by Lori Foster
Chris snorted. “Not according to Alani.”
Hearing a new name, Priss asked, “Who’s Alani?”
And everyone clammed up. An almost depressed air settled over the previous camaraderie. She frowned, wondering about the mysterious Alani and the esteemed Jackson.
“Sorry,” Chris said softly, speaking to the room at large. And without missing a beat, he added, “I’m going to take very good care of your cat, Priss, don’t worry. For the time being, he’ll stay at my place at night to keep Dare’s girls from sticking their noses into his cat box. But when I come up here, I’ll bring him with me.”
“You don’t stay here?” She’d been going on the assumption that they all lived in the house together.
He shook his head. “Did you see the smaller house that’s closer to the lake?”
“Yes.” She’d noticed it when she was outside with Trace, but hadn’t paid much attention, not with her and Trace’s conversation.
“That’s my house. I like my privacy.”
Priss rolled her eyes. “I can’t imagine any place getting more private than this setup.”
“True enough. But with those two—” he nodded at Dare and Molly, already cuddled close on the opposite side of the bar “—it’s nice to move out of hearing range each night.”
Dare reached over to smack Chris on the back of the head, but he ducked away.
Trace said, “The honeymoon will never wear off for those two.”
That sounded really nice to Priss. With her mother’s mental instability and then lingering illness, and the un-complimentary atmosphere of her workplace, she’d never really been around traditional families, much less happily married couples. Molly and Dare looked very happy together.
Priss let out a wistful breath.
Chris mistook that for something altogether different. “While we move this stuff down to my place, did you want to say goodbye to Liger?”
And just that easily, her mood darkened. “I love that big cat, Chris.”
All joking aside, he said, “That much was obvious.”
“You damn well better pamper him.”
“Guaranteed.”
Molly reached across the bar to touch her arm. “We’ll all give him plenty of attention and love, I promise. Please don’t worry about that.”
They did seem like animal lovers; Dare’s girls were certainly pampered. They were members of the family, which made it all the more special.
Priss took her time talking quietly with Liger, hoping he’d understand her absence and not feel abandoned. He touched his nose to hers, gave her one of his sweet little meows, then went to lie by Tai and Sargie.
It was almost as if he wanted her to know that he’d be fine. She swallowed a lump of emotion and blinked back hot tears.
By the time she and Trace were back in the old truck, ready to pull away, Priss did feel better about leaving Liger behind.
“At least he’ll be safe,” she said as much to herself as to anyone else.
Trace put a hand on her knee. “That’s more than I can say for you.”
Dare leaned in her window. “Be smart, Priss, and listen to Trace.”
Priss scowled at him. “Why doesn’t he have to listen to me?”
After a long stare-off, Dare peered past Priss to Trace and said, totally deadpan, “Listen to Priss.”
Trace grinned. “I’ll try if she will.”
Priss put up her chin. “I make no promises—but whenever possible, I’ll try.”
Dare reached in and ruffled her perfectly styled hair, much like she’d seen him do with his dogs. Trace didn’t like that, which amused Priss. His territorial tendencies were new to her. Sure, her employee Gary tried to act possessive, but that idea was so laughable that it annoyed more than it complimented.
As Trace backed out, Priss waved to the assembly in the driveway. It included Chris, Dare and Molly, with both dogs and Liger lounging in the sunshine.
It was the strangest thing, but it felt like she was leaving…family. Not the dysfunctional family she and her mother had formed, but a real family.
Pressing a fist to her chest to try to contain the hurt in her heart, Priss accepted the sad truth: after she retrieved Liger, the chances of her ever seeing these people again would be slim to none, and slim was out of town.
They were nothing to her—just as she was nothing to them. For the first time, she really felt the loss.
“You okay, Priss?”
God, it amazed her how easily Trace picked up on her moods. He’d done that from the very beginning, which either made him lethally perceptive, or…a truly wonderful guy.
