thought Parker deserved to die.”

  And if that were truly the case, then it meant that the killer had been watching him—and Skye—very closely.

  For a long time.

  You know about our pasts. And you’re using them against us.

  ***

  Claire edged carefully into the morgue. Skye was at her side. Skye had only been in a morgue once before. When she’d gone to identify the bodies of her parents.

  The smell was the same. The cold chill—one that reminded her of death—it was the same, too.

  A redhead in a white lab coat stood near the door. “Ms. Kramer?”

  Claire nodded.

  Alex appeared beside the redhead. “This way.”

  Claire shuffled forward. Skye hesitated. This was private. She shouldn’t go in.

  But Claire turned toward her. “Come with me?”

  Skye nodded. She entered the viewing room with her chin up.

  Sara was on the table. Her body was covered with a sheet, all the way up to the top of her neck. Only her face was visible. Her face was perfect. No wounds. No pain.

  “It wasn’t him,” Claire whispered. “H-he always shoots in the head. It wasn’t him.”

  Then Claire grabbed Skye and held onto her tightly.

  Skye stared over Claire’s shoulder. Her gaze locked with Trace’s. He’d been there, watching them all along. His eyes glinted.

  No, a monster from Claire’s past hadn’t committed this crime.

  Sara had just gotten caught in someone else’s battle.

  Who else did the killer plan to hurt?

  ***

  Drake Archer drained the whiskey and slammed the glass on the bar. The liquid barely burned as it slid down his thro
at.

  Once, he’d turned to drinks too much. To try and shut up the ghosts in his head. But then he’d realized that the booze didn’t stop the voices.

  The alcohol just made them louder.

  “Another?” The bartender asked.

  Drake shook his head and tossed some cash onto the bar. He rose, aware of the looks that were tossed his way. He’d come to the darkest, roughest bar he could find. He liked places like this dive. Places that often let him fight and push out some of the wildness that lived within him. Places that reminded him of exactly where he’d come from.

  But there were no fights to be found tonight. The others eased away from him as he headed toward the door.

  Darkness waited outside for him. Drake rolled back his shoulders and stalked down the street.

  He’d been in a thousand towns. Walking. Fighting. Fucking. They all blurred together during the night, and when dawn came…

  I’m always alone.

  He turned off the main strip. The sounds were muted now. The horns distant. The growl of car engines barely discernible.

  He’d rented a place close by. Coming to the city had been a mistake. But when Noah had called him…

  Noah and Trace were the only friends I ever had.

  Friends, enemies. Same damn thing some days.

  He halted and heard the faint rustle of a footstep behind him.

  Such a soft sound. One that he could’ve imagined but—

  In instant, he’d yanked out the knife that he kept tucked in his boot. Ben Sharpe had been the one to get him hooked on that particular habit.

  Drake whirled around. “Who in the hell is there? Show yourself!”

  But only an empty street stared back at him. An empty street, and the ghosts in his head.