Trace of Fever

by Lori Foster

  Her stomach cramped and her eyes burned. She covered her mouth. “God only knows what she’s capable of.”

  “I shouldn’t have said that.” Jackson closed the now-dead phone and knotted his fingers in his hair. “And I shouldn’t have put him on speaker phone.”

  “I wouldn’t have given the phone back to you otherwise!” Trace had called with instructions for Jackson to do a check on an old factory. He wanted a blueprint to the building, and he wanted to know how long it had been out of operation and who owned it now. From what she’d heard, Jackson would leave much of that research to Dare, who would likely leave it to Chris. Little by little, she was learning the chain of command, and how they worked together as a minimal unit to accomplish so much.

  After the business discussion, Trace had also asked about her, and when he found out she was fine and dandy— Jackson didn’t mention his cavalier treatment of the shower incident—he’d wanted to speak with her.

  Priss was hoping that he’d come to her, that they could continue what he’d started. But before much was said, someone joined him. The conversation was muffled, but when Priss realized he was talking to Helene she’d known something was wrong. She’d asked Jackson how to put the cell phone on speaker so he could hear, too.

  Jackson looked almost comically lost, so Priss shoved him again. “You have to go help him.”

  Shaking his head in the negative, Jackson said, “If he’d wanted help, he’d have said so.”

  “He couldn’t!”

  “Baloney. Trace is cagey. He’d have gotten a message through, but instead he ended the call. You heard him, Priss. She asked him who he was calling, and he said no one. And that was the message.”

  “You don’t know that!”

  “I know that he wants me to stay right on top of you.”

  “Idiot!” She wasn’t the one currently in trouble.

  He frowned at her. “You know what I mean. In the figurative sense. If Trace had wanted me there, he could have said something…but he didn’t.”

  He wasn’t going to go help Trace? “Are you out of your mind?”

  “He didn’t, Priss.” Jackson paced away, looking almost as tortured as she felt. “Jesus. I know Trace. He’s slick. If he thought he couldn’t handle it—”

  Handle Helene raping him? Oh, sure, he could maybe handle that.

  But she couldn’t. And besides, who knew where Helene would draw the line? She could disfigure Trace with her warped idea of lust. And thinking that almost made her scream.

  Unwilling to wait for Jackson to come to his senses, Priss spun around on her heel and headed for the door. “I’m going to him.”

  “What? No, wait.” He caught her before she’d taken two full steps. “You don’t have a car.”

  “I can grab a cab.”

  Harassed, he shook her. “You don’t have any money.”

  “So give me some money!”

  He squeezed his eyes shut. “Helene.” Shuddering in real reaction, he whispered, “I wouldn’t wish that fate on any guy. Well, you know, some guys are into that perverse shit, but Trace…no way. He’ll puke. He’ll wash his skin in bleach. He’ll—”

  Priss slapped him.

  Jackson’s head snapped around with the strength of the blow, but came back slowly, his eyes narrowed and mean. “Damn it, woman—”

  She grabbed a fistful of chest hair and yanked his face down close to hers.

  “Oeowww!”

  Priss had no sympathy for him. “Let’s. Go.”

  Through clenched teeth, with the first real anger she’d seen from Jackson, he ordered, “Turn me loose. Right now!”

  Nerves twitching, Priss opened her fingers and Jackson stepped back, rubbing his chest. He glared at her.

  “Be reasonable,” she said, trying for a more cajoling tone. “He needs us.”

  “All right. I suppose I should— Wait…what did you say? You want to go with me?”

  He made it sound like it was the most absurd thing ever. Priss tried to be very clear. “I will not stay here. If you don’t go, I will. If you try to go without me, I’ll find a way to get there on my own.”

  As he strode into his bedroom, he said, “You’re asking the impossible.”

  “Not asking. Stating as fact.” He returned, pulling a T-shirt on over his head. “I am going. With you or without you. Now what’s it to be?”

  He glared at her. “Okay.”

  “Really?” She was surprised at his quick turnaround.

  “But only if you promise me that you’ll lay low and do exactly as I say, no questions asked and no arguments.”

  She wouldn’t promise him anything. “We’re wasting time.”

  “Promise me, or I swear I’ll hold you here and neither of us will go.”

  Her mouth fell open. “What do you mean, you’ll hold me here?”

  “You’re not dumb, Priss. You know what I mean.” Leaning close, nose to nose, he enunciated, “By force. Hell, woman, I’ll sit on you if I have to.” Only half under his breath, he murmured, “I’ve kinda wanted to do that anyway.”

  She drew back, but he caught her fist. “Promise right now that you’ll behave.”

  She’d behave, all right. She’d behave any damn way she pleased. “Sure. I promise.”

