by Cynthia Eden
Chapter Twelve
“I want you to come with me,” Trace said, his voice and eyes tense as he gazed down at Skye.
They’d just dropped Claire off at the studio. Skye had made sure that Claire was settled in the upstairs apartment. She’d hated to leave Claire, but she’d realized that the other woman needed time alone.
Sometimes, you needed to grieve in private.
“Where are you going?” Skye asked him.
“Texas.”
She blinked at that terse response. “Why?”
“Because that’s where Tucker grew up. I need to take another look at that town, at the people there. I could send some more agents but…it’s personal.”
“I-I have my studio. Classes will—”
“Tomorrow’s Sunday. You don’t have any classes scheduled then, and we’ll be back Sunday night.” His voice dropped. “Please, Skye. I don’t want to leave you here while I’m gone. I need you with me.”
“What about Claire?”
“Reese will keep watch on her. Hell, I’ll call Noah, too. They’ll make sure she’s safe.”
Skye nodded. “Okay.”
His breath expelled in a fast rush. “Thank you, baby.” His fingers slid up to cup her chin. “I need you close right now. I think about what happened to Sara—that can’t happen to you.”
She pressed a quick kiss to his lips. “And it won’t happen to you.” Her vow.
***
The plane rose higher and higher into the air. Trace kept his gaze locked on Skye as they ascended.
Her eyes were currently squeezed tightly closed. Skye hated flying.
The light flashed indicating that he could unbuckle his seatbelt. He did, then slid forward and pressed a quick kiss to her lips.
Skye’s eyes flew open. “Trace—”
He kissed her again. Her lips had parted, and he was able to easily slide his tongue right into her mouth. “Do you remember the first time we made love on this plane?”
She gave a little gasp at that question, and he drank it up greedily.
Then his mouth moved down to her neck. He knew she liked it when he licked her there. “You surprised the hell out of me then. And I’ve been wanting to return the favor.”
“Trace?”
Lucky for him, she was wearing a skirt. He pulled up the loose fabric of her skirt, edging higher and higher. And her thigh highs. Fuck, yes. His fingers slid up her thighs and found the silk of her panties. “This time, it’s my turn,” he said.
She arched against him.
“I get to give you pleasure,” he told her, “and I get to make you forget all about your fear.” His fingers slid under the edge of her panties. He found her sweet flesh—warm and wet. He stroked her, loving the way her breath caught in her throat, and she tipped her hips toward him.
Skye’s response always made him hot.
Made him want to take her endlessly.
He pulled her panties down. Thrust his index finger into her.
“Trace…”
“I don’t want you to be afraid. I don’t want you to feel anything but pleasure.” Because he hated it when her green eyes shone with fear.
He pushed a second finger into her. Her teeth sank into her lower lip. His thumb began to massage her clit, rotating in slow circles.
He licked her throat again. Bit her lightly.
Withdrew his fingers. Thrust. Again.
Worked her clit.
“Trace!”
Her body was tight against him. So damn tight. He loved it. He wanted nothing more than to drive into her as deeply as he could go.
And that was why he didn’t.
This is just for Skye. She needed to know that he could put her first.
She came with a gasp. Her inner muscles clenched around his fingers as she rode out her orgasm. So beautiful.
So perfect.
His Skye.
He held her while she shuddered. Then he slowly withdrew his fingers. Positioned her skirt once more.
Kissed her soft lips again.
Her hand grabbed his forearm. “Trace, you didn’t—”
“I’m a selfish bastard most days. Hell, we both know that.”
“No,” she said quietly, with certainty, “you’re not.”
But Trace knew the truth. “I am with you. I see you, and all I want to do is take.” His heart raced in his chest. “So this time, this once, just let me give.” He had to look away from her because while he was talking a good game…
I want in her.
“Do you want to know how I see you?”
Trace nodded.
“I see a man who is sexy as sin. He’s strong and he’s powerful, and sometimes, he drives me absolutely crazy because he tries to control everything.”
Trace winced.
“But he’s the man who’s saved me—twice—in my life. He was the first man to give me flowers. The only man to ask me to marry him. He’s the man right there beside me when my nightmares come to haunt me.”
She was the only woman he’d ever dreamed about.
“So don’t talk about him as if he’s a selfish SOB. I can do that,” Skye said, her voice rough. “But no one else gets to say a word about him, got it? No one, not even you.”
His lips curved. His gaze came back to her. The lust was still there, always there, but so was something else. “I love you, Skye.”
She smiled at him. “I know.”
***
Weston was out hunting. The guy thought he was such a security expert. That he could catch any criminal. That he could save the day.
Too late.
There wasn’t going to be anything left for him to save this time.
