Trace of Fever (27 page)

Filled with false innocence, Priss stammered, “I…I don’t know what that means.”

“It means she’s no longer under my protection, and that, young lady, is a very bad place to be.” Almost fondly, Murray hugged Priss into his side. “You might want to remember that.”

Forestalling any reply on Priss’s part, Alice stuck her head in. “Security is here.”

“Perfect timing.”

Priss gasped. “The men who grabbed me?” She half crawled behind Murray, using him like a shield.

“No.” Murray looked aggrieved by her seeming fear, and then lenient. “Building security, not my guards.” He patted her cheek. “And they’re here for Helene, not you.”

Panicked, Helene tried to bolt. Trace had already moved to block the door when Murray caught her by the hair, viciously twisting to subdue her. Gasping in honest dismay, Priss backpedaled out of the way. And Trace stood there helpless, hating that Priss witnessed the brutality.

She’d already seen too much in her young life. He wanted to shield her—but right now, he couldn’t do anything at all.

“Get the door,” Murray told him. And then to Priss, “Don’t you go anywhere, young lady. I’ll be right back.”

Wide-eyed, Priss nodded.

Trace stood aside as Murray dragged Helene out into the foyer. She was a tough one, but even she had her limits, and Trace found he wasn’t immune in reacting to her pain and fear.

Through the open door they could see Murray talking quietly to the men, but couldn’t hear what he said. Alice, on the other hand, was close enough to go alternately pale, then flushed.

For a moment, Trace thought she might faint. He wanted to protect her, too, but he had Priss to contend with. And then Alice stiffened her spine and he knew she’d be okay.

For now.

The guards, for their part, didn’t seem to relish whatever duty had befallen them. When Murray shoved Helene toward them, they caught her awkwardly and she broke into sobs.

“Jesus,” Priss whispered.

Teeth clenched and temper burning, Trace said, “Not. A. Word.”

She glanced at him, and patted his arm. “Okay.”

Now
she was agreeable? With no other choice left to him, Trace slipped his hand into his pocket and sent a code to Jackson before saying to Priss, “If only you’d shown that much sense before now.”

She kept her gaze on Murray through the doorway. “I’m sorry, but you can’t cut me out of this.”

God help them. Falling back into the role assigned him, Trace turned and grabbed her arm. He pressed her into the seat Helene had just vacated, saying low, “You need to trust me now.”

“I do.” Priss swallowed hard, her eyes bright, determined. “Now it’s your turn to show a little trust in return.”

D
ESPICABLE AS
H
ELENE
might be, it wasn’t easy to see her dragged away. And with Trace so furious, it was even harder to maintain her pretense, especially when Murray strode back in as if he hadn’t just physically and emotionally abused his lover. Horror would be the appropriate reaction, so Priss gave in to it.

Hand to her mouth, she stared from Trace to Murray. “What in the world did she do?”

“She destroyed your new clothes.”

“Oh, but…” Surely Murray wouldn’t pretend that was her only offense? “If that’s so…why? Why would she do such a thing?”

“Jealousy, no doubt.” Murray finished off a drink, and went to the liquor cabinet to pour another.

“Oh.” What the hell could she say now? “I seriously doubt that.”

Laughing, Murray sent a toast to Trace.

“Well, really, whatever the reason, I don’t want to see her hurt….”

“Don’t worry about it, my dear. The authorities will deal with her.”

Yeah, right.
“You called the police?”

“Of course.” He smirked at her. “What did you think I would do?”

Torture her? Kill her? Sell her to the highest bidder, or maybe pass her around to his associates for grins and giggles?

Saying none of that aloud, Priss shook her head. “I don’t know. You’ve said yourself that you’re a powerful man, and so many strange things have happened since I came here. I don’t know what to think anymore.”

“It’s understandable.” He knocked back the drink and poured another.

Was he getting toasted? That’d be convenient.

Almost to himself, Murray said, “You have actually seen far too much.”

Wow, not a subtle threat at all. Priss eased out of the chair. “Maybe I should come back another time.”

“No.” The way he bared his teeth in the semblance of a smile certainly wasn’t meant to reassure her. Stepping around her, he said to Trace, “The deal is happening today. I need you along.”

The deal.
Priss hoped and prayed he meant what she thought he meant, because she badly wanted this all to end.

Trace looked far from relieved. “What about her?” He nodded toward Priss.

“With villains pursuing her left and right, we can’t very well leave her unprotected, now, can we?”

Face set and cold, Trace said nothing.

Murray clapped him on the shoulder. “I believe we’ll take her along.”

Afraid of what she’d see, Priss didn’t look at Trace. She knew he’d be in a killing mood, but trusted him—yeah, she did trust him—to keep his temper under wraps so they could finish this properly, preferably with Murray finished once and for all.

In a pretence of excitement, she clapped her hands together. “To a business meeting? You mean it?”

Deadpan, he looked at Trace, then back to Priss. “I always say what I mean.”

