Mine to Take (Mine 1)

“She said someone was here.” Reese seemed to have just noticed the broken glass.

“Go. Search,” Trace ordered as he pulled Skye even closer to him. “I’ve got her.”

Pieces of the broken mirror had fallen to the floor. They crunched beneath Trace’s expensive shoes.

Reese hurried away from them. When he ran away, Skye saw the gun in his hand.

Her breath choked out. Why is this happening?

Trace’s fingers slid through her hair. He growled, “Dammit, you could have a concussion.”

What she had was a giant knot on her head. One that was making her dizzy and nauseous. Wait, was that a concussion?

“I’m getting you out of here.”

Before she could say anything else, he’d lifted her into his arms. He held her easily, as if she weighed nothing at all, and he hurried for the door.

Then they were outside. The crisp air hit her, pushing back some of the nausea, but not doing a thing to alleviate her fear. The fear had far too tight of a grip on her.

Trace carried her toward a dark Jag. He opened the door and sat her inside on the passenger’s seat. “Tell me what happened.”

She hadn’t seen him in ten years. So why was she so ridiculously glad that he was the one there with her? “I was practicing…the lights went out. I-I thought it as the breaker. It’s gone out before and—”

He caught her chin in his hand. “When did the man come?”

She swallowed. “When it went dark. I heard the floor squeak, and I knew he was there.” She licked her too-dry lips. “I tried to run, but he caught me.”

“Did he…” Trace’s words were gritted, “what did he do to you?”

Her eyelids flickered as she remembered. “He slammed my head into the mirror. Reese came in…before he could do anything else.”

I will be the one.

Her hands were shaking. She balled them into fists in her lap.

“I’m taking you to the hospital.”

“No, I—”

“I’m taking you to the hospital,” Trace said again, anger snapping in the words. “You’ve got a concussion. You need to be checked out.”

“Boss!” Reese rushed toward them. “I searched the building, but no one’s there.”

Her gaze darted down the street. There were other buildings, a few shops nearby, but they were all closed for the night.

“Stay here. Get back-up on the scene,” Trace ordered Reese. “I want that SOB. And we’re getting him.”

Then he slammed her door shut. She watched him through the window, chill bumps rising on her skin. Trace leaned close to Reese. Whispered something that she couldn’t hear. The chill bumps got worse. Skye felt so cold then. So very cold.

Trace turned away from Reese and stalked back toward her. The driver’s door opened. Trace slid inside the vehicle, and the engine growled to life.

I will be the one.

The words wouldn’t stop whispering through her mind.

The car’s engine snarled to life, and the Jag shot into the night.

She looked back. Reese stood there, staring after them. Her studio was lit up, every light glowing.

And the monster who’d been in the dark—he was long gone.

But he’ll be back.

The cold sank down, penetrating all the way to her bones.

***

“Definitely concussed,” the doctor said as she shone a light into Skye’s eyes.

Trace crossed his arms over his chest. He’d moved back so the doctor could work on Skye, but he hadn’t been about to leave the small exam room. He wasn’t in the mood to let Skye out of his sight.

“We’ll need you to stay overnight for observation,” Dr. Denise Bond told Skye as she lowered her light. “It’s a precaution in a situation like this—”

“No,” Skye said, her immediate denial cutting through the doctor’s words. “I’m going home.”

“I don’t think you realize how dangerous a concussion could be.” The doctor spoke carefully, still in that soothing bedside manner that some docs managed so easily. “Brain injuries are unpredictable. Your concussion appears mild now, but what if you have a seizure in the middle of the night? What if you fall…is there someone at your home that can help you?”

Skye’s green gaze darted to Trace, then back to the doctor. “I-I’ll be fine.”

She’ll be alone.

The doctor glanced back at him.

“I’m the patient,” Skye reminded her. Trace rather liked the snap of anger in her voice. Before, Skye had been afraid. She’d been shaking when he first rushed inside that studio.

Reese should have been taking better care of her. The agent had screwed up.

No, I screwed up. I should have kept her closer. Too much time had been wasted.

“Are you…involved with the patient?” The doctor asked him, obviously trying to figure out his relationship with Skye.

He nodded. She didn’t need to know more. “She won’t be alone.”

Some of the tension eased from the doctor’s face. “You’re going to need to keep her awake. Monitor her through the night.”

“Trace…” Skye began.

“Consider it done,” he said.

The doctor nodded, looking grateful. “I’ll go prepare discharge orders.” But then she hesitated. “You will keep a close eye on her?”

“The closest possible,” Trace promised.

The doctor hurried from the room, and Trace headed toward the exam table. He locked eyes with Skye. Forgot about the doctor. “This is the way it will play out. You come with me, or you spend the night here.”

Bright spots of color stained her cheeks. “I’ve been inside hospitals long enough. After the accident, I had weeks of therapy. I can’t stay here.”

His hands pressed into the exam table on either side of her. “Then you’re coming with me.” She’d been the one to walk into his office. To return to him. He wasn’t about back away now.

“He’s accelerated,” Trace told her as he leaned in close. The room smelled like antiseptic, but she smelled of sweet vanilla. He was close enough to see the gold in her eyes. “He snuck past my guard. He got to you. He hurt you.” Trace barely held back his fury. “I’m not leaving you on your own until that SOB is off the streets.”

A knock sounded at the door then. He glanced over his shoulder.

“This is Detective Alex Griffin!” A voice called. “Skye, I need to talk with you.”

Trace’s eyes narrowed. He’d been wondering when the local boys in blue would be showing up.

“He’s the one who’s been handling my case,” Skye murmured. “The doctors…they must have called the police in.”

“You were assaulted.” Trace knew the notification would have been standard protocol.

“I guess he has to believe me now,” she said, voice tense.

His gaze cut back to her. Skye was clad in a one of those green paper hospital gown. She looked so fragile sitting on that table. Her eyes were huge. Her hair a dark curtain around her face.

“Skye!” The detective called again.

And, before she could respond, the guy began to open the door.