Weston’s empire would crumble. So would he.
One loss, for another.
The killer gazed across the street and up at the lights that burned on the second level of Skye Sullivan’s dance studio.
Sara Kramer’s sister was there. He knew that.
Just as he knew everything.
Did the sister know about him? Sara and Claire had been so close, and they’d talked frequently. When the grief eased, would Claire remember some half-forgotten conversation?
Will she remember me?
It was a chance he couldn’t take. Claire shouldn’t have come to town. Sara hadn’t told him about her sister’s arrival.
If she had, he would’ve planned his attack better.
Too late for regrets.
Claire was in the game now.
Until death.
***
The plane touched down on the runway. A small, narrow patch of concrete in the middle of Piedmont, Texas.
The town was a dot on the map. Tucker had talked often of the place. He’d said that it let him breathe. That he could see for miles and miles there.
That the place made him feel free.
Trace walked away from the plane, his hand locked with Skye’s. He’d come to this town because he needed to see one person. A phone call wouldn’t have done the job.
The light of dawn rose on the horizon. Trace climbed into the rental vehicle that waited. Arranging for the SUV had been easy enough.
The meeting that was coming?
Not so damn easy.
“I know you have a plan,” Skye said.
He did.
“Want to share it with me?”
He drove away from the little landing strip. He’d been in Piedmont twice before. Once with Tucker.
Once when he’d come to bury Tucker. Only…Tucker hadn’t been in that empty grave. It had just been a ceremony. A headstone with no casket in the ground.
“Tucker’s father still lives in the area. I have some more questions for him.” Because if Tucker truly had somehow made it out of that frozen hell, he would’ve come home. Tucker had been so close to his father.
“Did you tell his father you were coming?”
Trace shook his head. “He doesn’t exactly like me, Skye. The man blames me for his son’s death.” His
fingers tightened around the wheel. “With damn good reason.” But Quint Hawk just thought Trace hadn’t done a good enough job of covering Tucker’s ass on the mission.
He didn’t realize that Trace had been the one to fire the shot that ended Tucker’s life.
They rode in silence. The miles drifted past. They turned off the pavement and fish-tailed down a long, dusty dirt road. The road ended in front of a ranch house. Two dogs ran out to meet them, barking excitedly.
Trace killed the engine. Stared at that house. Tucker had grown up there. Laughed and lived.
The front door opened. Quint appeared, holding tight to his cane.
Trace climbed from the SUV. He hurried around to Skye’s side, but she’d already slipped out.
“Who the hell are you?” Quint demanded. “And what are you doin’ on my property so damn early?”
Bracing his shoulders, Trace advanced. “It’s me, Mr. Hawk.” He took a few more steps. The dogs bounced around him, their tongues hanging out as they panted. “Trace Weston.”
Quint shuffled forward. Tap. Tap. His cane hit the wooden floor of the porch. “What are you doin’ back here?” His eyes narrowed as he glanced over Trace’s shoulder. “And who’s she?”
“That’s my fiancé,” Trace said. “And I’m here because I need to ask you a few more questions about Tucker.”
“We don’t got nothin’ to say.” Quint pointed a bony finger at Trace. “Now load up your pretty girl and get the hell off my property.”
Right. That was the reception he’d expected and why he hadn’t just called. “I can’t leave. No, I won’t leave.” Trace strode toward the house. “Not until we talk. I know you blame me for Tucker’s death. And you’re—”
“He had a fiancé, too,” Quint suddenly said, cocking his head. “I got his last letter to me. A week after I buried him, I got that letter.”
Trace tensed. He looked over his shoulder and saw that Skye had come closer to him. Then he focused on Quint. “Do you have that letter, sir?”
“It’s all I have left of him.” Quint’s hold on his cane tightened. “When I got it, I thought—them bastards were wrong. My boy’s alive.” He stared down at the porch. “Then I realized…he’d just sent it to me before he died. Mail is so slow…so slow…but for a moment there. A moment…I had my boy back.”
“Sir, I’d really like to see that letter.” A fiancé? Tucker had never said that he and Anna Jean were getting married.
“He did some bad things.” Now Quint’s shoulders stooped. “I know that now.” His gaze found Trace’s. “That’s what killed him, isn’t it?”
Trace shook his head. “Tucker was a good man.”
“Once, he was.” His knuckles whitened around the cane. “If I let you see the letter, I never want you comin’ back, understand? You…” His voice thickened. “You remind me too much of what I lost.”
Trace nodded. “You’ll never see me again.” Beside him, Skye was silent.
Quint disappeared into the house. Tap. Tap.
Trace didn’t follow him.
“Did you know about his engagement?” Skye asked softly.
“No.”
