by Lori Foster
“Yeah, I can handle it.” But he’d need a safe place to stash Priss, just in case this was a diversion.
Murray continued with smooth intent. “And if I need him shot to impress the other buyers?”
Trace shrugged. “I’ll shoot him.” Then he added, “But I can impress the others without wasting a bullet, if you’d prefer that.”
“Good man.” As always, with the confirmation of imminent violence, Murray returned to his good humor. “I’ll see you at seven, then.” And with that, he disconnected the call.
In the silence that followed, Trace heard Priss’s deep breathing. He didn’t want to look at her, to acknowledge what he’d done to her, but he couldn’t stop himself.
While he’d spoken to Murray, she’d shifted a little and now she slumped toward him with her head in an awkward position.
Ignoring Liger’s eerie stare of accusation, Trace reached past Priss and released her seat belt.
As she tumbled toward him, he eased her head down to rest against his thigh. Her long ponytail bunched in his lap, and Trace smoothed it out. In the darkness of the garage, he couldn’t see the red highlights in her amazing hair, only the deep browns.
Visually examining every inch of her, Trace noted that her smooth, soft skin looked very pale, her long lashes left shadows on her cheeks, and her lips were slightly parted.
So were her knees.
For the longest time, Trace just looked at her. For once, instead of being on guard, her expression appeared serene and at peace.
When sleeping.
When drugged.
He couldn’t keep his hands off her, off the warm flesh of her arms, the silk of her hair. To him, the ponytail looked torturous, pulling at her scalp.
Feeling like a bastard, Trace withdrew his knife, lifted her hair and, using just the tip of the blade, cut through the rubber band.
Priss didn’t stir.
After massaging her scalp to ease any conceived discomfort, he spread out the long locks, trailing them across his lap, feeling the coolness, the weight of her hair.
Jesus, she was dead to the world, so why was he was tormenting himself like this? He wasn’t going to take advantage of her right now, so he’d be smart to buckle her back in and get this cursed trip over with.
The cat jumped up into the seat to watch him more closely. Cautiously, given that soul-deep stare, Trace reached out to rub Liger’s ear, and got a small meow in return.
“I won’t hurt her.” But he knew he already had.
Maybe in acceptance of his statement, maybe out of feline laziness, Liger curled up against Priss’s side and started purring. He overflowed the seat, but didn’t seem to mind.
He only wanted to be next to Priss.
At least the cat trusted him, Trace decided. It was a start.
Taking the time to rearrange both woman and animal, Trace buckled Priss back into her seat and let Liger get comfortable next to her. He started the truck, put it in gear, and drove from the garage.
With Priss so soft, warm and sexy beside him, it was going to be a very long drive.
AT THE FUZZY EDGES OF HER mind, Priss realized that the radio music had suddenly stopped—and she was no longer in motion.
The stillness closed in around her.
Confusion gnawed on her contentment, and she peeked open one eye to see Trace behind the wheel of what looked like the dashboard to an old truck.
Window open, he spoke outside the vehicle, into what looked like an intercom. Priss stayed very still and listened.
“No one followed us. But I might need a minute or two to bring her around.”
Another voice, deep and mellow, came through an intercom, but Priss couldn’t catch what was said.
“Yeah,” Trace replied. “She’s been out pretty damn hard.”
Out? She tried to think, but that hurt her head. The truck moved forward, slowly now, and stopped beneath some shade.
Little by little, as the fog cleared, memories tumbled back in.
Being at the garage. Eating breakfast. Talking to Trace, being kissed by him…
Drinking the water.
Oh, God.
Everything slammed back into her sluggish brain. Trace had drugged her!
How long had she been out? What had he done to her? She attempted to take inventory of her body, but other than remaining lethargy, nothing seemed amiss.
The sudden pounding of her heart did more to revive her than anything else could have. She had to concentrate hard to hide her awareness, to keep from jerking upright and lambasting Trace with her fury.
Where were they, and what did he have planned?
