by Cynthia Eden
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.
This was insane.
“No thanks to you,” Anna Jean said. For an instant, she sounded…lost. “I was going to let you live, Drake. Because I thought you were the one who loved me. But you—you’re the one who left me to die?”
Red stained his cheeks. “You gave me no choice! You tried to kill me!” He sprang forward.
“And you just killed her,” Anna Jean spat back. Her hold on Skye tightened as the blade dug into Skye’s throat.
Chapter Fifteen
Trace grabbed for Noah. He expected to feel a bullet sink into him at any moment.
But it didn’t.
He pulled Noah behind the Jag. His fingers ripped open Noah’s shirt so he could see the damage. The bullet had gone straight through Noah’s chest and out his back.
“Missed…my heart,” Noah muttered. “Saw the glint of the weapon. Dodged just in time.”
The street was still dead silent. Since the shooter had used a silencer, no one else had even been aware of the shots. Trace pulled out his phone and dialed nine-one-one. “You’re going to be all right,” Trace promised him. The guy was bleeding like a stuck pig, and he was as pale as death. Trace was afraid for him. Damn scared, despite his words.
“Nine-one-one, what is the nature of your emergency?”
“My friend’s been shot,” Trace told the dispatcher. “I need an ambulance, now.” He snapped out the address.
“Have you seen the shooter, sir?”
Trace glanced up at the apartment. “He fired from one of the apartments. You need to get the cops en route now.”
And if a cop already was on the scene?
“Get…him,” Noah rasped.
Trace hesitated. “I’m not leaving you to bleed out on the street.”
“What if…” Noah’s breath heaved out. “Reese is dying, too?” Another breath shuddered from him. “I’m not…going yet,” Noah promised and gave him a weak smile. “I…envied you too long. I’ll get…what you have.”
“Man, I think you’re delirious.” Trace pulled Noah’s back-up gun from his ankle holster. He wasn’t sure where Noah’s other weapon was. “Can you hold this?” Because if he went up to find the shooter, then he had to know Noah was safe.
“Always.” Noah’s bloody fingers curled around the weapon.
Trace met his stare. “Don’t even think of dying before I get back.”
“It’s not…that bad.”
“No,” Trace lied. “It’s not.”
Noah’s lips curved. “Do me a…favor? No, two?”
Trace nodded.
“Kill the b-bastard.”
“He’s already dead.” The guy just didn’t know it.
“And then…tell Claire I was a fucking rock star…when I got sh-shot.”
“Tell her yourself.” Trace tightened his hold on his weapon. He’d keep covered as much as possible as he ran for the apartment building. But he had to hurry.
If the killer got away, there’d just be another attack. And another. It wouldn’t ever stop. Not until he stopped it.
Trace kept his head low as he ran toward the building.
***
Skye didn’t care about the pain. When the knife dug into her, she didn’t scream or try to jerk away from the blade.
Instead, she lifted up her hands and she clawed at Anna Jean’s eyes.
Anna Jean was the one to scream. The blade slipped, cutting Skye more, but she let her knees buckle and she fell right from Anna Jean’s weakened hold.
Drake grabbed Skye and tossed her across the room. Then he lunged for Anna Jean.
But he staggered to a stop when she brought up her knife.
“Going to shoot me?” Anna Jean taunted him.
He circled her.
Skye put her hand to her throat. The wounds weren’t that deep, and she pushed the pain to the back of her mind. After all, the pain didn’t matter then. Stopping Anna Jean was all that mattered.
Why wasn’t Drake firing at her?
“You were different,” Anna Jean whispered. “I stopped him from killing you earlier because I always thought…not you, Drake. Not. You!” The knife trembled in her grasp.
He opened his hand. Held it out to her. “Give me the knife.”
She laughed at him.
Screw this. Skye raced across the room. She yanked on the bathroom door. It flew open, but only just a few inches, because it hit Claire’s prone body.
