Part 3 (1/2)

Skye rose onto her toes, ignoring the twinge in her left calf. That twinge would soon turn to an ache, but she'd ignore that, too. She'd grown used to ignoring pain over the years. That was the first rule of dancing. No pain. If your body was weak, you ignored the weakness. You danced until your feet bled. Then you went out onto the stage, and you danced some more.

Her arms stretched. Her back arched. Her first dance cla.s.s would start in three days. That would give her just enough time to- The lights turned off. Every single light shut off at once, plunging her into total darkness.

Her heels. .h.i.t the hardwood floor. The circuit breaker. Dammit, this same problem had happened before. Only then it had been daytime and sunlight had trickled through the windows, providing enough illumination for her to see. Now, there was just night to deepen the darkness.

She kept her hand on the barre as she made her way to the door. The building manager had promised her that the problem had been fixed.

This isn't fixed. This is- A faint rustle of sound reached her ears.

Like a shoe. The quick press of a footstep.

Skye froze. ”Is...is someone there?” When she'd left her apartment, Trace's men had been installing new locks and an alarm system. One of the men had even followed her to the dance studio. She was supposed to be safe.

The floor squeaked. She knew that squeak. There was a weak spot near the front door. Every time she came inside the studio, she stepped in that spot and the floor squeaked beneath her.

Not alone.

She stopped advancing toward the door. Instead, she backed up, fast.

”Skye...” A rasp of her name.

Turning, she ran away from that rasp.

But she didn't get far. Hard hands grabbed her and locked tight around her stomach. He spun her around and jerked her against his body-and those hands holding her so tightly hurt.

”I've been watching...” His voice was still a rasp. A terrifying rasp. He was bigger than she was. So much bigger and stronger, and he held her easily when she twisted against him.

But he hadn't covered her mouth. His mistake. ”Help me!” She screamed as loudly as she could.

Trace's agent was outside. He'd hear her. He'd- Her attacker slammed her into the mirror. The gla.s.s cracked and shattered around her. His fingers pressed over her mouth, reminding her of a nightmare from her past that wouldn't ever stop.

Her head ached where it had hit the mirror. The wooden barre shoved into her back.

His breath blew against the sh.e.l.l of her ear. ”I will be the one,” he told her, voice low and hard.

She lifted her knee. Tried to shove it into his groin, but he was already pulling back.

Even as the sound of footsteps pounded toward her.

Footsteps-and a light?

”Ms. Sullivan?”

She clung to the barre. It seemed to be the only thing holding her up right then. He was here. He was here.

The flashlight hit her in the face. ”Ms. Sullivan, what happened? I heard you cry for help.” It was her guard-Reese Stokes. She recognized his deep voice and that faint Alabama accent. If she could have moved, Skye would have hugged that man right then. Instead, she managed to say, ”He's here!”

That flashlight immediately swept the room, cutting through the darkness. But finding no one.

”He?” Reese asked her as he came closer. He put his arm around her.

”He's here,” Skye said again. Trace had warned her, he'd told her...He's dangerous. He'd been right. If Reese hadn't been there, what would her attacker have done?

”Skye?”

At that familiar, deep voice, she tensed in Reese's arms. Trace.

The lights flooded back on at that moment, coming with a brightness that almost hurt her eyes.

Trace rushed toward her. He pulled her from Reese. ”What the h.e.l.l just happened?”

”She said someone was here.” Reese seemed to have just noticed the broken gla.s.s.

”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, pus.h.i.+ng 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 pa.s.senger'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.”