Resting her head back against the seat, she looked at him. He had a gorgeous profile. She’d teased Molly about the guys always being handsome, but to her, Trace was by far the most incredible. Even this Jackson person Molly had mentioned couldn’t hold a candle to Trace, she was sure of it. “I’m fine.”
He shook his head to let her know he didn’t buy it, but he didn’t press her, either.
For the longest time, they drove in companionable silence along gravel roads that turned to paved and eventually gave way to busier streets that melded into highway ramps.
While Trace repeatedly stole looks at her, Priss took note of all the beautiful scenery. There were rolling green hills, natural lakes and ponds, and many horse farms.
“Kentucky?” she finally guessed.
“Yeah.” Trace turned on the radio, not loud but on a music station. “Not far from home, though. We’ll cross the bridge over into Ohio in just a couple of hours.”
It was such a nice concession, having Trace give her even a small but obvious fact, that she felt she owed him a truth. “You know, if it makes you feel better, my sense of direction sucks. I doubt I’d be able to find my way back here even if I had a GPS.”
Trace grinned. “Dare wasn’t worried.” He ruined what could have been a nice compliment by adding, “There was nothing in your background to suggest you’d be a threat in any way.”
“Mmm.” Priss looked out the window at a field of cows. “Let’s hope Murray sees it that way, too.”
The mention of Murray soured Trace’s mood. “I can’t get over how you look.”
And he didn’t sound happy about it. Curious, Priss watched him. “So how do I look?”
“Hot.” His mouth tightened, but he said, “Fuckable.”
Startled, she felt heat tinge her cheeks. “You smooth talker, you.”
“Forget smooth.” He squeezed the steering wheel. “I’m worried about how Murray’s going to react when he sees you.”
His worry started to chew on her, too. “I’m his daughter, remember?”
Trace cursed low. “Murray’s not going to care that you’re supposedly related.”
Supposedly? So he still didn’t believe her about that? Well, truthfully, she couldn’t be one hundred percent about it herself. Her mother’s best guess put Murray as the paterfamilias, and that was all that mattered to Priss.
“What do you think he’ll do?”
Trace gave her a lingering glance, then returned his attention to the road. “Given how you look—”
“Fuckable?”
“Yes. And like a prime piece of salable property.”
“Oh.” That wasn’t much of an improvement, but she got his point. Murray was in the business of selling human property. If he thought he could make money off her…
“I wouldn’t be surprised if he tried to use you to cement a deal, sort of as the icing on the cake, and at the same time he could remove you as a threat to his empire.”
Her skin started to crawl. “You think he sees me as a threat?”
“To get where he’s at now, Murray had to be shrewd in the beginning. But these days, his lust for power warps everything else, and now he’s just a deranged, sick paranoid who sees everyone as a threat.”
Yeah, she’d gotten that impression.
“No way in hell is he going to let anyone get close, most definite
ly not a daughter. A dissipated son, maybe. Murray could relate to that. But a fresh-faced, moral daughter? Not in this lifetime.”
So her con had been wrong from the very beginning. And if she’d really done her homework, she’d have known that. But no, she’d gotten high on her need for revenge, and she’d gone off half-cocked on righteousness. “Damn.”
“Yeah.” Trace rolled one shoulder. “Look at it this way, what you’re presenting and the way you’re presenting it is the antithesis to what Murray wants in his life.”
Now that her perspective was different, Priss knew he was probably right. “I see your point.” It sickened Priss to even consider it, but she said it anyway. “Maybe I should have tried to…you know, come on to him?” She fought off a gag.
“Hell, no!” Trace sent her a furious glare. “He’d have used you, then shared you, then sold you.”
Her temper unraveled without warning. “Then what should I have done?” Hurt squeezed in on Priss, prodded by memories of her mother’s fear and the irreversible damage done to her. Her mother had lived in hell, never able to escape the past or the constant terror of being caught again. She saw things that weren’t there, ran from men who only wanted conversation, and for all intents and purposes, she’d kept Priss hidden.
