Trace of Fever (26 page)

Frowning in distraction, Murray set her away from him and looked at Trace. “What do you think?”

He thought Priss had dug a very deep hole for herself, and now, for him, too. “Maybe you ought to give Priscilla a chance to explain.”

Helene bristled. “Why are you deferring to him? I have the proof! Who cares what he thinks?”

“I do, obviously.” He swept her away from him and gave his attention to Trace. “What’s the point in that?”

“It could be a true misunderstanding instead of a deliberate ruse.” He leveled a look on Hell. “And I’d double-check the results myself before taking her word for it.”

“Bastard!” Hell launched at him, but Trace easily caught her arm and pinned it painfully behind her back.

Near her ear, uncaring of Murray’s audience, he whispered, “I’m not drugged now, Helene, so don’t even think about it.” While she struggled futilely, gasping in pain, Trace conferred with Murray. “Think about it. Helene has proven herself untrustworthy. Instead of going to Priscilla as you gave her permission to do, she came to me. Priscilla is now missing, and suddenly Helene has these results?”

Murray rubbed his chin, pulled at his goatee thoughtfully. “It does seem rather convenient, doesn’t it?”

Helene gasped again and went still. “No!”

Was it possible that Murray actually wanted Priss to be his daughter? More likely, he was just taken off guard at having his plans—whatever those plans might be—thwarted by a possible sham.

Was Priss capable of that much duplicity?

Helene struggled anew. “He’s lying!”

Uncaring if he hurt her, Trace tightened his hold. “Wouldn’t you rather know for sure?”

Eyes narrowed, Murray moved closed to them. “You know, I believe you’re right, Trace.”

There was so much finality in Murray’s voice, Trace could guess what would probably happen to Helene now. He released her and stepped back.

Babbling, pleading, she threw herself against Murray. “You can’t believe him, Murray. You can’t!” She kissed his face, his fat neck. “Baby, you know I wouldn’t lie to you.”

Gently, Murray cupped her face. “Oh, I think you’re most capable of anything, my dear. Most capable. I believe, as Trace suggested, I will have the results checked myself. But not to worry, in the meantime you’ll be kept…safe.”

She whimpered in the first sign of real fear Trace had ever seen from her. Eyes wide, pulse tripping, she whispered, “Murray…”

He smiled at Trace. “Call in security.” He pushed Helene into a chair.

“All right.” Trace gave a quick, pitying glance at Helene, but he knew better than to interfere. He stepped outside the door. “Alice?”

Startled, she jumped up from her desk and jerked around to face him.

Trace frowned. Her face was pale, her expression one of worry. She’d always been inhibited, but he’d never seen her so stressed. He felt very protective toward her. “Get security up here, will you?”

“Security…other than you?”

“Building security,” he clarified. He tried a smile that
had no effect on her, so he gave up and prompted her to action, saying, “Thank you.”

“Oh.” She rushed to take care of the order. “Yes, of course. I’ll see to that right away.”

As she reseated herself behind her desk, Trace closed the door. “On the way.”

“Excellent.”

In one of the padded guest chairs, Helene sat in stony silence, her gaze lost, staring at nothing in particular. Trace couldn’t help but wonder what had happened with her last night after Jackson dumped her.

“We need to find her,” Murray mused.

“Her?”

“Priscilla.” He scowled at Trace. “Keep up.”

In a seeming reprieve from Murray’s censure, Trace’s cell phone rang. Jackson would only use the private cell, and he wouldn’t call; he’d leave a code. While Murray waited expectantly, Trace had no choice but to pull out the phone to turn it off. “Sorry.”

Murray gestured magnanimously. “Go ahead.”

In his bones, Trace knew that answering the call wouldn’t be a good idea. “Whatever it is, it’ll wait.”

“Nonsense. It could be Priscilla.” Murray gestured. “Answer it already.”

With no other choice, he conceded. “All right.” Not sure what new game Murray played, Trace put the phone to his ear. “Trace Miller.”

“Hey, Trace.”

Priscilla.
Good God, what was she thinking? He struggled to keep his expression inscrutable. “What is it?”

“Bad timing? Sorry about that. Nothing is tragically wrong, so don’t worry. I just wanted you to know that I’m here.”

Aware of Murray’s unrelenting attention, Trace asked, “Here…where?”

“Right outside. At a pay phone.”