“Claire!” Skye sank to her knees beside the other woman. There was blood. So much. A growing pool of it. Not from a slit throat, but from a deep wound in Claire’s gut. Skye’s fingers covered the wound, pushing down as she tried to apply pressure.
Claire’s eyes cracked open. Her stare was glassy, nearly blind with fear. “Again,” she whispered. “It’s happening a-again.”
“No.” Skye shook her head. “You’re going to be okay. We’ll get you help.” She turned her head. Drake and Anna Jean were still facing off. What the hell? “Call an ambulance,” Skye yelled at Drake. “Claire needs help, now!”
Drake’s gaze jerked to Skye. He blinked as if waking from a dream. Or maybe a nightmare.
And in that one moment, Anna Jean attacked. She lunged forward and drove the knife into Drake’s stomach, and then she yanked, jerking the blade to the right. He fell back, stunned, his eyes wide.
“This time, you get to die,” Anna Jean told him.
His knees sagged, and he hit the floor.
Anna Jean spun to face Skye. “Your turn.”
Claire whimpered.
Skye kept applying pressure. “Claire has nothing to do with this. Let her go.” Drake wasn’t making a sound. His guilt had made him vulnerable. Guilt, love—they could wreck a person.
“I don’t give a shit about Claire,” Anna Jean yelled. She bent over Drake’s body, and when she rose, she had his gun. “Maybe he did love me,” she said as she stared down at him. “Because if he’d been smart, he would’ve shot me when he had the chance. Instead, I had the pleasure of gutting him.” Her voice dropped. “That’s what you get for leaving me in the cold.”
Drake’s body was already covered in blood. So much blood. But when Anna Jean moved to step around him, his hand flew out. His fingers locked around her ankle. “No…” Drake growled.
“Oh, darling, relax, I’ll slit your throat and end things soon.” She lifted the gun. “But first, I want to make sure Skye’s dead. You were right, you know. I did have a partner. And he’s waiting for a phone call from me. One that tells him Skye is dead.” She smiled at Skye. “Who’s going to save you now?”
Skye stood up. She inched away from Claire, not wanting the bullet to hit the other woman. “Why?”
“Because when Trace falls, we’ll take everything he has. All that money…mine.”
This had been about money? “I thought this was for revenge.”
“Killing you…” Anna Jean shrugged. “That’s for revenge. The rest is for money.”
Drake was trying to heave himself up behind her.
Anna Jean’s finger tightened on the trigger. “At least I’m being merciful. Good-bye, little dancer.”
Skye flew forward even as—
Nothing happened?
Anna Jean’s fingers squeezed the trigger twice more, but the gun didn’t fire.
Skye slammed into her. They fell to the floor, landing right next to Drake.
“Stupid…f-freaking water…” Anna Jean snarled. “I’ll just…do it…the old f-fashioned way…” Her fingers locked around Skye’s throat and she started to squeeze.
Skye slid her own hands under Anna Jean’s, and she shoved up, fast and hard, breaking the other woman’s hold. Then Skye drove her fist into Anna Jean’s face.
Again and again.
She was pretty sure that she heard bones crunch.
Anna Jean sagged back, unmoving.
Skye jumped up. Her hand throbbed. She’d probably broken some of her own fingers. She tried to grab for the phone that had been left on the little table near the door, but the phone fell from her now burning hand. Skye dove for it, and tried to dial nine-one-one.
Anna Jean yelled. The woman just won’t stay down. Anna Jean pushed up to her knees. “B-bitch, you’re done!”
And Drake drove the knife into her heart. Anna Jean gasped. Her eyes widened. She turned her head to look at him.
His face was ashen. His eyes appeared sunken. “I didn’t…miss this time,” he told her.
Anna Jean’s lips trembled.
The nine-one-one operator came on the line.
Skye spilled out the emergency details as quickly as she could. When she looked back over at Anna Jean, the woman’s body was ominously still.