“Oh, Murray, I’d
love
to see what you do and how you
do it. But…” She looked down at herself. “I’m hardly dressed properly.”

“I’ll have Twyla send over something. She should have your size on record.”

Priss gasped in credible awe. “You can do that?”

For an answer, he hit the button to summon Alice. When the poor woman entered, feet dragging, Murray said, “Priscilla will be joining me on my business meeting today.”

Alice shot a pitying glance her way.

“Get Twyla to send over something nice for her to wear. Tell her I need it within the hour.”

“Yes, sir.” Alice waited to be dismissed.

Studying her, Murray tapped his thick sausage fingers on the desktop. “You know, Alice, it’d be nice if you dressed a little more appropriately, too. You don’t have to look so dreary all the time.”

She looked like she’d just been struck. Even more meekly, she said, “Yes, sir.”

“We’ll leave at two.” His expression boded ill for all. “Clear my calendar for the rest of the day after that.” When she still hesitated, he said, “That’s all.”

After she’d left the room, Trace frowned. “Alice is going along, too?”

“Always. She keeps the books.”

Whoa. That was something Priss hadn’t considered. Surely Alice wasn’t a willing participant. Not that she was a good judge of such things, but still—Helene, she could see. Murray, obviously. But not Alice.

When Priss looked at Trace, he wore no expression at all. But she already knew him well enough to pick up on his escalating tension.

“I have some things to attend to.” Murray moved around them, speaking to Trace as if she didn’t exist. “Take her to the conference room. Alice will bring the
clothes as soon as they arrive. Supervise her when she changes. I don’t want any surprises.”

“I’ll get her something to drink in the meantime.”

“Yeah.” He glanced at Priss without much interest. “Make her comfortable.” He went out the door with an intent scowl of preoccupation.

As he passed Alice’s desk, she jumped up to follow…almost like a pet, eager to please—or fearful of disappointing.

When the coast was clear, Priss said, “Wow, that was—”

Trace caught her wrist, shushing her. She looked at him and he shook his head.

Bugged?
she mouthed.

He shrugged, letting her know he wasn’t certain. But he glanced at the intercom system Murray used, and she realized it could easily go both ways.

“Come on.” Still holding her wrist, he led her from the room, down a hall and into another, even larger room framed by floor-to-ceiling windows on two walls.

Already feeling exposed, Priss wrapped her arms around herself. “I’m expected to change in here?”

Trace looked harsh, furious and determined. “You’re expected to do whatever Murray tells you to.”

“Yeah, I know. But…” She bit her lip, and nodded. “You said something about a drink?”

His left eye twitched before he turned away and went to a built-in bar. From under the bar he produced a Coke. He tossed ice in a glass and poured. “Have you eaten?”

“Not much.”

That seemed to anger him more. “I can’t leave you to get real food, so your choices are peanuts, pretzels or cheese crackers.”

He treated her like a stranger, and even though she knew it was a precaution in case Murray listened in, it still
hurt. She wanted to tell him that she’d be okay, that she did have a plan, but talking about it would be too risky.

Pulling out a padded chair at the long conference table, she seated herself. “Cheese crackers, thank you.” She lifted free the long chain around her neck and toyed with it.

Trace didn’t appear to notice.

He hadn’t gone through her purse this time, either. He might do that yet, but would he recognize the heart-shaped key chain? Once she removed the cover off the heart, it was a sharp-edged weapon. And what about her pink cell phone? It looked innocent enough, but it was actually a 950,000-volt stun gun in disguise. Trace would probably know she didn’t really have a cell phone, but would he recognize it for the protection it offered her?

One way or another she would choke Murray’s fat neck with the necklace, or cut it with the key chain, or she’d fry him with the stun gun. But she
would
do him harm—the same way he’d harmed her mother, and by association, her.

Trace set down the soda and a bowl of crackers in front of her. He stared down at her for a moment, but when she began to eat he strode to the window to look out. Priss noticed that he had one hand in his pocket.

Sending a code to Jackson?

She hoped so. They could probably use all the help they could get.

Being a nervous eater, Priss had just finished off the crackers when Alice came in carrying a bag of clothes. Trace met her halfway across the room, but Priss stepped around him.

“Alice?”

She paused, her demeanor reserved, worried.

Priss reached out to take her hand. “Thank you.”

Expression pained, Alice swallowed and nodded.
“You’re welcome.” She made a hasty retreat from the room, closing the door quietly behind her.

It bothered Priss, how downtrodden Alice was. “She’s more skittish than usual.”

“She must have more sense than you.”

Priss glared at Trace, but he didn’t give up his belligerent attitude. Fine. Let him stew.

“Where can I change?”

He lifted a hand to indicate the entirety of the large, open room. “Anywhere you want, but I’ll be watching you.”

It was her turn to scowl. Sure, he’d seen her naked. But this was…different. “That’s ridiculous.”

