“Reese was…involved with Sara. We showed one of Sara’s neighbors a picture of him, and the neighbor confirmed that he’d been there to visit her several times.”
“He was just using her. He used her, and he killed her.” And Skye had trusted him.
When you put your trust in the wrong person, you opened yourself up for all kinds of hurt.
Skye didn’t think it was possible to hurt more than she did then.
“What I don’t understand…” Alex’s shoulder brushed against hers. “What I don’t understand is why I didn’t get killed, too. He had me. Reese knocked me out. He could’ve killed me at any point.”
Skye blinked at that. Finally, she pulled her gaze off Trace. Focused on the detective. “He didn’t kill you because you were going to be the killer.”
Alex’s brows rose.
“Anna Jean named you…she said that you’d come to find her in Atlanta. She was tossing you out to us all, setting you up as the killer.” Lying so easily. “Then Trace ran over to Reese’s place because Reese called and said that you were watching him.”
“I—”
“It was your gun that Reese used to shoot Trace, wasn’t it?”
He nodded.
That was what she’d thought. “You would’ve been killed, eventually. At the right time—a time that would match up with whatever scenario Reese planned to spin to the authorities. He would’ve killed you, no doubt with Trace’s gun. That way, everything would end tied up nicely. You went after the killer—you shot Trace, but not before he fatally ended you.”
Alex’s gaze flashed to Trace. “Only the plan got fucked.”
“Yes, but not soon enough.” Because if she’d just reached Trace sooner, then he wouldn’t be in that hospital bed.
Silence from Alex. The heavy, rough silence that seemed to push against Skye’s skin. Then, finally, he asked “Is there anything I can do?”
She smoothed her fingers over Trace’s. “He bounced back so quickly when Mitch shot him.” Just a few weeks before. Why—why couldn’t they just have an easy life? “But I guess Reese was a better shot.” Damn the bastard. “They’ve operated on Trace so many times, trying to repair the damage from that bullet, but the doctors just—” She broke off and had to blink back her hears. “I don’t understand why the doctors can’t have more hope.” She had plenty. There was no way that she would give up on Trace. “He survived before. He’ll do it again.” Please, Trace, cheat death again for me.
“I’m sorry, Skye.”
So was she. “If you want to do something, then bring him back to me.” Because that was the only thing that she wanted.
Alex pulled a chair closer to the bed.
A chair for her.
A chair for him.
“It looks like I owe that man my life,” Alex said.
That man was her life.
They sat down, and they waited.
***
Skye was dead. Anna Jean had killed her. Sliced open Skye’s throat. Let her blood drain out.
Skye was an angel with bloody wings. Dead on a snow covered field.
He’d left her behind, and she’d died.
Skye! Trace tried to scream her name. Again and again, but no sound slipped past his lips.
The cold froze him. Numbed him. And Skye was dead before him.
If she was gone, then he wanted to die, too. He couldn’t, wouldn’t go years without her again.
Skye had been his hope. His only dream.
She was gone.
And he wanted to be with her.
***
The machines started to beep louder. Faster.
Skye shot out of her chair. Her knees locked as she stood at Trace’s bedside. “Trace?” Skye whispered.
He was coming back to her.
The beeping grew more frantic.
Alex rose from his chair. “Ah…Skye…”
A nurse and two doctors rushed into the room. They pushed Skye back.
“You have to go back to the waiting room, miss,” the nurse told Skye as she blocked her path to Trace. “You need to go now.”
No way. Skye peered around the nurse’s shoulder. “He’s waking up! I’m not going anywhere!”
“Blood pressure’s dropping…too damn low,” one doctor muttered.
Alex caught Skye’s hand. “We should go outside.” He sounded so grim. So…sad?
“No!” Skye yanked away from him. “He’s waking up!”