Un-freaking believable. Priss sounded contrary and lighthearted and he wanted to throttle her. Jaw clenched, he asked, “How?”

“Cabbie. I skipped out before Jackson showed up, so if he calls in a panic, no worries.”

Trace glanced at Murray. “I’m in an important meeting.”

“Oh, with Murray? Awkward! I just wanted you to know that I’m coming in.”

No way in hell. He held the phone tighter. “Negative.”

“Positive,” she replied without concern for the direct order he’d just given her. “Oops. Especially since the jig is up.”

Why had he ever thought her reasonable? “Tell me where you are. I’ll come and get you.”

Murray’s brows lifted.

“Too late for that. Some apes are headed my way. I don’t think I can outrun them, so I’m guessing I’m being brought in. Real quick. Did you say anything to Murray yet? About Helene I mean.”

“Yes.”

“Oh. Well, I can only hope our stories match up— Shoot. Gotta go, Trace. See you soon.” Almost as an afterthought, she added, “Smooches.” The phone died.

Smooches?
Was she out of her mind? Had being around Murray and Helene addled her wits?

With numbness creeping over him, Trace closed the phone and dropped it into his pocket.

“Who was that?”

No point in lying about it. “Priscilla.”

Helene said, “Priscilla?” almost at the same time Murray said, “No shit? I thought she was long gone.”

“Apparently not.” He took up a stance by the door. “I
offered to go get her, but she said she was close by and that apes were coming after her. Your apes, I hope.”

Murray examined a nail. “Most likely. I told the men that if she approached the building, or anywhere near the building, I wanted her brought to me.”

“She
lied
to you,” Helene insisted again.

Ignoring her, Trace said, “Then I assume she’s on her way in.”

“Splendid.” He dropped his hands and again sat behind his desk. “I can’t wait to…greet her.” And then to Helene, “Not a word out of you. Do you understand?”

She hesitated, but then nodded.

A few minutes later, Alice beeped the office. “Mr. Coburn, some of your guards have brought Priscilla Patterson to see you.”

Murray rolled his eyes. “Don’t be a dolt, Alice. Send them in.”

“Yes, sir.”

It was the first time Trace had heard Murray speak to Alice with anything other than professional curtness. But he didn’t have time to dwell on that, not when the same men he’d confronted in Priss’s apartment parking lot entered the room, dragging Priss along as she carped and complained.

A man at either side of her gripped her arms, and another trailed behind. Through remaining bruises and some medical tape, they grinned when they saw Trace.

Priss tried to hide her grimace, but they were hurting her, and Trace wouldn’t tolerate it. Staring at the men but speaking to Murray, he said, “Did you tell them to manhandle her?”

Amused, Murray said, “Actually…no.” And then, in warning, “But this is my office Trace, so don’t break anything.”

“Only bones.” Straight and hard, his fist shot out and
connected with the nose of the man closest to him with cartilage-crunching impact.

Stunned, the fool quickly released Priss and lurched back with a gurgling,
“Arrrr…”
“Do
not
get blood on my carpet,” Murray ordered one and all as he sat back to enjoy the show.

Busy cupping his hands around his spewing nose and trying not to pass out, the man couldn’t fight. He left the room and stumbled to Alice for tissues.

Priss darted out of the fray and away from the remaining two men. Out of the corner of his eye, Trace saw her shift closer to Murray.

She said, somewhat approvingly, “Trace is very efficient at this.”

“Indeed.”

Because he felt uneasy with her so close to Murray, Trace finished off the second man in rapid order. A short kick to an already bandaged knee took one guy completely out of the fight and had the added benefit of being blood-free. All he could do was roll on the carpet, whining.

A punch to the solar plexus, and then the ribs, put the third man down, too. He wheezed for air, close to puking but holding it back in fear of soiling Murray’s carpet.

“Excellent work, Trace.” As he again left his desk, Murray waved Trace back, and then addressed his henchmen. “You continue to disappoint me. Now get out.”

Shifting nervously, Alice held the door wide. After the men had cleared it, she asked Murray in a tiny voice, “Do you need anything else?”

Murray asked Priss, “Coffee? Soda?”

She shook her head. “No. I’m fine. I don’t want to impose further.”

Helene roused herself enough to scoff, but otherwise remained remote and quiet as ordered.

Trace took the doorknob. “That’s all, Alice. Thank you.”

