Trace of Fever

by Lori Foster

  “Maybe it was a little overkill.” Molly frowned at Trace’s hands on Priss’s arms until he spread his fingers wide and stepped back, releasing her. “Thank you,” she told Trace. She patted Dare’s hand, letting him know without words that she was fine.

  He gave a small nod and stepped away from her.

  With her composure restored, Molly put a slim arm around Priss’s shoulders and turned her toward a…well, an incredible home.

  Priss stalled.

  How the heck had she missed a house that damn big? The place was beyond anything she’d ever seen. It was the type of home she had always supposed Murray had, big, lavish, impressive and protected.

  Priss whispered, “Toto, I’ve a feeling we’re not in Kansas anymore.”

  Molly laughed. “In the big scheme of things, where you’re at isn’t all that important. Come on. We’ll just make you comfortable and let the guys work out the rest of it, okay?”

  Suddenly Priss wasn’t at all sure she wanted to go off with this woman. Molly was far too accepting of things.

  But when she looked back, both Trace and Dare stood there, arms crossed over their chests, dominating stares watching her.

  Had she unsettled them with her deductive reasoning?

  She put up her chin. “That sounds very nice, Molly. Thank you.” And even though she felt a little sick in her stomach, very confused, angry at being manipulated and…well, sort of fretful at being away from Trace, she allowed Molly to lead her inside.

  But along the way she made note of everything, including security cameras, and multiple avenues of possible escape.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  THE MINUTE MOLLY AND Priss disappeared inside, Trace cursed. He actually wanted to hit something, but a tree would break his knuckles, he didn’t want to put another dent in the truck, and Dare would hit back.

  Chris Chapey, Dare’s longtime best friend and personal assistant, approached with the enormous cat draped over one shoulder so that he could keep an eye on the trailing dogs. The bottom half of Liger filled his arms, and the long tail hung down to the hem of Chris’s shorts.

  Without even thinking about it, Trace started petting the cat. After a few hours in the truck together, he and Liger had an understanding of sorts.

  Dare watched him, but said only, “That cat is a beast.”

  “He’s an armful, that’s for sure.” Chris hefted him a little higher, and got a sweet meow in return.

  Both dogs barked in excitement, but quieted when Liger gave them a level stare.

  Chris laughed at that. “You want me to head in to keep an eye on things?”

  “That’s why I pay you the big bucks, right?” Dare stared toward the house. “You can tell Trace’s lady—”

  “She’s not mine.”

  Both Chris and Dare gave him a certain male-inspired look, a look that said they understood his bullshit and would let it slide—for now.

  Okay, so she was his responsibility, at least for the time being. Feeling that a warning might be in order, Trace said, “Try to lose your normal sarcasm, Chris, okay?”

  “Are you kidding?” Chris snorted. “I heard every word exchanged over here, and I have a feeling that one would make mincemeat of me if she thought I was getting out of line. She sure as hell put you two in your place.”

  That only worried Trace more because for the most part it was true. Hell, it had been true from the second he met Priss. “Just be on guard. I know Priss, and you can believe that it’s going to get worse before it gets better.”

  “Maybe the makeover will help her chill.”

  Obviously Chris hadn’t read Priss very well. “Fat chance. It’s going to be a cluster-fuck, so prepare yourself.”

  “She’s not keen to the idea, I take it?”

  Trace shook his head. “Especially since she knows why Murray wants it done.” And that just fired his blood all over again. “Speaking of Murray, I have to be back earlier than I thought. He wants me in his office by seven.”

  Though Chris was well trusted by both of them, he rarely involved himself in business. “Matt will be here soon. Send him in when he arrives, and I’ll go—” he bobbed his eyebrows “—prepare your girlfriend.”

  “She is not my—” Damn it, Chris was already walking away, rendering his protests useless. After a deep breath, Trace redirected his thoughts. “I don’t like her being in there alone with Molly.”

  Dare clapped him on the shoulder. “Don’t worry about it. Molly is reasonable.”