She felt Trace draw nearer. She breathed in his scent, and heard him say, “It’s okay, boy. I bet you’re ready for a break, aren’t you? Even though you slept most of the way.”
He spoke to Liger. She felt a furry tail drift past her, and panic settled in.
She would not let Trace or anyone else hurt her cat.
That didn’t really make sense, given that Trace had wanted to protect Liger. But how could she trust him on anything after he’d tricked her into drinking water with drugs in it?
“Good God,” came yet another voice, this one right outside the truck. “Are you sure that’s a domestic cat?”
“A friendly one, yeah.” The truck moved as the driver’s door opened. “Don’t be a sissy, Chris. He’s as gentle as a lamb.”
A man laughed. “Hand him out. I’ll see what Dare’s girls think of him.”
The bench seat shifted beneath her. “Just be careful. I don’t know what he’ll think of the girls and I don’t want him spooked.”
“Damn, you are a big boy, aren’t you?”
Liger gave his sweet little meowing reply, which made the man laugh again. “Don’t worry, Trace. I’ll take good care of him.”
She recognized the name Dare from Trace’s phone call. But Chris? His girls? Just where had Trace taken her, and why? At least she knew they meant no harm to her cat. Even now, she could hear Chris talking to Liger, soothing him, coddling him with soft words. And he’d sounded sincere enough when he told Trace that he’d take good care of Liger.
So her cat was safe—but was she?
As subtly as possible considering that her limbs still felt leaden and her head stuffed with cotton, Priss slid her hand back and opened her seat belt. It made a quiet but distinct “clink” and the belt loosened.
Aware of Trace’s gaze now on her, of him looming closer, she kept her eyes closed, relaxed, her body boneless.
His hand touched her cheek, moved over her jaw, then under her chin. “Priss?” His fingertips felt so warm, and oddly gentle. “Come on, honey. You’ve been out long enough.”
Honey? How dare he?
Remembering all the training she’d put herself through, Priss reacted without warning. Her fist came up hard and fast. She aimed for Trace’s nose, which would have done the most damage. But at the last second he turned and she connected with his left eye instead. Even in the close confines of the truck cab, she got some momentum on the punch.
Trace jerked back with a curse.
Swinging her feet up and pulling her knees to her chest, Priss kicked him in the sternum.
He wheezed as he went sprawling backward through the open driver’s door of the truck.
In a flash she had the passenger door open, but her legs were so weak, she fell out in a rather inelegant sprawl.
She didn’t stay down. No way.
Though her head pounded, she surged to her feet and after one fast glance back at Trace, she bolted forward—and right into something rock-solid.
More staggered now than ever, she reeled back.
Arms of steel went around her, locking tight and inciting pure, red-hot terror. Like a wild woman whose life depended on getting away, Priss fought. She utilized every escape method she’d ever learned, but sadly, she didn’t gain even the slightest edge toward release.
And then Trace was there. “Let her go, Dare.”
Without a word, the immobilizing arms opened and she ended up crushed close to Trace’s chest instead. “It’s all right, honey.” His voice was low, melodic. Apologetic. “Take it easy now. No one’s going to hurt you.”
The frantic pumping of her heart subsided. For reasons that had to allude to insanity, she felt…safe. It was Trace she’d been escaping, Trace who had slipped something into her water. And yet it was there, in his tone, in the way he rocked her side to side.
Remorse.
Caring.
Fighting off nervous tears, Priss shoved back from him. Not out of his arms, because she still needed the support, but back enough that she could glare into his face.
Already his left eye was swelling, turning purple. That gave her grim satisfaction.
“You drugged me.”
“I know.” He stroked a big hand over her hair. “I’m sorry about that. No choice, really.”
It occurred to her that her hair hung loose and tangled around her shoulders. Where had her rubber band gone?
“No choice?” She sneered at him and, finally feeling grounded, slapped his hands away from her. “Of course you had a choice.”
From behind her, a man said, “No, he didn’t.”