She’d kept her a prisoner.
For her own good. Or so her mother had always said.
Her life had consisted of undue caution, warnings, crying jags and wretched, clinging panic.
Priss said again, more quietly this time, “What should I have done?” If she didn’t make Murray pay, then it was all for nothing—her mother’s suffering, her abysmal upbringing, all of it.
Her life had little enough meaning already. Without this one driving purpose, she’d have…nothing at all.
WHEN PRISS GOT QUIET, it bothered Trace. He knew right where her thoughts had gone. He didn’t want to push her, but the sooner they got it all out in the open, the sooner they could deal with it.
She sat slumped beside him, her head resting against the back of the seat, one hand beside her, the other braced against the door where it met the window.
The casual pose didn’t fool him; he could feel her throbbing tension, and the pain she tried to hide.
Trace reached for her hand and gave her fingers a squeeze. Quietly, he asked, “Do you want to talk about your mother?”
Without looking at him, without even an ounce of real interest, Priss said, “No, why? You want to talk about what it is you and Dare do?”
Exasperated, Trace released her. “What does one have to do with the other?”
“I was raised not to trust any man.” Leisurely, she rolled her head to face him. “That includes you. Especially you.”
They needed a break, and she needed to eat. Thinking food might improve her disposition, he pulled into a gas station with a small store attached.
“Come on. Pick out some food and then I’ll tell you what I can.”
She immediately perked up. “Really? You mean it?”
“That hungry?” He smiled at her newly animated expression.
Priss shook her head. “That curious.”
The second he parked the truck, she opened her door and got out. Trace had to hustle to keep up with her. He grabbed her arm before she could step into the store.
“You need to show a little more caution, at all times.”
At a more sedate pace, they entered, and Priss grabbed a burrito, chips, a soda and prepackaged doughnuts. Trace bought his own drink, but he was careful not to touch Priss’s food. He was afraid if he did, she’d find a reason to refuse it.
When they returned to the truck, he scanned the area and found it clear. While Priss prepared her food, he put in a call to Jackson.
Priss pretended preoccupation, but he knew she listened to, and memorized, every word.
Jackson answered on the first ring but said nothing.
“I need you on duty tonight.”
Recognizing Trace’s voice, he said, “Yeah? Doing what?”
There was something about Jackson that often rubbed Trace the wrong way. Maybe it was how Jackson and his sister, Alani, always squabbled. Or maybe it was that women ogled him nonstop.
Feeling a little tetchy about the idea of Jackson keeping an eye on Priss, Trace growled, “Does it matter?”
“Nope.”
“Then what’s the problem?”
Like a parent schooling a kid, Jackson said, “I kind of need some instruction here, Trace. I’m not psychic. Or did you want me to guess?”
Shit. Trace rubbed the bridge of his nose. “I thought Dare had told you.”
“Nope. Nothing specific anyway.”
He let out a breath that didn’t really do much to hedge his possessiveness. “Murray wants me to accompany him tonight.”
Jackson’s whistle of surprise was nearly drowned out as Priss choked on her drink. Trace reached over and rubbed between her shoulder blades while she bent forward, coughing.
“So he’s finally biting.” Jackson sounded duly impressed with the progress. “’Bout damn time.”
A little early, actually, which was why Trace had to assume this might be a trap. “While I’m gone, I want eyes on Priss. Every minute.”
“Got it.”
“I need you ready to intervene if it comes to that.” And once again, Trace despised that he might have to rely on someone else. That it had happened with his sister still burned him. He didn’t want to entrust Priss’s care to anyone else. He trusted Jackson’s ability to handle things or he wouldn’t be working with him, but…that wasn’t the point.
“She’s going to be at your hotel?”
“No.” Trace gave him the address of the original place Priss had booked. “Murray already questioned her, so I’m guessing he’ll have someone check up on her.”