  Forgetting about Chris’s keen hearing, Trace said, “Then she’s the only woman I know who is.”

  Chris, now several yards away, waved a hand back at them. “I don’t believe I’ll tell either woman that Trace said that. Some women like to kill the messenger!” Carrying the cat and followed by the dogs, Chris went up the walk and in the front door.

  “You trust this friend of his?”

  “Yeah. Chris and Matt have been friends forever, and Matt’s been over before. He’s okay.” Dare leaned back against a thick tree trunk. “I take it Priss has you tied up in knots?”

  There wasn’t much point in denying it. And maybe admitting things to Dare would help him get them under control. “I want her.”

  “No shit. Tell me something I don’t know.”

  Trace had trusted Dare forever, as a good friend, a partner in the business and as an honorable man. He knew Dare had uncanny instincts and deadly skills.

  But he thought he had covered his reaction to Priss.

  “Damn.” Trace ran a hand through his hair. “Do you think Molly and Chris picked up on it, too?”

  After a short sound that might have been a stifled laugh, Dare said, “They’re neither blind, deaf or stupid. So…yeah. I’m betting they noticed.”

  Trace frowned.

  With a shake of his head, Dare dismissed his concern. “It’s not a big deal, Trace. Don’t sweat it.”

  The mild, even amused reaction to his predicament surprised Trace. “She’s off-limits.”

  “You think so?” Dare looked down at the dappling of sunshine through tree limbs, then back at Trace. “Why’s that?”

  “What do you mean, why’s that? Hell, Dare, I barely know the woman.”

  “You knew her well enough to take her picture.”

  If Dare smiled, he was going to flatten him. Period. “She’s somehow involved with Murray, claiming to be his damned daughter while plotting…something. From what I can tell, she’s hiding more than she’s sharing.”

  “Hmm.” Dare turned his head, studying Trace. “You know, she sounds a lot like you, except you claim to be Murray’s bodyguard. Maybe Priss has her reasons, just like you do.”

  God, Trace hoped so. He wanted her to be…righteous. “Until I know what those reasons are, I have to leave her be.”

  There was no disguising Dare’s laugh this time. “Good luck with that.”

  Trace bunched up as he faced his longtime friend. “You don’t get it, damn it. Murray wants me to fuck her. The prick told me so. He even made it a damned order.”

  Dare’s expression went taut. “What reason did he give?”

  “You know Murray’s type. It’s probably twofold. He says he wants to know if Priss is as innocent as she tries to portray.”

  “Innocent? Are we talking about the same girl?”

  “Woman,” Trace corrected, because even though Priss was young, only twenty-four, he couldn’t bear to categorize her as a kid, not when his thoughts were usually mired in lust. “But yeah, one and the same.”

  Disbelief had Dare shaking his head. “I’d say ballsy, proud, even conniving. Definitely contrary. But innocent?” He looked more than dubious. “Of what?”

  Trace made a lame gesture. He believed Priss to be sexually innocent, or at the very least, inexperienced. In Priss’s defense, Trace said, “You should see how she is with Murray. The charade is convincing.”

  “Didn’t convince you.”

  “No.” If it had, he wouldn’t have “felt he
r up,” as Priss put it. And he sure as hell wouldn’t have taken her picture. But what she lacked in sexual experience, she made up for with shrewd cunning.

  Dare drew him back into the conversation. “Then there’s the possibility that it didn’t convince Murray, either.”

  “I’m better than he is.”

  “No doubt. But it’s risky.” Considering things, Dare pushed away from the tree. “Want me to check out her background?”

  He did, but…

  “Anything I find will go straight to you, no one else.”

  Trace nodded. “I know. But I have her driver’s license, so if it’s valid, researching her should be easy.” And then Trace would know if anything she’d told him was true.

  “We can get started right now. We’ll use the computer in Chris’s house.”

  “You can access the departments we’ll need from there?”

  “Are you kidding? Chris’s computer is better equipped than mine.” Pointing a finger at him, Dare said, “In the meantime, don’t make a misstep until we know everything.”