Priss whirled around, and almost toppled herself again. A man—a big man—stood less than two feet from her. His size didn’t alarm her, not when she was already used to Trace’s size. This one stood a few inches taller than Trace, but looked no more imposing for it.
It was the way he completely towered over her smaller stature that put her on alert. Early thirties, short brown hair and electric-blue eyes.
Dangerous. Just like Trace.
Her throat tightened, and she stepped back against Trace. Casually, as if he’d expected no less from her, Trace looped his arms around her and clasped his hands over her stomach.
“Priss, this is my good friend, Dare.”
Dare nodded. “Trace would no more give away my location than I would his. You’re an unknown, lady, and around here, we don’t take chances.”
Around here, meaning…what? The location, or the business?
Dare wasn’t exactly hostile, but close enough to rile Priss. And with Trace’s arms around her, well, she wasn’t afraid. Nervous, yes, but her fear was on temporary hold. “I’m known enough that he’s seen me nearly naked.”
Dare’s gaze lifted above her, no doubt to meet up with Trace’s.
She heard Trace sigh, and felt his shrug. “Murray’s orders.”
Dare nodded in understanding.
Understanding! How in the world could he understand that? The big jerk.
“I’m known enough for him to take a picture of me almost naked, too.” Priss scowled fiercely. “With his stupid cell phone. And he still has it!”
That sent Dare’s right eyebrow up, but he said nothing.
Trace stiffened behind her. “Damn it, Priss….”
Feeling braver by the second, she again left Trace’s secure hold to confront Dare. “And I’m known enough that your good buddy has felt me up, twice.”
The left eyebrow lifted to join the right. Dare shrugged. “If that’s true—”
“It is!”
“Then I’m sure Trace had his reasons.” He looked to Trace for confirmation.
Clearly growing irritated with her, not that she cared, Trace growled, “For the most part.”
And damned if Dare’s stony face didn’t show her a quirk of a smile—there and gone. Her hands balled into fists and her neck stiffened. “Why, you—”
A female voice suddenly intruded. “What in the world is going on out here?”
Trace muttered, “Shit,” under his breath.
At the same time, Dare said, “Molly,” in dark warning.
Priss looked up to see a top-heavy, average-looking woman of average height, with average brown hair and an exceptional look of outrage aimed at the men. She wore a pink T-shirt and jeans with flip-flops.
Her kind of woman.
Sensing an ally, Priss took two steps toward her, but Trace pulled her up short by grabbing her arm.
“No, you don’t,” he told her, and no matter how Priss yanked and pulled, she couldn’t free herself.
“Settle down, will you?” Trace said near her ear. “You’re not helping things.”
The woman’s expression pinched even more.
Dare started toward her in a ground-eating stride. “Back inside, Molly,” he said, sounding more cajoling than commanding. “I’ll explain in private.”
Like hell! Priss didn’t want to lose whatever opportunity this might be, so she shouted, “Molly, help me. Trace drugged me to bring me here, and Dare manhandled me when I tried to escape.” And before Trace could muzzle her, if indeed that was his intent, she added, “Some other guy stole my cat!”
The woman’s mouth dropped open, then firmed shut again. With one raised hand, she halted Dare’s progress. Dare dropped his head and groaned.
Molly looked around, and then pointed off to her right. “Over there. Chris has your cat, and he’s a good guy, so you don’t need to worry about that.”
Priss looked, and sure enough, some guy sat on the grass beneath a large shade tree, not far from Trace’s truck, with Liger in his lap. Two beautiful Labradors were on their bellies, their ears perked, their tails thumping.
Like a king, Liger held court, accepting the attention from the guy and the dogs.
Dare said, “Those are my girls, Tai and Sargie. They’re gentle, so don’t worry about the cat—if you can call that monster a cat.”
“He is not a monster,” she said in defense of him, almost forgetting her situation. “Liger is very sweet.”
“Declawed?”
