Mine to Take by Cynthia Eden

bastard.
    He took her hand. “Not still afraid to fly, are you?”
    Yes, she was. Terrified. 
    But she wasn’t about to admit that fact to him. He already thought she feared too many things in this world.   
    I do.
    She’d first started to fear when she was eight years old. When her parents hadn’t come home from their dinner.  When she’d heard her babysitter whispering about an accident. When she’d stood in a graveyard and watched as flowers were put on two caskets.
    She’d feared when she went to the first foster home. When she’d gone to the second. To the third.
    She’d feared when hard hands had reached for her during the night. When she was hurt. Pain that came again and again.  Her only escape had been to dance.
    A social worker had introduced Skye to dancing. She’d taken her to a community center, and Skye had gotten lost in the music, in the dance.
    She’d danced. Day after day after day.
    And she’d feared…
    Until she’d looked up and into a pair of bright, angry blue eyes.
    The fear had stopped then, for a time.
    But it had come back all too soon.
    It always returned, eventually.
    ***
    Alex Griffin watched as the private plane taxied down the runway. Jet-setting away…that seemed to fit with the image that was developing for Trace Weston.
    He’d been digging into the man’s background for most of the day.  A kid who’d grown up poor, Weston had entered the Army at twenty. His past had been easy enough to discover up until that point, but after he’d enlisted with Uncle Sam, Trace Weston’s records had vanished. There was a four-year hole in the man’s past.  Four years of seemingly
nothing.
    Then Weston had appeared again in Chicago. He’d appeared and suddenly had deep ties with foreign dignitaries, government agencies. His security company had skyrocketed to the top of the field.
    Weston had become a millionaire. No, a billionaire, according to his tax reports.
    So why was a guy like that taking such a personal interest in a stalking case? That wasn’t even the type of security Weston handled. He worked with corporations, not individuals.
    Alex pulled his hands from the pockets of his jacket. He’d already used his badge to gain entrance to the back area of the airport, and he was about to use the shield to help him again. People always talked freely when a badge was involved.
    His eyes narrowed as he saw a man rushing away from the runway. “Uh, excuse me, sir…” Alex called out.
    The man, older, balding, frowned at him.  He wore one of the light blue uniforms typical of the ground crew. 
    “Were you just working on Trace Weston’s plane?” Alex asked, as he kept his badge out.
    The fellow glanced at the badge, then back at Alex’s face. “Mr. Weston doesn’t have any trouble with me. I do my job, I—”
    “I never said you didn’t,” Alex soothed. “I was just curious…”
    And he had been curious. He’d pulled up at Skye’s studio just in time to see her climb into Weston’s car. So he’d followed them, and he’d watched them fly right out of the city.
    Strange. An attack one day. A vacation the next?
    “Where was Mr. Weston heading?” Alex asked as he cocked his head.
    The guy glanced over his shoulder. “I-I think he was going to New York again.”
    Where Skye Sullivan had lived for so long. “Does he go to New York often?” He could, for business, or for—
    “Yeah, he goes there a lot. At least once each week.”  The man tried to brush by him.
    Alex just shifted and blocked his path. “Guys on the ground can sometimes hear stories.” And pick up a lot of gossip. “You hear any stories about why Weston visited New York? In the past? Tonight?”
    The man smiled, revealing a crooked front tooth. “I don’t care why he flies. It just matters that he does. Gives me a job.”
    Right.  This info wasn’t helping him. 
    The guy walked away.  Alex glanced up at the sky. Light raindrops were still falling down. He couldn’t see the plane any