And Drake was slumped over her.
Skye scrambled to them. She rolled Drake over. Checked his pulse. Faint, thready, but he was still alive.
“Hurry,” she whispered into the phone. “Please, hurry.”
She ran back to Claire.
“T-tell me she’s dead,” Claire whispered.
If Anna Jean wasn’t dead yet, she would be soon. And will Claire be gone, too?
The phone in Skye’s hands vibrated.
Another call was coming in. Skye was still on the line with the nine-one-one operator, but she glanced at the screen and saw the note for—
Unknown caller. The message flashed across the phone’s screen.
The phone wasn’t hers. It had just been tossed on the table.
Was it Claire’s?
Or Anna Jean’s?
Anna Jean’s voice echoed through Skye’s mind. I did have a partner. And he’s waiting for a phone call from me. One that tells him Skye is dead.
Had the partner got tired of waiting?
Skye crouched next to Claire. She put one hand on the wound, keeping up the pressure. Her left hand held the phone. Her finger slid across the phone’s screen as she took the call. “H-hello?” Her voice was a rasp. Lower than normal.
Static, then. “Is she dead?”
A tear slid down Skye’s cheek because she knew that voice.
Frantic, she ended the call and immediately tried to get Trace on the line.
***
Trace bounded up the stairs. When he reached Reese’s apartment, he didn’t pause.
He kicked in the damn door.
Trace ran inside with his weapon ready, but he stopped cold at the sight of the body before him.
Detective Alex Griffin lay on the floor, face-down. Reese stood above him, a horrified look on his face. “I had no choice,” Reese muttered. “No choice.”
There was no weapon in Reese’s hands. No weapon near Alex, either.
“He did it,” Reese said. “He came here, with a knife, trying to kill me.” Reese lifted his head. “Boss, dammit, why?”
Trace’s phone vibrated in his pocket. He didn’t answer it. Not yet. Carefully, he bent next to Alex. The cop’s blond hair was matted with blood, and Alex’s pulse was weak, but steady. “He’s still alive. An ambulance is on the way.”
Reese hadn’t moved.
Trace looked up at him. “There was a shooter here.”
Reese nodded frantically. “Him. He had me tied up, I got loose, we fought—”
Trace’s phone kept vibrating. He rose to his feet. The gun was still in his hands. “We’ve been friends for a long time,” Trace told Reese.
Reese nodded. He rocked back on his heels. “A cop…I can’t believe…a cop…”
“I’ve trusted you with my life.” The phone stopped vibrating. “More importantly, I’ve trusted you with Skye’s life.”
Reese’s hand slid toward his waist. “You can always trust me,” he told Trace, the expression on his face stark. “I’ve got your back. You’ve got mine.”
Trace’s jaw locked. “Right now, I’m wondering what the hell you have behind your back.”
Reese’s hand stopped its slow glide toward his waist. “Boss?”
“Alex was hit from behind. His head is matted with blood—blood that’s already partly dry in his hair. If the blood had time to dry, that means he wasn’t shooting at me. You were.”
“What?” Shock slackened Reese’s face. “How can you say that? I would never do that! We’re friends!”
“Yes, we are.” He didn’t hear the scream of sirens yet. They needed to damn well get there. “But you’re still the man who’s been after me.” Rage beat in his blood. “You killed Sara.”
Reese flinched. “No, no, it was the cop!” He took a lunging step forward.
“Stop!” Trace shook his head and aimed his weapon at Reese’s head. “Another step, and I’ll shoot you.”
Reese’s eyes narrowed. “The same way you shot Tucker? I guess you have a history of shooting your friends, don’t you?”
“Only because my friends have a history of betraying me. I don’t deal well with betrayal.”
“I haven’t betrayed you!” Spittle flew from Reese’s mouth.
“You think I haven’t checked on you?” Trace demanded, body tight. “Guess who didn’t have alibis for the kills?”
His phone vibrated again.
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