Free Mine to Take by Cynthia Eden Page A

just how many flowers get delivered after a show? It’s a fuckin’ madhouse here.”
    And someone had slipped into that madhouse far too easily. 
    “I’ll check, okay?”  Robert offered as a knock sounded at the door. “I’ll ask around and see if anyone remembers anything but, Skye, you know how fast the back-stage groups turn over.  We’ve got new staff working this show.”
    With every new show, there was a rotation.
    A knock rapped again at the door. “Wolfe!” A woman’s voice called. “They need you on stage.”
    “Be right there.”  He straightened his shoulders. Met Trace’s stare. “Check my alibi. Talk to the dancers.  Like I said, I would
never
hurt Skye, and I sure hope you find the bastard who did.”  Then he glanced her way. The gold in his eyes heated. “Come back to me.  I want you to dance for me again.”
    Angry tension seemed to roll off Trace’s body.
    “I…can’t,” Skye said softly. 
    “How do you know?”  Robert asked her, tilting his head as he studied her. “Unless you try?”
    The knock pounded again. It was much more impatient this time. “Wolfe, they’re screwing up out here! We need you.”
    He gave a curt nod to Skye and Trace, and Robert hurried away.
    The door hung open behind him, just a few inches.
    “Before we leave,” Trace spoke slowly, “
I’ll
talk to the stagehands here and see if anyone remembers something.”
    She nodded. “It’s been too long, hasn’t it?”  If Trace had been here to question people sooner, to run his investigation, then perhaps more evidence, more clues could have been found.
    Trace exhaled slowly. “I’ll find him. He’s not getting away.”
    She hoped that he wasn’t.  She started to slip by Trace.
    He caught her arm. “You left New York without trying to dance again? You just ran from the city?”
    Her throat had gone dry.  “It took me weeks to walk again.” That was only
after
all of the surgeries. “And I did try.”  That painful memory would never go away. “The first time I tried to dance, I fell on my face.” The first time, the second, the third.  Her lashes lifted so that she could meet that bright blue stare. “Robert is the most demanding choreographer I’ve ever worked with. I knew what he would see if he watched me dance. I didn’t want to hear him say—”
    You’ve lost it, love.
    She could hear his words clearly in her mind.
    “There are some things that you know on your own.”  She’d had enough humiliation and pain by that point.  Running had seemed like her best plan.
Escape.
    And she didn’t want to talk about this anymore. “I’ll go talk to some of the dancers.” Her words tumbled out quickly. “I’ll see if anyone remembers or—or maybe if anyone had something like this happen to them.” So she was grasping at straws. That room was too small. Too filled with memories, and Skye wanted to get
out
of there.
    So she fled. After all, she might suck at walking sometimes, but when it came to running away, she had that one down cold.
    ***
    The Brit was a bastard who touched Skye far too freely. Trace could still feel the jealousy coursing through him.
    You came back to me.
    The hell she had. Skye hadn’t turned to Wolfe when she needed protection.
    She’d gone to Trace.
    The dancers and the stagehands had been no help. They didn’t remember anything.
    Or anyone.
    Plenty of fans had come to see Skye, but their faces were a blur in everyone’s memories.
    Useless.
    So they’d left the dancers and the choreographer who watched Skye with far too much intensity. They’d moved to the second stop on their list.
    He’d visited this place before. So many times, when Skye hadn’t even known he was there.
I had to make sure she was all right.
    “It’s been a while,” Skye murmured beside him as they strode down the hospital corridor. “And I can’t exactly say I’m happy to be back here.”
    The scent of disinfectant filled his nose. Nurses bustled past him.  A family