“So she needs to be there. Are you expecting the visit to be friendly or hostile?”
“I have to assume friendly, but in case I’m wrong, that’s why you’re watching. You can notify me if shit goes south once you have her safe. And if I should hear of anything to make me think it might not be friendly, I’ll send you the text code.”
Within the organization, Trace, Dare and Jackson shared codes that identified every probability, and that could be simply and quickly sent without anyone else knowing what they meant.
Now, after what she’d been through, Alani also knew the codes. It made Trace feel marginally better about her being out and about again, picking back up on her life.
“When I finish with Murray, I’ll take over watching Priss.”
“You going to stay with her?”
He shook his head, even knowing that Jackson couldn’t see him. “If I thought I could slip her out of there unnoticed, I would, but if anyone’s watching…”
“Yeah, probably too chancy.” Trace didn’t need to finish that thought; Jackson understood. “I’ll go by there now to get the lay of the land, find the best retreat if necessary. Tell her she won’t see me, but I’ll be nearby all the same.”
Nearby watching Priss’s every move. Trace’s jaw tightened. “Thanks.”
“So…” Jackson cleared his throat. “Your sister is on her own right now?”
Hackles rising even more, Trace asked softly, “Why are you asking?”
“You’re usually right up her… That is, you’re usually looming over her. When you can’t do it, you have Dare watching over her.”
“What makes you think that’s not the case now?” Alani swore she was fine, that she could carry on without all the supervision. True, she was extra cautious now, and Trace doubted she would ever again take chances with her safety. But it wasn’t just for her that Trace continued to keep a close eye. It gave him a measure of peace, too.
“We met up to discuss remodeling my place. If either of you had been watching, I’d have known.”
“She met with you at your request, I suppose?” Absently, Trace watched Priss all but inhale her food. She must have been famished,
and he was the one responsible for that. He reached over and lifted from her jeans a tiny piece of onion that had fallen from the burrito wrapper.
She mouthed a silent, “Thanks.”
Again Jackson cleared his throat. “Yeah, my suggestion.” Then in disgust, he said, “But I doubt it’ll happen. You know your sister and me—oil and water. How the hell she gets any business with her surly disposition, I’ll never understand.”
“Yet you broached the idea to her?”
Jackson sounded defensive. “I wouldn’t mind a professional touch at my new place. Being that she’s your sis and part of the biz and all, I felt obligated to go to her first.”
“Uh-huh.” Trace watched as, with another big bite, Priss finished off the food. “Leave my sister alone, Jackson, you understand me?”
Slowly, Priss turned her head to stare at him. “So you do have a sister?”
Shit. He’d said more than he should. “I have to go.”
“Yeah, you should go.” Jackson sounded every bit as acerbic as Trace felt. “And don’t worry about Priss or Alani. I’ve got it covered.”
Trace opened his mouth, but Jackson disconnected the call. He snapped his teeth together. “Son-of-a—”
“A sister, huh? The mysterious Alani, I take it?” Priss gathered up her garbage and put it all back in the bag. “You know, Trace, you might as well tell me everything, otherwise I’ll just go by supposition.”
Hell, she already knew far too much. He put the truck in Drive. “Such as?”
Leaning closer, one hand on his thigh in a gesture of sympathy, Priss said softly, “Your sister was the victim of human traffickers.”
Trace gripped the steering wheel and said nothing.
“That would account for why you’re involved with Murray now, and why everyone went all hush-hush when Chris accidentally said her name. Don’t worry, I understand.” She rubbed his thigh. “Your secret is safe with me.”
CHAPTER ELEVEN
TRACE CONCENTRATED on the traffic, on the surrounding area and on not responding to Priss’s astute guess.
After a minute of silence from him, she retreated back to her own seat. The second she stopped touching him, he felt her withdrawal, both physical and emotional, and he hated it.