Mine to Keep (Mine #2)

Mine to Keep (Mine #2) Page 14

Drake swiped away more blood. “I saw the same guy, yesterday, just hanging near her studio.” Drake’s words were musing. “Only then, he drove off in a blue BMW. There was no sign of that ride today.”

Trace’s whole body stiffened.

“Trace…” Skye whispered.

“Broken nose,” Trace repeated. “Blond hair…six foot one…Sonofabitch.”

Drake glanced at him with a raised brow. “So you know the jerkoff in question?”

“A blue BMW crashed into Trace and Skye’s limo last night.” Noah was somber now. “From your description, it sounds like our guy…”

Trace grabbed his jacket. Actually started rushing back toward the door.

She put herself right in his path. “Where are you going?” He couldn’t be leaving.

Trace’s body vibrated with fury. “Don’t you get who did this to us? Who tried to kill us both last night? The broken nose, Skye. The blond hair. The build—don’t you see who this is pointing to?”

She didn’t want to see. “That was a long time ago. Do you really think a man would hold a grudge for that many years?”

“I think a man can want revenge forever.”

“Uh, who are we talking about here?” Noah wanted to know.

“A jerkoff named Parker Jacobs,” Trace’s voice was clipped. His gaze didn’t leave Skye’s face as he said, “I knew I should’ve done more than just beat the shit out of him back then.”

“You don’t know that it was Parker,” Skye said. This was crazy.

“I’ll know,” Drake offered, sounding all helpful. She wanted to punch him. “Show me a picture of this Parker Jacobs, and I’ll tell you in an instant if it’s the man I saw at her studio.”

Skye hadn’t seen Parker in years. She hadn’t wanted to see him.

He’d nearly raped her when she’d been fifteen years old. If Trace hadn’t been there…

Her hero.

And he’d almost killed Parker that night.

Trace headed back to his desk with slow, measured steps. He bent over his computer. Tapped quickly on the keys, and then straightened. “Is that the man?”

Drake leaned in close to stare at the screen. “Yeah, yeah, that’s the guy I saw jump into the BMW yesterday—and he’s the one who was watching Skye today.”

She had to stop this. “We need to call the cops. If Parker did hit us last night, then let’s get them to handle it. Let’s call Alex. Detective Griffin can—”

“All I’m going to do right now is pay our old foster brother a visit. Ask him a few questions.” All of the emotion had vanished from his face and voice. “I’m not going to hurt him. Just talk to the bastard.”

She didn’t believe him. Skye shook her head. “Call the cops,” she said again. “Drake can tell them what he saw. I don’t want you anywhere around Parker, do you understand me?” Because she was scared, so very scared, about what Trace might do.

She didn’t want him to just be a killer.

And Skye was already afraid there might be too much blood on his hands.

Everyone waited in that room. Waited.

The tension thickened.

Then Trace reached for his phone. “Get me Detective Alex Griffin.”

Her shoulders slumped.

“For you, Skye,” Trace said as his gaze lifted to meet hers. “Only for you.”

The office door closed softly behind Skye.

“Seriously? You’re just turning that guy over to the cops, knowing that he might have tried to kill you last night?” Drake demanded. His voice was thick with disgust. “Who the hell are you and when did you become so whipped?”

Trace offered him a grim smile. “I put in a call to the detective. I left the information that I had with the desk sergeant. Now, if the powers that be at the Chicago PD can actually find Alex Griffin and relay that information before I get to my dear ex-foster brother, then good damn deal for them.”

Noah whistled. “You’re still going after him.”

“I never said I wouldn’t.” Skye was gone. Before she’d left, Skye had promised that they’d talk at home.

Where Noah and Drake weren’t watching.

“I told Skye I would call the authorities. I did. But that doesn’t mean I don’t have my own share of questions for Parker.”

“So just what did you do to this guy?” Drake asked. “Did you work your usual charm? Did that piss him off enough to make the fellow want to take you out?”

Drake was still his charming asshole self. “I caught him trying to rape Skye, and I beat the shit out of him.”

Noah rocked back on his heels. “That would do it…”

“Now, if you will both excuse me, I need to make sure that Parker stays the hell out of my life.”

He strode to the door.

“By any means necessary?”

Drake’s question didn’t stop Trace.

“That is your way, isn’t it? Our way,” Drake added.

When it came to Parker Jacobs, it was the only way.

Don’t think of Skye. Don’t think of the pain in her eyes. Don’t focus on that now. His fingers tightened around the doorknob. He owed Drake for what he’d done with his shit-for-timing revelations to Skye, but now wasn’t the time to repay that debt. He had to handle one SOB at a time.

When Skye had walked out of that elevator, all Trace had wanted to do was take her into his arms. To try and make her understand.

But Trace wasn’t sure there was any understanding. He’d put guards on her. Kept secrets.

I’m still keeping them.

“Skye isn’t going to like this,” Noah said quietly as he came toward the door. “Not when she finds out.”

“If Parker is trying to hurt her, I have to stop him.” They didn’t get it. Noah and Drake had never cared about anyone the way he did for Skye. They didn’t have the connection. The need.

The vulnerability.

They fucked their women, and then they walked away.

No emotions. No weaknesses.

He couldn’t live that way.

“Now, gentlemen, get the hell out of my office.” Because I have an old enemy to hunt down.

There was no sign of any cops at Parker’s apartment. Good. Trace lifted his hand and slammed his fist into the door.

He heard a muffled curse from inside. The shuffle of footsteps headed toward him, then the door opened, just a few inches. “What the hell—” Parker’s muddy brown eyes widened. “You!” He tried to shove the door closed.

Trace shoved right back. Wood splintered and Parker stumbled away.

“Y-you can’t be here!” Parker yelled at him. “Get out of my place!”