“Of course not.” She would never do that to Liger. “But he only scratches when necessary.”
Trace maintained his hold on Priss’s arms.
Looking much like a beach bum who had just awakened, Chris wore a ratty T-shirt. But unlike Molly, his hairy legs were bare beneath rumpled tan cargo shorts and he was barefoot.
Priss didn’t want to, but she knew she had to get control of herself. “I suppose Chris is the person who’ll be caring for Liger?”
Dare said, “Chris pretty much cares for everything around here.”
“He’s good with animals, Priss.” Trace’s thumbs rubbed up and down the backs of her arms, almost wringing a shiver from her. “You don’t have any reason for all these hysterics.”
Oh, that got her anger right back up there at the boiling point. She gave him a look that could kill. “Hysterics?”
Before she could say more, and before Trace could reply, Molly was there. “Hello. I’m Molly. And I believe I heard Trace call you Priss?”
Priss eyed her. “Yeah.”
Molly just smiled. “Why don’t you come inside with me? I’ll get you something to drink.”
“You’re Trace’s friend?”
“Yes.”
And she was expected to accept a drink? “What, do I have stupid stamped on my forehead?”
Confused, Molly shook her head. “I don’t—”
“I told you. He drugged me.”
Molly looked at Trace.
Dare said again, “Molly….”
She waved him off. “I know. It’s all hush-hush and top secret and Trace is honorable, so whatever has happened, there’s a reason for it. I get it.”
Priss glared at all of them. “Well, I don’t.”
“We’ll indulge girl-talk, that’s all,” Molly promised Dare. “I won’t pry and I won’t divulge anything.”
“Anything like what?” Priss asked.
Molly continued to smile, and that smile made her look very pretty. “Anything that they—” she indicated Dare and Trace with a nod of her head “—think is a security risk.”
Sensing Molly would be easier to crack than Trace or Dare, Priss asked, “Like?”
“Full names, which are always off-limits.”
“So his name isn’t Trace
Miller?”
Molly did a verbal stumble, then said, “Of course it is.”
Of course it wasn’t, or else Trace and Dare wouldn’t have let out a collective breath at Molly’s answer, and her straight face. “Anything else?”
“Location of course, which has to be kept private, at least until they know they can trust you, which from what I can tell means only after you’ve married one of them.”
For some reason, that made Priss’s face redden. “That’s what you did?”
Molly grinned hugely. “Yes. Dare is my husband.”
Dare said again, “Molly,” this time in exasperation.
“Oh, really, Dare.” Molly flapped a hand at him. “Just what do you think she could do with that information?”
“That depends on how connected she might be, who she knows, and what she’s up to.”
While husband and wife groused at each other, Priss looked around and saw land and more land, all of it secured with towering fences, gates, and high-end security. “Wow. This place is a fortress.”
“Of course.” Molly returned her attention to Priss. “The guys also don’t want me to discuss whatever it is they’re up to, not that I even know, so however connected you might be, don’t waste your time on me. Usually I’m as in the dark as you are right now.”
“I’m not that in the dark,” Priss insisted. And truly, every minute it seemed some new aspect of Trace was revealed to her. “I know Trace is undercover with Murray.”
Dare went still, but Trace just rubbed his face.
“By the way, Murray is a real scumbag human trafficker, just so you know.”
And suddenly Dare was beside Molly, his arm around her protectively. For her part, Molly tried to hide it—and she almost succeeded. But Priss saw the flash of…something dark and grim in her eyes. A bad memory?
Interesting.
So Molly was somehow involved. Was that motivation enough for Trace to go after Murray? Maybe, but Priss didn’t think that covered it. Not all of it.
“I also know that Trace is working with Dare.”
No one confirmed or denied her claim.
“And I know, given the cost that goes into a place like this, that they have to have a successful enterprise to afford this much security. Stands to reason that to be successful, they have to be good at what they do. And that, of course, would coincide with all the absurd secrecy. I mean, drugging me? Is that not bizarre?”