“You heard what Murray said.” His hazel eyes all but glowed with an eerie, angry light.

When she tried facing off with him, hoping he’d back down, he shook his head. “You’re only making it harder on yourself.”

Priss flattened her mouth. “I don’t like you very much right now.”

“You say that like I should give a damn.”

Ohhh. Jerk!
Okay, so she knew he had to play his role, but did he have to look so sincere and sound so convincing doing it?

She upended the bag of clothing on the table. A dress, minuscule panties and torturous heels. Great. Just freaking great. Changing was something she hadn’t counted on.

Holding up the black tank dress to examine it, Priss saw that it was a size too small—meaning it’d be really tight. And it had lace insets all along the sides—meaning much of her skin would be visible. And it was short—so she wasn’t going to be able to move without flashing the panties.

“Nice,” Trace told her, deliberately provoking.

Priss ignored him as she looked at the panties next. She wanted to groan. Flesh colored, barely there and bound to be uncomfortable.

“None of this is appropriate for a meeting with my father.”

“Quit stalling.” He touched her arm. “I want you done before Murray shows up.”

Oh, hell. What if she was in midchange when he walked in? If he were listening to them now, would he show up at the worst time on purpose?

Possibly.

Hastily, her back to Trace, Priss skimmed off her shirt and bra and, as stealthily as she could, pulled the dress on. She glanced at Trace, and saw him smiling at her ingenuity.

“Take the jeans off, too.”

“I am.” She wiggled and squirmed without showing too much by tugging the dress down as she pulled off her jeans and underwear.

He reached around her, the panties hanging off his pinkie. “Here you go, Priscilla.”

Snatching them away from him, Priss started to bend down to step in, but she could feel Trace right behind her.
So
close. If she bent, she would surely bump into him.

Uncertain of his purpose, she said, “You’re crowding me.”

“Thought you’d be used to that by now.”

Was that for Murray’s benefit, or not? She just didn’t know. “You’re a bully.”

“Just doing a job.”

Definitely Murray’s benefit. Sighing, Priss lifted one foot—and felt his hands settle on her hips with the pretense of steadying her. He was so warm, his hands sure, his comfort undeniable regardless of the games they were forced to play.

Staving off the emotion became more difficult. “Trace…”

The door flew open and Murray strode in, saying, “All ready?”

God bless Trace, he turned, and Priss was able to use his big body as a shield to hastily yank on the underwear. As she straightened, Trace stepped aside, and their moves couldn’t have been more choreographed if they’d practiced them together.

Seeing her properly clothed, Murray couldn’t hide his annoyance. “Where are the shoes?”

“Right here.” Priss sat—her back to the men—and slipped on the narrow, pointy-toed stilettos. The absurd ensemble was in no way presentable for any afternoon event, other than perhaps stripping or…getting sold.

Voice strained, Murray said, “Let’s have a look at you.”

Tugging at the low neckline of the dress, Priss stood again. With no help for it, feeling very self-conscious, she presented herself to the men. “The dress is too tight.”

“Nonsense.” Murray licked loose lips, his narrowed gaze lingering on her breasts, and then her legs. “You look quite nice.”

Her smile hurt. “Thank you.” She busied herself by folding her own clothes and stacking them together.

Alice spoke from the doorway. “Everything is ready.”

“Good, good.” Murray reached for Priss’s hand. “Let’s go, then, shall we?”

She didn’t want to touch him, but she didn’t want to blow the opportunity, either. Leaving her sensible clothes behind, she nodded. “All right.”

His fat, clammy fingers griped hers too tightly, and his thumb kept brushing over her skin in a suggestive way.
Priss’s stomach roiled, and it took all her concentration not to react to his vile attention.

On the ride down the elevator, Trace stood with his hands clasped at his back, Alice stared at her feet, and Murray toyed with her until she wanted to scream and slap him away.

Perv.

Disgusting, abusive, evil. The world wouldn’t miss him when he was gone.

Once in the parking garage, Murray finally released her, but his torment didn’t end. At his insistence, Trace drove and Alice rode shotgun. She and Murray took up the backseat.

Twice he let his thigh touch hers, and when she moved away, he put his hand on her knee. Priss made a point of being so jumpy—just as any woman would be—that he finally gave that up. But nothing she did could dissuade him from sliding his sleazy gaze over her cleavage. She felt violated, and that made her imagine how her mother had felt dealing with so much more, with more than any woman should ever have to bear.

Anxious for her shot to hurt him, Priss kept her purse to the other side of her, away from Murray and his prying eyes. If need be, she could retrieve her weapons quickly, but she didn’t want to do that until they’d freed Murray’s latest victims.

And Alice. Somehow, difficult as the prospect might be, she wanted to help her, too.

Murray started a conversation on his power and connections that sounded more like a veiled threat than anything else. Priss pretended to listen, but instead she kept stealing glances at Trace. Because he looked alert and tense, but not really worried, Priss decided that she wouldn’t worry, either.