Chapter Eight
It was gone. Her second chance had turned to ash.
Skye stared at the charred remains of her studio. There was nothing she could salvage there. Everything was just…gone. Destroyed by the flames.
She’d already called her students. Skye had tried to reassure them that she would find another space.
She hadn’t mentioned that she didn’t have the money to rent another building.
“Are you all right?”
She glanced to the left. As soon as she’d arrived at the scene, she’d realized that Alex Griffin was there, waiting on her. He’d come straight toward her.
He watched her with a guarded expression that made her tense. “Please don’t ask me if I’m about to have a breakdown.” Because that was the way he was staring at her. As if she’d just shatter apart. “I promise, I’m much stronger than I look.” The female cop, Carol—the one who’d given Skye a ride home the previous night—stood a few feet behind Alex.
And Skye’s newest watchdog from Weston Securities, a guy named Adam Longtree, waited about ten steps to Skye’s right. She’d quickly discovered that Adam was the strong and pretty much utterly silent type.
“I’m sorry about your studio,” Alex said as he inclined his head toward her. “But I didn’t think you were about to breakdown. I figured if you were, well, you would’ve done that last night.”
She squared her shoulders. “Then you make one person…”
“Pardon?”
Skye blew out a hard breath. She was so seeing her dreams covered by black and gray ash. “You make one person who doesn’t think I’m on the edge of some major meltdown.”
His eyes had narrowed. “Did you do like I asked? Did you think about Weston—”
She had to laugh. “Trace isn’t doing this to me. Hell, he thinks I’m doing it to myself.” Her arms felt chilled so she roughly rubbed them. “Trace, the cop up in New York, Loxley—”
“Uh, yeah,” Alex cut in, “I don’t know who the hell Loxley is, but you should know that I did some more talking with Detective Fuller first thing this morning.”
“You did?”
“He got another mechanic to look at the car. There was still no sign of a rear-impact collision, but this guy did find something else.” Her image was reflected back in his dark sunglasses. “All of the brake fluid was gone.”
“What?” The chill Skye felt got worse.
“With all the fluid gone, the car couldn’t stop. That night, you were headed into the curve, and you must have tried to brake.” He raked a hand through his hair. “You couldn’t, and the car lost control.”
It wasn’t just her arms that felt chilled. Her cheeks felt the same way. “Someone sabotaged the car.”
Carol Jones stepped closer.
Alex darted a glance at Carol, then he focused once more on Skye. “It certainly looks that way.”
Someone had been trying to kill her, for months. “I want this to stop.” What did she have to do? What? “I can’t live this way.” Being afraid. Having a constant guard—no.
“We’ll find him,” Alex said. “Don’t worry.”
Easy for him to say. It wasn’t his life on the line.
“With the new evidence, Fuller is re-opening the investigation in New York,” Alex continued. “The jackass doing this is going down.”
Carol gave a hard nod.
Skye’s gaze darted between the two cops—and over to Adam Longtree. She wasn’t surprised to see that he had his phone out and at his ear. The guy was probably briefing Trace on this new development right then. Trace… Her gaze snapped back to Alex. “You think that jackass is Trace.”
He didn’t respond.
“It’s not.”
Carol whistled and rocked forward on the balls of her feet. “Having too much faith in the wrong man could be dangerous.”
“Everything I do is dangerous these days.” She gave Carol and Alex a curt nod. “Thanks for your help.”
She started hurrying away from them. Longtree immediately fell into step with her. Her big, six-foot-plus shadow.
“Skye!”
Pausing, she glanced back at the detective’s call.
“Tell me you aren’t staying with him.” Tension had hardened Alex’s face.
“I won’t tell you that.” Because she wasn’t planning to return to Trace then. She hadn’t lied when she told Trace that she needed a break.
Does he trust me?
Because, even after everything, she trusted him. She always had.
“If you aren’t going back to Weston’s place, then where are you going?”
Her gaze slid to the wreckage. “To find a new studio because I am not going to let my dream be taken from me.” She’d find a way to get the cash that she needed in order to rent another studio. There has to be a way. Skye wasn’t going to give up. She just had to take things—
One step at a time.
That was how she’d recovered after the accident. How she’d learned to ignore the pain and just walk.
One step at a time.
***