Fear of money and power. Alex had seen that same shit go down before. It wasn’t happening again.
Alex raised his hand and pounded against the door. He had little to lose—so why worry about fear?
Footsteps shuffled toward him, then the door opened, and a man stared out at him with bleary eyes. Thick stubble lined his jaw, and his eyes, a muddy brown, widened as he took in Alex.
“You again?” the man demanded as he shoved back his dirty blond hair.
“Yeah, Parker, it’s me.”
“Hell.” The guy definitely didn’t sound happy to see him, but Parker Jacobs backed up and let Alex into his apartment.
The place was a dump. Not because of its location, but because Parker Jacobs was a slob. Half-eaten food and old newspapers littered the area. A pile of dirty clothes hid the couch.
Parker shoved the dirty shirts and jeans away and slumped on the faded cushions. “Why the repeat visit?” Parker ran a hand over his face. “I told you everything I knew about Trace and Skye last time.”
Alex didn’t sit. He crossed his arms and stared down at Parker, carefully studying the other man. There was a heavy bump in the middle of Parker’s nose, from an old break. A break that Alex knew Trace Weston had caused.
“Your parents took in Trace and Skye as foster kids when you were sixteen,” Alex said. He figured it was better to start back at the beginning.
“Shit.” Parker exhaled heavily. “If we’re going over all of this crap again, then I need a drink.” He lunged up from the couch.
Alex shoved him back down. He’d already smelled the alcohol on the guy’s breath. His breath, his clothes, his skin. The guy reeked. “You’ve had more than enough already.”
Parker’s eyes narrowed into angry slits.
He’d heard this story before, but Alex needed to hear it again. So he said, “They took them in, but the first night Trace Weston was there—”
“The asshole attacked me!” Parker’s trembling hand slid over his nose. “He pounded my face, again and again. The jerk is crazy. Fuckin’ insane!”
“And why did he attack?”
“I told you last time, when you came sniffin’ around—”
“Tell me again.” He kept his voice flat.
“Because that slut Skye was playin’ us both! He caught us together and freaked the hell out.”
“Playing you both,” Alex repeated.
“Don’t buy her innocent act.” Now disgust thickened Parker’s voice. “It’s bullshit. She wanted me, and she came after me.”
Alex cocked his head. “If Trace had just arrived at the house, then how was Skye playing him? How did she—”
“I think he knew her from before. He had to.” Parker’s breath blew out on a hard sigh. “The way he looked at her. The way he acted…it was like she was already his. I should’ve read the signs. I should’ve stayed away from that cock tease.”
“But you didn’t,” Alex murmured.
“And he nearly beat me to death.” Fury was there. Reddening Parker’s cheeks and snapping in his words. “Trace deserves payback, that’s what he deserves.”
“Why did he stop?”
Parker shook his head. His hair was thick and matted, and it sagged over his eyes.
“Why didn’t he kill you, Parker? Why did Trace Weston let you live?”
Parker seemed to think about that. Thinking didn’t exactly look easy for the guy. “Because…because Skye told him to stop.” The memory was there. Alex could see it on Parker’s face. He also saw the flash of rage that followed that memory. “He always has been her dog, tied on her leash.”
Alex hated talking to the jackass, but Parker Jacobs was the one person who was actually linked to Skye and Weston. He knew their past—and he was willing to talk about it.
Now, with calculation, Alex threw out, “Both Trace and Skye told me that you were a liar. That you fed me a story of bull about what really happened that night.”
Parker glared up at him. “What happened…I kissed his precious Skye. He went psycho, and I wound up in the hospital.” Once more, his fingers slid over his nose, as if checking the old wound. “When it comes to Skye, Trace isn’t exactly the controlled kind of guy. Some women are like that, you know. They can push a man too far.”
“Did Skye push you too far?”
And there it was. The faster breathing. The gaze that darted nervously around the room.
“Did she push you,” Alex asked softly, “and you decided that you just had to take what she was offering?”
“I was just kissing her—”
And Alex took a stab in the dark. “Then why’d she cry out for help?”
Parker jumped to his feet once more. “Because she wanted to set me up! She was a cock tease, I told you! She wanted me to kiss her, but when things got rough, she started crying and begging me to stop. I had to put my hand over her mouth, but it was too late. Trace had heard and—”
Parker grabbed him and shoved the guy against the nearest wall. “So that’s what the truth sounds like from you.”
When Skye had been stalked, Alex had questioned the guy. Cleared him because the man had plenty of people to back up his alibis. And Parker had been too happy to tell him about Weston’s dark side.
No wonder Weston attacked you. You were hurting Skye.
Alex had come to realize that Weston didn’t let anyone hurt Skye. The last man who had—the bastard who’d kidnapped her—Weston had sent him to hell.
Alex’s muscles were hard with his own fury. “You were hurting Skye, and Trace stopped you.”
“He tried to beat me to death!” Parker heaved against him.
Alex just tightened his grip. “Yet you’re still breathing.”
“Only because of Skye. She pulled off her attack dog, that bitch—”
“Sounds to me like you should be grateful to her, instead of calling her a bitch.” He stared into the man’s eyes, and Alex saw his own past.
His sister…she’d been hurt. She’d trusted the wrong man and—
“Trace Weston is psychotic.” Spittle flew from Parker’s mouth. “He’s a ticking time bomb, and that man’s gonna explode.”
Alex sucked in a deep breath. Then another. And he forced himself to back away from Parker. “When was the last time you saw either Trace Weston or Skye Sullivan?”
“I haven’t seen them in years.” Parker’s thumb jerked toward the TV set. “Except on the screen. Their faces have been splashed plenty there.”
Yes, they had.
Alex had one more question for the asshole. “What do you know about Trace Weston’s time in the military?”
“Nothin’. I was hoping the guy would get his ass blown to hell.” Parker rolled back his shoulders. “Instead, he came home to a freakin’ fortune.”
Yes, he had.
Ben Sharpe had been in the military, too. When he’d been found dead, the man had still been wearing his dog tags.