  In other words, don’t get in too deep until he’d dug through Priss’s past and knew more about her than she knew of herself. “You use that rule when going after Molly?”

  Dare grinned. “No.”

  “I didn’t think so.”

  The grin faded and Dare looked away. “The minute I found Molly in that goddamned shack, drugged and mistreated, I knew she was different from the other women who would be sold, and I was lost.”

  Since “lost” was exactly how Trace felt about Priss, he commiserated.

  Neither of them could remember that awful time without going cold in rage. It was for Trace’s sister, Alani, that Dare had gone into Mexico. The bastards had known Trace—his face, his style—and it was because of him that Alani had been taken. Since they could identify Trace, it made more sense for Dare to go.

  But that hadn’t made it easy.

  That sense of helplessness was something that would always eat at Trace; he’d desperately wanted to go after his sister himself.

  Dare had brought Alani out, just as Trace had known he would. But he’d brought Molly out, too. And somewhere along the way, he’d fallen in love with her.

  Now he and Dare shared a vested, very personal interest in destroying every human trafficker they could locate. Odd as it seemed, Ohio had become a hotbed for human traffickers, both in sex slavery, and debt bondage where loans were paid off with slave labor and sexual submission. Without a state law to make the offense a felony, and with few officers trained to recognize the crime, too many creeps were setting up shop in the state.

  Molly had been taken right in front of her apartment building, located in a small, quiet town. Sadly, hers wasn’t an isolated case.

  Dare said, “Most times, she acts like she’s forgotten.” He sounded almost tortured. “I think she does that for me.”

  Seemed possible to Trace. Molly was a strong woman, and despite Dare’s capability, she often appeared as protective of him as he was of her. “Molly’s okay, Dare. Whatever she suffered, she’s fine now—happy even—so relax.”

  Deliberately, Dare drew in a deep breath and let it out. “What’s Murray’s other reason for trying to force you on Priss?”

  Glad for the change of subject, Trace explained, “Sick jollies, maybe. But I also think he’s trying to trip me up, to see how far he can push me.”

  “And?”

  Trace met Dare’s level gaze. “And what?”

  As the sound of a car approached, Dare shielded his eyes from the sun and looked toward the road. “How far will you go, Trace? That’s something you need to decide, and soon.” He gave Trace one more quick glance. “Before that girl decides it for you.”

  And with that, Dare stepped away to the control box. No one entered or left Dare’s property without him knowing.

  Presumably the car at the gate was Matt, the man who would work over Priss, head to toes. Even from a distance, Matt looked flamboyant with bleached-blond hair, dark shades and a purple convertible.

  It was unreasonable and it made little sense, but because he’d be working on Priss, Trace disliked him on sight.

  PRISS FELT SICK AND confused over what had been done to her. Just when she’d started to trust Trace, to think that they were somehow connecting…

  She closed her eyes as a great well of hurt pulled at her, making it difficult to interact, even though she really liked everyone.

  Chris was genuine, and hilariously witty. Matt was all serious business over the task of improving upon her very humdrum appearance.

  And Molly, well, Molly sensed her upset and tried to put her at ease, to make her more comfortable. But the truth was, Trace had touched her, kissed her and then he’d drugged her. His remorse meant nothing, not when on the heels of apologizing, he’d dropped her off among strangers and then left her.

  Where the hell was he?

  Even in her agitation, Priss concentrated on not crossing her arms or shifting her feet too much. She didn’t want to bump her hands into anything and maybe ruin her pretty French manicure, or mar the sexy red polish on her toes.

  It felt very new to be spiffed up like this, and if it wasn’t for her need to get closer to Murray, she’d never have allowed it. But Murray had ordered it, and if she refused, she’d give herself away and possibly miss the opportunity to destroy him.

  That she wouldn’t do.

  Since the makeover took place in Dare’s family room in front of a small audience, it was doubly awkward. The family room connected from the kitchen, and that meant Trace or Dare could come upon them at any minute, too.

