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good.
    “Does the name Ben Sharpe mean anything to you?”
    Ben.
The man’s face flashed before her. The feverish intensity of his eyes.  The certainty in his voice.
    He’s here. Watching. I
know!
    “You know him,” Alex said, apparently reading the truth on her face.
    “We met last night,” she said as she rubbed at the knot of tension in the back of her neck. “Briefly.”
    He stepped closer to her. “And was Weston there for this little meeting?”
    “Ah, yes. He was. Trace and Ben knew each other from—”
    The front door swung open with a creak. Her gaze flew to the door. She’d been sure that she locked it—
    Trace stood in the doorway.
    Of course, he’d have his own key.
    “Griffin.” Trace bit out the cop’s name. “You moved fast.”
    Alex’s eyes narrowed. “Guess you heard, huh? Or did the bodyguard call you and tell you to haul ass over here?”
    “I was just a few blocks away. I didn’t have to haul ass that much.” Trace closed the distance between them. He put his body next to Skye’s but kept his attention on the detective. “You shouldn’t be questioning Skye. She doesn’t even know Ben.”
    Alex’s brow shot up again. “Really? Because she was just telling me that she did. Skye said that she met him last night, with you.”
    The tension between the two men was palpable. 
    “What is going on?” Skye demanded as she threw her hands up in the air. “Why are you asking these questions about Ben?”
    But she already knew. The twist in her gut told her the truth, and she didn’t really want to hear it. She didn’t want to hear Alex say—
    “Ben Sharpe’s body was found this morning, tossed away like garbage in an alley.”
    Her hands fell to her sides.
    So it would seem that Ben hadn’t been so crazy after all.  “He said someone was watching him,” she whispered.
    “Did he now…?” Alex drawled.
    Her knees were trembling. “How did you know we were connected to him?” 
    “It was pretty easy to follow the dots.” Alex inclined his head toward her. “The guy had a picture of you—some grainy shot torn from a newspaper—in his pocket.”
    She’s your mistake, and she’s going to destroy you.
Ben’s words replayed in her mind.
    “And, of course, there was the business card.” Now Alex’s attention shifted to Trace. “
Your
business card, Weston. A card that was gripped tightly in the dead man’s hand.” 
    Her heart raced in her chest.  “Wh-when did Ben die?”
    “The medical examiner says it was last night, sometime between midnight and two a.m.”
    Trace had been gone after midnight.
    “Now…see…that’s not really the question that I expected you to ask,” Alex said, and his gaze was right back on her. “Maybe something like…how did he die? But jumping straight to
when
…that’s not what most folks usually do. Unless, well, unless they’re trying to work out an alibi.”  He paused a beat. “Are you doing that, Skye? Are you trying to work out some kind of alibi?”
    “Of course she isn’t,” Trace snarled. His fingers caught hers. Twined with them. Squeezed lightly. “We appreciate you notifying us of Ben’s death, Detective Griffin.”
    “Cut the bull,” Alex suddenly demanded. “You and I both know I’m not here for some kind of
notification.”
He advanced on Trace until the men stood toe-to-toe. “What the hell is going on here, man?  Did you have something to do with the guy’s death?”
    Skye sucked in a sharp breath.  Trace glanced back at her. He stared into her eyes, then he lifted her hand. He brought it to his lips and lightly kissed her knuckles. Her ring caught the light, gleaming even brighter.
    Trace was still looking at Skye when he said, “No. I had nothing to do with Ben’s death.”
    She had the feeling he was trying to convince her of that fact, not Alex.
    “Don’t
you
want to know how he died?” Alex pushed.
    Trace kept his hold on Skye’s fingers, but he looked at Alex once more. “How did he