Mine to Keep (Mine 2)

Trace snarled, “Not fucking now!”

But a voice—Noah’s voice?—called back, “Oh, I think you’re gonna want this fucking now.” A pause. “Drake’s here, and you need to listen to what he has to say.”

“I need to smash his damn face in…” Trace whirled and headed for the door.

Wait, he just—he went for the door. What. The. Hell?

“Stop!” Skye yelled at him.

He stopped.

“In case you didn’t notice, we’re in the middle of something that is pretty important here.”

And he was—what? Choosing to go and talk with Drake while she stood there and felt as if her world were splintering?

“It’s about Skye!” Noah shouted. What, was the guy eavesdropping through the door? “Drake says you need to know who’s been following her.”

“Who hasn’t been?” Skye snapped.

Trace opened the door.

Both Noah and Drake stood there. Noah was glowering. Drake was smiling. And Sara was behind them, watching nervously.

“Uh, Trace?” Sara called, her voice hesitant. She craned her head around Noah and Drake. The light glinted off her blonde hair, and her blue eyes showed more than a hint of nervousness. “I know you said Mr. York was clear, but, um—”

“It’s all right, Sara,” he said. “I can handle them.”

“Right.” Sara nodded quickly. “Then I’ll just leave you to all of…that.”

“Old buddy,” Drake murmured as soon as Sara had slipped away, “it’s been too long.” His lips twitched.

Trace threw a hard swinging punch that caught Drake in the jaw and sent him stumbling back. “Not long enough.”

Drake fell into the hallway.

Sara gasped.

Trace followed Drake out and drew back his fist to punch again. “You went to Skye.”

Skye leapt forward, racing across the room.

“I knew this would happen.” Noah sounded disgusted.

“You told her—” Trace continued.

Skye grabbed his arm. “Don’t! Just—stop!” His muscles were tight beneath her grip.

“You heard the lady,” Drake rasped. “Stop.”

Her gaze flew to him. Trace had busted Drake’s lower lip, and blood dripped down onto his chin, heading for the faint cleft there.

“We all need to calm down,” Noah said.

“Th-that sounds like a plan,” Sara echoed. She’d jumped behind her desk.

Trace turned his head and his gaze met Skye’s. “You already look at me differently.”

Because she wasn’t sure that she knew him at all.

“I’m not the only guy from the past tracking your Skye,” Drake said. “Has she already told you about her near-miss today?”

Trace’s eyes sharpened on her. “What near miss?”

This wasn’t important. “A reporter—” Skye began.

“A white male in his late twenties. Broken nose. Shaggy blond hair.” Drake seemed to be ticking off the description one point at a time. “About six foot one, lean, wearing a hoodie, and focusing only on your lady there.”

Trace dropped his fist.

Drake slowly rose to his feet. He swiped his hand over his bleeding lip. “Still got that killer hook, huh, Trace?”

“And you still have a death wish,” Trace threw right back at him.

“Guess some things never change,” Noah added. “Look, can we cut through the bull and get down to business?” He marched past them and headed back into Trace’s office. “Before we give Sara there a heart attack, let’s bring the party back inside.”

Skye didn’t want them inside. She needed to finish talking to Trace. He couldn’t just blow her off.

But Drake had sauntered inside too.

Trace stood there, staring at her.

And Sara’s gaze was filled with fear.

Right. Skye gave the other woman a little nod and marched back into Trace’s office. He followed on her heels and secured the door.

“Now, isn’t that better?” Noah asked. “We can tear each other apart in private…or, if we’re feeling sane, we can actually talk.”

Trace folded his arms over his chest and focused on Drake. “Tell me more about the guy at Skye’s place.”