Reese glanced back at him, hesitating. “You sure, boss?”
Skye wasn’t sure what in the hell was going on. She reached for Trace. “What’s going on?” Who was this guy—this Ben?
At her words, the man’s gaze jerked to her face and his stare locked on her.
“She’s the one,” the stranger whispered. He shook his head, “Weston, she’s going to destroy you.”
What?
Trace caught Skye’s hand in his. “Go to the penthouse. Unpack. I’ll be there soon.”
Reese hurried to her side. “Come on, Skye.”
She was just supposed to leave Trace there?
“No!” The cry came from the other man as he leapt toward Trace. His fingers grabbed Trace’s shirt. “It’s not safe out here. He’s watching.”
A chill skated down Skye’s spine. She’d been stalked before. Hunted. She knew just what it was like to feel as if someone was out there, watching.
Every minute.
She studied the man again. This time, she clearly saw the fear in his brown eyes. “I think we should all go upstairs,” she said, hoping her voice didn’t show her own fear.
But she wasn’t just going to walk away and leave Trace alone in that street. Something was wrong, very wrong, and she didn’t want to abandon him.
Trace’s jaw locked, but, after a brief moment, he gave a hard jerk of his head.
They all headed for the gleaming doors. The doorman’s eyes were huge as he studied them all. “Uh…Mr. Weston?”
“Have all the bags brought up.” Trace had an unbreakable grip on Skye’s arm. He barely spared the doorman a glance but he did push a very nice tip toward him.
“Y-yes, sir.”
Maybe the tip would help Henry get over the fact that he’d just seen Reese draw his gun.
The doorman’s gaze flickered to Skye. “Good to see you, Ms. Sullivan.”
“Hi, Henry,” she whispered back.
They all loaded into Trace’s private elevator. It seemed to fly up to the penthouse. She tried to glance over at the man Trace had called Ben, but Trace had put his body in front of hers. Shielding her or blocking her view—she wasn’t exactly sure what his intent was.
The ride was over quickly, and the group strode toward the penthouse door. Trace led her inside, but then, before the others could follow, he spun back around. “I’ll be needing your knives, Ben.”
Wait, knives? Plural?
The man bent and pulled a knife from his right boot. Then his left. He put them in Trace’s open palm.
“All of them,” Trace snapped.
Ben pulled another knife from his waist. The sheath had blended perfectly with his belt, and Skye would’ve never even noticed the weapon.
“You remembered,” Ben said, giving a little nod. “Can’t stop being a soldier, can you?”
Reese took the knives and shoved them all inside a drawer in the den.
Skye stood there, uncertain, as the others filed into the den.
“He can’t watch us up here,” Ben said as he glanced over at the large windows that overlooked the city. “Fuck me…” he marched toward the glass on the right. “You’re a damn rich bastard now, aren’t you?”
Trace’s fingers brushed against Skye’s jaw and she jumped. She hadn’t heard him move toward her. Sometimes, he did that—moving so soundlessly that she didn’t know he was there until he touched her.
“It was a long flight,” Trace said, his gaze searching hers. “We’re all secure up here. You should go rest, baby. I know the trip back wasn’t easy for you.”
Because she was still afraid of flying. No, it wasn’t so much fear as the fact that she just hated it.
While there might have been a hint of sympathy in Trace’s eyes, she knew he wasn’t just trying to get her in the bedroom because she was tired.
Trace wanted to get rid of her. Too bad. She wasn’t in the mood to be dismissed. If Trace was in some kind of danger, she wanted to know about it.
She glanced over at Ben once more. His gaze was on her. That brown stare was unnerving. The fear was gone but…
Her breath caught.
I know that look.
She knew that look because she’d seen it in her mother’s eyes before.
Insanity.
Skye instinctively took a step back.
“She’s the reason, you know…” Now Ben seemed almost musing, but his eyes burned with an intensity that frightened her. “You revealed too much with her. The story was splashed in all the papers. It was on all the TVs. She’s your mistake, and she’s going to destroy you.”
In a flash, Trace was across the room. He’d shoved Ben back against the big, picture-frame window behind the couch. “You sure as hell had better not be threatening her.” His forearm thrust under Ben’s throat.
“Trace!” She rushed forward, but Reese stepped in her path.