“Ah, I see you remember me.” Trace said as he straightened his coat. “And I definitely remember you, Parker.”

Parker gulped. His Adam’s apple bobbed. “Wh-what do you want?”

“To know why you tried to kill me last night.”

Parker shook his head, a frantic gesture. “I didn’t! I swear!”

“Now, you see…” Trace stepped toward him. “I don’t exactly believe that. You and the truth don’t have the best history together.”

Parker spun away and grabbed a baseball bat that had been propped up against the wall. He swung it at Trace.

Trace ducked, then he drove his fist right into Parker’s ribs. All of the breath left Parker with a whoosh of sound. The bat dropped from his limp fingers.

Trace punched him again. Again.

Parker fell to the floor. “Y-you’re gonna get my blood on your fancy suit…”

“Like I give a damn,” Trace muttered. He grabbed Parker’s shirt and hefted the guy up. “You’ve been watching Skye.”

Parker spat at him.

Wrong move.

Trace drove his fist into the man’s face. Parker howled at the impact.

“Right, I can break that nose again. I can do it in an instant. So start talking. Why were you following Skye?”

“Because he-he made me realize how much the two of you had messed up my life!”

“He?” Trace caught immediately on that point.

“He made me realize…it’s all screwed because of you. You and your rich ass!” Parker smiled at him. “But I’ll get mine, and I’m about to get it right now…”

“You’re not going to get any damned thing,” Trace promised him. “Nothing, do you hear—”

“Weston! Let him go, now!”

Parker’s smile widened.

The authoritative shout had come from behind Trace. It was a voice that Trace easily recognized. Detective Alex Griffin’s voice.

Hell. I left the door open. He’d shoved his way inside and had left the door ajar behind him. He’d been busy with other things, like getting the truth from Parker, and he’d made an amateur mistake.

But it will be my only mistake.

“Trace,” a softer cry sounded then. Feminine. “What are you doing?”

Skye.

No, she couldn’t be there.

“Help!” Parker cried suddenly. “This man just broke into my apartment, he attacked me! Help!”

Sonofabitch. But did Parker really think he wasn’t prepared for this situation? He’d known it was possible that the message he’d left actually would get to Alex.

I just didn’t count on Skye being here.

Trace stepped back. His control was in place. Holding steady. “I came here to talk with Parker. H-he jumped me right after I knocked at his door.” Trace rolled his shoulders, wincing a bit as if he were in pain. “I had no choice but to defend myself.”

“No!” Parker screamed. “That’s not what fuckin’ happened!”

“Of course,” Trace murmured, “Now that you’re here, Alex, I’ll step back.”

“He attacked me!” Then Parker leapt at Trace.

Trace took the punch. Because he knew the game.

“Stop! Step back!” Alex’s cry.

Then the cop was between them, shoving Parker away.

Alex had his weapon out and it was locked right on Parker. Go ahead. Pull that trigger, Alex. Do us all a favor.

But Alex was showing no signs that he’d be ending Parker’s life.

Unfortunately.

Skye wrapped her arms around Trace and pulled him back beside her. “You said you’d let the authorities deal with him.”

Why was she here?

“And you said you were going home,” Trace told her, his voice grim. “I suppose that means we both lied.”

She dropped her hold.

“Why the hell are you all here?” Parker demanded. “Griffin, get them out! Wait, arrest him for assault!”

“Parker…” Alex sighed his name. “Do you know anything about the hit-and-run on Mayer Boulevard last night?”

Parker shook his head, but his eyelids flickered.

“Are you sure? Because the driver of a blue BMW got cut at the scene of that accident. His blood is in the car. That means we have his DNA.”

Parker blanched.

“It was you,” Skye said. “You came after us.”

“Because you kept sending the cops after me!” This time, Parker lunged for her.

The hell he did.

Trace drew back his fist, more than ready to break Parker’s nose again and do a whole lot more.

But Alex caught Parker in a steely grip. He spun the guy around. Slammed him into a wall, and cuffed him.

“Parker Jacobs,” Alex stated, voice biting, “you’re under arrest. You have the right to remain silent…”

“No!” Parker howled. “It should be him! Not me! Trace attacked me!”

Alex kept right on going, reading the struggling Parker his rights even as Parker shouted.

Then Alex hefted Parker around and marched him toward the door. “It’s not over,” Parker growled as his gaze darted from Trace to Skye. “Not even close.”

Trace leaned toward him. “For you, it’s over.” His words were a promise.

But Parker laughed. “You won’t see him coming. I told him. Told him everything. And you won’t be able to stop him!”

“Move,” Alex barked.

“He’ll take what you value most—and then he’ll destroy you!” Parker was still laughing.

Skye shivered and followed Alex into the hallway.

Trace glanced around Parker’s apartment. The place was a mess. It was—

A glinting object caught his eye.

Trace bent over the couch, and snatched up the object.

Small, rectangular.

A military issued dog-tag.

His fingers smoothed over the ID.

His ID.

“Weston, get out of there!” Alex called.

Trace pocketed the dog-tag. The last time he’d seen that dog-tag, he’d been fighting for his life.

He’d survived the battle.

His best friend hadn’t.

Or at least that was what I thought.

Chapter Eight

The penthouse was silent when Trace opened the door.

Skye was there, he knew she waited inside, but no sound alerted him to her presence.

He dropped his briefcase to the floor. “Skye?” He was ready for the fireworks that he was sure would be coming.

“I’m here.”

His gaze slid toward the floor to ceiling window on the right. She stood in front of the glass, staring back at him. She was dressed in jeans and a tight t-shirt. Her hair was swept back, accentuating the high cut of her cheekbones. Her face was scrubbed free of makeup, and she looked so incredibly lovely.