And there were—there were even storage lockers down the narrow hallway that snaked back from the main room. Shining, silver lockers for her students to use.
When she actually got her students to start attending her new dance studio.
“He said he’d installed new security here,” Skye said.
“Uh, well, you know the boss,” Reese replied from beside her. “The guy doesn’t believe in doing things half-way.”
No, he didn’t.
“He knew you’d want to come back here,” Reese continued. “And he told the crew that everything had to be ready for you.” He walked forward and motioned to the speakers that had been mounted on the ceiling. “Surround sound, you know, for that full dance experience.”
She’d come in, ready to get her hands dirty and her muscles aching, as she tore this place into shape.
But, in true Trace fashion, he’d done it for her.
“I can’t tell if you’re pissed or pleased,” Reese said, his drawl deepening as he scratched his jaw. “Kinda hard to determine from your expression.”
She stepped forward. “I think I’m both.” Pissed because he’d done all of this without her input but pleased because he’d cared enough to try and give her the dream she wanted.
Pissed or pleased?She still wasn’t sure.
Skye turned around and marched out of the main studio room. Trace’s crew had knocked out some walls, opening up the space. Columns secured the ceiling. The place looked huge.
“He left the fireman’s pole,” Reese said as he followed after her.
She glanced to the right. The fireman’s pole gleamed.
“The boss thought you might like it so he left strict instructions for the workers.”
Her gaze followed that pole upstairs. “What about the apartment up there?” Her hands had come to rest on her hips. Had Trace organized the apartment, too? Or had he been so sure that she’d move in with him that he hadn’t even bothered to touch that place?
“Uh…” Reese coughed. “Security was set up there, but I don’t think much else has been done.”
“Then I’ll do it,” she said, giving a firm nod. Because that upstairs area was still hers. She might be living with Trace, but she could use the upstairs apartment area as a refuge from the dance studio. She’d decorate every inch of it herself.
“He wanted to make you happy.”
Her attention shifted to Reese. He shrugged. “Trace…you know the boss doesn’t think like most people. He knew if you came back here, the way this place was…you’d work like a fiend to get it in shape. He wanted to help.”
“Trace likes his control.” Even in the bedroom. “But this time, it’s all right.” Because the studio’s condition meant that she could get her business up and running faster. She already had clients scheduled from weeks ago. She could contact them and get this place going—
And then she’d pay Trace back for the work he’d done. Every cent.
Because the studio is mine. She needed it to be.
Skye rolled her shoulders. This was going to happen. A smile spread over her face. “We’ll count this as a tentative pleased,” she said, “but if—”
A knock sounded at the main door. Skye turned, frowning. She hadn’t told any of her students-to-be that she was back in town yet.
“This way,” Reese said. He directed her to what had previously been a closet, but when she opened the door, she saw the area had been expanded. Four television screens were mounted on the wall. One showed the rear exterior of the old fire station, two showed the sides of the building, and the largest screen showed the entrance—and the man who stood there.
“Like the boss said,” Reese told her, “he upgraded your security.”
She leaned toward the big screen. “That’s Alex—Detective Griffin.” The one cop who’d finally believed her story about a stalker.
She turned away from the screen and hurried toward the front door. She hadn’t seen Alex in weeks. Before my abduction.
Because Mitch had taken her to New York, the NYPD had taken over the case. They’d closed the file on Mitch Loxley.
After quickly unbolting the door, Skye swung it open. “Detective Griffin!” A broad smile split her face. “It’s good to see you.”
He blinked at her, and an answering smile slowly stretched across his handsome face. Alex Griffin was just a little shorter than Trace, and his shoulders weren’t quite as wide, but the cop was fit and smart. And he’d been there for Skye when she’d been at the end of her rope.
Sunlight glinted off his blond hair, and his gaze swept over her. “It’s good to see you, too.” He surprised her by pulling her into his arms and giving her a big hug. “Damn good. Because the last time I saw you…” A rough sigh broke from him as he eased back a bit and stared down at her. “You were lying unconscious in a hospital bed.”
That response surprised her. “You came to see me in New York?” The time after her abduction was a blur for her. She’d gone too long without food. Spent too much time in the darkness.
She’d come too close to death.
Alex nodded. “I needed to see for myself that you were all right.” Now he frowned. “Weston didn’t tell you I was there?”
No. He hadn’t.
Alex dropped his hold. Stepped back fully. This time, when his gaze swept over her, his attention locked on her left hand.
Or, more specifically, on the ring there.
“I’m sure…” Reese cut in, clearing his throat from behind them, “that Trace was more concerned with Skye here healing…and not giving her a full visitor listing.”
Alex didn’t glance at the other man. “Should I congratulate you, Skye?”
Her throat felt dry. There was something about his tone. A hard edge that worried her. “Yes,” she said, straightening her shoulders. “Trace and I—we’re together now and—”
“As if he’d have it any other way.” Alex’s growled words definitely held anger.
“Watch it,” Reese warned him. “Cop or no cop, you—”
Alex shook his head and kept staring at Skye. “As good as it is to see you—awake, aware, and not looking like death anymore—I’m actually here on business.”
They were still standing in the doorway. Skye backed up and bumped into Reese. “What kind of business?”
“I transferred to homicide.”
Uh, okay. She circled around him and shut the door. Her fingers flipped over the lock.
“Thought it was time for a change.”