Noah cried out, the sound sharp and full of pain.
Trace whirled around.
Noah was on the cement, sprawled beneath a street lamp. Blood poured from beneath his body.
“Noah!” Trace yelled. Then he realized what was happening.
Shooter.
Trace dove for cover, but he moved a second too late, and he felt the burn of the bullet slice across the side of his face.
A silencer. The SOB was up there, trying to kill them both without making a sound.
Trace ducked behind the Jag. This wasn’t his first shoot-out. He might be rusty, but he knew this game, and he knew how to find the shooter. Based on the angle of those shots…his gaze swept up and to the left. Those bullets had come from the second story. Corner apartment.
Reese’s apartment?
“H-help…” Noah gasped out the plea.
Trace jerked his gaze back to his friend.
Had the shooter heard that cry? If so, he’d know Noah was still alive. Alive and a sitting duck.
Another shot would end Noah.
Trace knew he couldn’t just sit there and watch his friend die. Even if that was the killer’s plan.
Trace glanced up at the apartment. You want me? Then take your best shot. He sucked in a deep breath. An image of Skye flashed before him.
Come back to me.
He would. He would.
***
“People have no defense against an innocent face,” Piper said, sounding not the least bit shattered or scared any longer. Now, she sounded satisfied. Smug. “Men think you’re weak, and they want to protect you, and women, well, they think you’re a friend, so they let their guard down when you’re close.”
Skye was still facing the bathroom door. She’d heard no other sound from inside, but when she glanced down, she saw blood slipping from under the bathroom door.
Claire!
“Did you see her wrist?” Piper asked. “It looks like Claire tried to kill herself once. I noticed that right away. Weak bitch. I guess I helped her out this time.”
Skye tried to keep her muscles loose. “You’re not Piper, are you?”
Laughter.
And she had her answer. “You’re Anna Jean.”
The blade sliced across Skye’s back. She cried out.
“Give the bitch a cookie!” Anna Jean jerked Skye around to face her. Skye’s shoulders hit the bathroom door. “All I had to do was make myself look a little bit more like my goody two-shoes sister. Then they all stared right at me, and they believed every lie I told them.”
Skye glanced over Anna Jean’s shoulders. “Not everyone believed them.” And that was why Trace had left a guard behind. Skye tried to act like she was looking at that guard right then.
Anna Jean’s jaw dropped open. “Drake?” Then she was whirling around to face what she obviously thought was a new threat, her body vibrating with tension as she tried to follow Skye’s stare.
Only Drake wasn’t standing there.
Skye slammed her body into Anna Jean’s and she screamed as loud as she possibly could. They hit the floor. Skye grabbed two handfuls of Anna Jean’s still wet hair, and she slammed the woman’s face into the floor. Once, twice.
But Anna Jean broke free. She slashed out with the knife, and it sliced over Skye’s forearm. Skye jerked back, hissing out at the pain.
“That’s just the start,” Anna Jean promised.
Drake threw open the door. “Skye!”
Anna Jean grabbed Skye and put the knife to her throat. “Now the hero’s here,” she snarled.
The blade nicked Skye’s throat.