She scanned the room, nodded and left. Trace closed the door.

Braced for anything, Trace aligned himself closer to Priss. If need be, he’d gut Murray and deal with the consequences as they came.

Murray smiled at Priss with the same attention he gave his financial reports. “Don’t hover over her, Trace. She’ll be fine.” He lifted a brow. “Isn’t that right, Priscilla?”

She made a noncommittal noise. “I’m not going to get weepy over a little physical violence, especially since they had it coming.”

“Priscilla,” Trace warned. He wanted to muzzle her. He wanted to whisk her away and forget the rest of the world.

He wanted to…maybe, keep her.

Entertained, Murray smiled at her. “Don’t worry, Trace. She’ll be good. Won’t you?”

More than a little mulish, Priss crossed her arms. “If, by good, you mean I won’t file charges against those goons…I don’t know yet.”

Murray barked a laugh. “Excellent.”

Trace had to wonder when Murray’s good humor would evaporate. “By necessity, Murray has to be very cautious.” He stared at her, hoping to convey the message. “Don’t press him.”

Leering, Murray said, “She can press me a little. I don’t mind.” Then his gaze roamed over her jeans and loose, casual T-shirt. “What in God’s name are you wearing?”

Priss smoothed her shirt and shifted her feet. “You don’t like my clothes?”

“No, I don’t.” Propping a hip on his desk and lacing his hands together, Murray shook his head. “I had clothes
specifically purchased for you so that I wouldn’t have to see these…substandard rags.”

Her face fell comically.

The little faker. Trace didn’t buy any of it.
What the hell was she up to?

“I’m so, so sorry. Really. I wanted to wear them.” The picture of despondency, Priss bit her bottom lip, then lurched closer to him with theatric fanfare. “Oh, Murray, I hate to tell you this, but someone broke into my apartment last night and
destroyed
everything.”

Trace stared at her in fascination. God, she was a fabulous liar.

“Destroyed?” Murray looked taken aback.

“Yes. I had gone out—”

Pouncing on that, Murray asked, “Where?”

Without missing a beat, she said, “To a Laundromat. I needed to wash my pj’s and jeans and stuff.” Injecting the perfect amount of drama, she groaned. “And good thing, since everything else is gone!”

“Gone
where?
”

“That’s what I’m trying to tell you. While I was away, someone broke in!”

Murray looked from Trace, to Helene, and back to Priss. “You’re sure?”

Rapid nodding sent Priss’s beautiful hair spilling over her shoulders, distracting Murray. “I got home and all of my wonderful new clothes were ripped up, ruined beyond repair.” She jiggled as if distressed beyond measure. “Oh, Murray, I didn’t know what to do!”

Murray eyed her. “So what
did
you do?”

“I tried calling Trace.” She cast him a worried, apologetic glance. “But he didn’t answer.”

Brows up, Murray turned to him. “Trace?”

He shrugged, trying to keep up with Priss. “Must’ve been after Helene showed up. I didn’t get any calls that I
know of, but during our…altercation, she took my phone and turned it off.”

Helene started to say something, but Murray gave her a narrow-eyed stare that quieted her immediately.

Priss looked at them all with near-genuine confusion and concern. “I don’t have a number for you, Murray. So…I got out of there. I was afraid to stay. I am so sorry.”

“Hmm. So where did you stay?”

“I hung out in an all-night diner. That was kind of creepy, too, but at least I felt safe.” She rushed on. “I loved the clothes. Really loved them. And I know they cost a lot. I guess—I guess I could work to repay you. Unfortunately I don’t have enough money saved, or I’d just hand it over to you right now.”

Murray finally collected himself. “Nonsense. The clothes can be replaced. It’s your safety I’m concerned about now.” He looked at Trace. “Any ideas who could have done this?”

What a joke. It hadn’t happened, and Trace almost hated to further incriminate Helene; she was in enough trouble already. But since Priss had started this game, he had no choice but to play along.

When he gave Helene a pointed stare, Murray followed his gaze and sighed.

“Yes, I suppose that makes sense.”

Helene’s expression pinched, but she held her peace.

As if she needed comfort, Priss looked fearfully at Helene—and slipped closer to Murray. In a whisper, she asked, “What’s wrong with her?”

Trace had to fight the urge to demolish Murray when he draped his ham bone of an arm around Priss. “She realizes that her actions have abrogated our association beyond repair.”