  But they didn’t.

  Dare’s house was enormous, and beautiful, and masculine. Molly told her that she hadn’t changed a thing after moving in, except to put away her belongings and turn one of the rooms into an office for her personal use.

  Chris Chapey, Dare’s personal assistant and, she gathered, a very close friend, did a good job at keeping everything well organized. Chris was a funny guy with sinful good looks, a great body, a wicked sense of humor and edgy sarcasm. He kept Dare’s home running smoothly.

  But personally, his tastes tended toward grunge chic. He was sloppy, disheveled and half dressed, but somehow on Chris, it worked.

  Though it wasn’t overly obvious, Priss figured he was also gay. That helped ease her discomfort with him. Matt, too.

  And Molly, well, Molly was so cheerful, so accepting of the bizarre circumstances of Trace showing up with a drugged woman, that Priss couldn’t help but wonder about her.

  What had she been through to make everything else seem so ordinary?

  Molly came from the kitchen carrying a tray filled with cans of Coke and two glasses with ice. “Priss, would you like a cola? Or something to eat?”

  So that someone else could drug her again? Did they all think she was an idiot? She gave Molly a look of disbelief. “We’ve already been through this.”

  Molly blushed. “But the Cokes aren’t even opened yet.”

  Forgoing the glasses, which Priss assumed were for the ladies, Chris snagged a can for himself.

  “Neither was the water before I drank it.”

  Matt said, “Priss needs to sit still until I’m finished and until her polish has dried.”

  When he’d first arrived, Matt had set up a makeshift salon, unloading everything he’d need, including a vinyl cover on the floor, a special chair with a tray in the front, and a big mirror, in record time. He moved at a frenetic pace and expected her to keep up. “But I’ll take a drink over ice. Thank you.”

  Glaring at him through the mirror, Priss said, “If I wanted a drink, I’d have a drink. But I think I’ll be safer sticking with stuff that I’ve bought or prepared myself.”

  Molly winced. “I could be your official taster, if you want.”

  Chris rolled his eyes over that dramatic offer, and Matt pretended not to hear.

  So far she’d noticed that Matt was good at playing deaf,
dumb and blind when necessary.

  “No, thanks.” Truthfully, she was still too furious to be hungry or thirsty. Where was Trace? What was he up to? How dare he do this to her?

  Sure, he’d introduced her to everyone, including Matt, but then, on his way out, he’d told her to “behave,” in the same tone he might have used with an unruly kid.

  It almost made her blush to recall her sharp reply of “Bite me.”

  Trace hadn’t said anything more; he’d just left her.

  That was some time ago. At first she hadn’t thought about it so much, not with Matt giving her orders left and right and playing with her feet and hands. After all, she knew Murray had ordered this, and that Trace had brought her as a means of protecting her.

  But now that she had to sit still, her thoughts rioted over Trace, over the things he’d done and the possible reasons why.

  Being honest with herself, Priss knew she was as upset with how he’d touched her, and then stopped, as she was with the fact that he’d abused the fragile beginning of her trust by tampering with her drink.

  She wanted to believe that, whatever his role with Murray, he had a good reason for doping her. He hadn’t hurt her, and now even the residual effects of the drug were gone. She was wide-awake, alert, and she wanted to see him. If she had to go through this, the least he could do was stay accessible.

  With drink orders handled, Molly returned to a plush, padded easy chair to watch in fascination as Priss got the works. Though Chris stayed close, Molly figured he was the plant, there to ensure no one said anything they shouldn’t. He mostly played with the animals, which were all in attendance.

  The big, open family room had a deck out back that faced a beautiful lake. Thinking she heard something—a voice maybe—Priss tried to turn that way to look, but Matt maintained a hold on her hair.

  “Sit still.”

  “Go to hell.” She strained her eyes, and saw nothing but the outdoors.

  Where had Trace gone to and what was he doing that was so important he had to ignore her?

  Chris laughed, drawing her attention.