“Do you…do you think there were some other things that you didn’t know?”
Tap. Tap.
Quint pushed open the door. Crept onto the porch. His fingers were shaking as he handed Trace an envelope. “Take it, then burn it.”
Trace frowned. “But—”
“I was better off not gettin’ that note.” Quint leveled a hard stare at Trace. “And, son, you’re better off not readin’ it.”
No, he wasn’t.
Quint turned away. Stopped. His back was to Trace as he said, “My debt is paid to you, son.”
“You never owed me a debt.” Trace carefully held that envelope.
“I was losin’ this place. The bank was gonna take it from me. Then…one day…I come out here to see the deed in my mail box. Paid in full.” Tap. “I know what you had to do to my son. But you don’t owe me anymore. And I don’t owe you. We’re done.”
The door closed behind him.
“Trace?”
He knows.
Trace jerked his head toward the SUV. The dogs were still barking like crazy. “Let’s get back inside.”
After Trace shut the passenger-side door behind Skye, he walked back around the vehicle. He paused in front of the SUV. The sun was rising. He glanced at the old, wooden fence on the right. For an instant, he could imagine Tucker there. Laughing.
Then the image of Tucker was gone.
Trace climbed back into the SUV and slammed the door behind him. He stared down at the old envelope. The handwriting had faded some but he still easily recognized it as Tucker’s writing. The stamp had torn, but he could make out the post date—a week before Tucker had died.
He opened the envelope. Pulled out the paper. He could feel Skye’s eyes on him, but she didn’t speak.
Trace unfolded the paper.
Dad,
I know I don’t write enough, and I’m sorry about that. I think about you. About mom. I still miss her so much.
I’m in love. I always wanted to find someone to love the way that you loved mom. So completely.
We’re going to get married. We have plans to start a new life, just me and my Anna Jean. But we have a job to do first. And it’s a job that I hate.
I always tried to do the right thing. But doing right doesn’t always give you the reward you need. Anna Jean has a deal set up for us. It’s a one-time shot. We do this, and there are no more battles. No more crawling on my belly through the mud or the snow or the blood.
I’ll be free.
There’s a price to pay for freedom. I’m not proud of what I’m doing, but I want to give Anna Jean the life she deserves.
I won’t be coming back. With what we’ve planned, I can’t.
You were a good father.
I wish I’d been a better son.
“Sonofabitch,” Trace whispered. His head lifted. He turned and met Skye’s worried stare. “He was in on it. Tucker was working with Anna Jean. He betrayed us all.”
***
Claire Kramer tip-toed down the stairs, her bag clutched tightly in her right hand. She didn’t head into the main studio. She already felt like more than enough of an intruder in that place.
Her fingers slid over the knob at the back door. She opened it and eased outside as the alarm gave a reassuring beep. She took two steps—
“Going somewhere, Ms. Kramer?”
Claire screamed—and then she threw her bag at the tall, dangerous looking man who had been waiting for her.
The bag bounced off his shoulder, and Claire tried to yank open the door and rush back inside. But his palm flattened against the door, and his body slid behind hers. “Easy.” He wasn’t touching her, but he surrounded her. Too big and muscled. Fear and fury battled within her.
He’d been waiting for me.
Claire sucked in a deep breath. Then she attacked. Her elbow slammed into his solar plexus even as her fist flew up in a backhanded snap move. Her knuckles should’ve collided with his nose, giving a nice, satisfying crunch as the cartilage broke on impact.
But he caught her hand.
Claire stomped down with her left foot. He grunted.
That’s right. I’m not easy prey. Not anymore. She’d spent years learning how to protect herself.
Claire spun around now, yanking her wrist free of his grip. She had keys in her left hand, and she brought them up, ready to shove those keys right into his eye—
He caught that hand, too. He didn’t hurt her. He just held her, his strength undeniable. “You’re good,” he said, flashing a golden eyed stare at her. She planned to seriously damage those golden eyes. “But I think I’m a little bit better.”
Those words infuriated her. He dared to taunt her? Hell, no.
Not again. Not again. The words rang in her head. They were Claire’s vow to herself. She’d never be a victim again. She wouldn�
��t be hurt.
He would.
Claire jerked up her knee, intending to hit him in the groin as hard as she could.
He pushed her back, flattening her against the door. A strong, muscular thigh pushed between her legs. “I think you need to settle down before someone gets hurt—”
She head-butted him.
“Dammit!”
His lip was bleeding.
Claire gave him a grim smile. “Looks like someone just got hurt. And guess what? More pain is coming.”
He stepped back, freeing her and swiping at his bleeding lip. “You?” He tossed that out as if he were shocked. She’d shock him again with a punch to the