  Disgust showed on his handsome face. “That’s about the most insincere promise I’ve ever heard.” He rearranged his hold on her to take her hand in his. “Come on. Let’s go.”

  She was still barefoot and hardly dressed appropriately, but this time, Priss didn’t give a single thought to their audience. She cared only about reaching Trace.

  For his part, Jackson was as cautious as ever, and even knowing it was necessary, it drove her nuts because it slowed them down. In her mind she kept imagining what Hell might be doing to Trace, and how Trace might react.

  Jackson was right; he wouldn’t like it. That much she knew.

  But if Helene truly had a drug that’d make him more agreeable… No, she wouldn’t think about that right now. She couldn’t.

  Not that long ago she’d left her home, entrusting her business to nasty old Gary Deaton so she could pursue her need for revenge. She’d expected to come up against danger, rejection, abuse.

  But never, not once, had she considered anything that had transpired so far.

  She definitely hadn’t considered falling in love at light speed with a man opposed to all her plans.

  Yet…she had.

  She’d fallen hook, line and sinker, irrevocably, head over heels, madly, impossibly in love.

  “Drive faster,” she ordered Jackson, and then ignored his grumbling reply.

  The question was, now that she’d accepted the truth, what should she do about it?

  Or would she get a chance to do anything at all?

  TIED UP WITH HIS ARMS behind his back, his pants below his knees, his legs parted, Trace finally regained use of his limbs. Unfortunately, Hell had secured him tightly to keep him in that exact position.

  Propped upright against a heating unit on the wall, Hell used an exposed pipe to secure his wrists. It kept him in an awkward sitting position. He tried moving his arms, but realized she’d fastened them together with handcuffs.

  Using the same nylon restraints he favored, maybe taken from his own stash, she’d bound each of his ankles to heavy bedroom furniture, one to the bed, one to a nightstand that was screwed to the wall. When he tried to twist, he realized he had a raging hard-on.

  Trace looked down at himself, then dropped his head back in loathing. God, he hurt. A deep, sexual hurt.

  As if he’d indulged in hours of foreplay, his entire body throbbed with the need to ejaculate.

  Helene stepped over him, one stiletto-clad foot at the outside of each of his knees. She’d unbuttoned her blouse to expose her breasts, and had hiked up her skirt to the top of her thighs.

  The bawdy stance showed her lack of panties and her long bare legs. “Finally regained your wits, I see. I figured a guy in your superb shape
would recover quicker, and you did.”

  Trace stared at her, his hatred palpable. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?” He gasped as she leaned down and teased one finger along his rigid shaft. His back bowed, his breath hissing in.

  “Nice. Very, very nice.” Positioning herself on her knees between his thighs, Helene licked her lips and bent to brush her cheek along his dick.

  “Stop it!” Trace tried to rebel, to reject her, but he couldn’t move more than a few inches either way. “You sicken me, Helene.”

  “And yet—” she held him in her soft, hot hand “—you’re so hard for me.”

  “Hard from whatever you had in that needle. Not for you. Never for you.”

  She smiled and, still holding him in one hand, stroked her nails over his bare chest. “I have a thing for hairy chests. How did you know?”

  “Stop this.” He hoped he sounded calmer than he felt. Even though she only held him, her hand still, her fingers not too tight, he felt on the verge of exploding. “Helene, listen to me…”

  “I can’t wait to taste you, Trace. All of you. I want you to come in my mouth. What do you think about that?”

  Succinct, to the point, Trace said, “I’ll kill you.”

  Smiling, Hell stroked her fingernails along the inside of his knee. “Murray won’t like that.”

  “He won’t like you sucking my cock, either.”

  “So maybe we won’t tell him about that.” She leaned down and licked the inside of his thigh.

  At the touch of her hot, moist tongue, Trace almost lost it. He squeezed his eyes shut, clenched his teeth and thought about Priss.

  Helene ended the lick just short of his testicles. “You know, if Murray found out about any of this, he would take it out on both of us.” Using her thumb, she teased the head of his cock.

  It was maddening, and Trace knew if she didn’t stop, he’d come. And then he heard a sound, faint but distinct.

  Someone had just entered the connecting room.

  Damn, damn, damn.

  Had Jackson left Priss alone? Was that exactly what Helene had wanted? Maybe she’d had someone follow Jackson after all and knew that Priss would be vulnerable—

  Helene lifted her head. “Did you hear something?”

  Trace was relieved to see her looking genuinely surprised by the possible intrusion. “Yeah, I did. It was me complaining.” He spoke loud enough to cover up any more telltale noise from the other room. “Stop and think, Helene. If you do this, Murray will find out—”

  “Shhh.” Putting a finger to his lips, she cocked her head to listen. “Be quiet.” She stood and went to the table for his gun.

  No. “First you think to rape me, and now you plan to shoot someone?” Attention divided by his bodily needs and his compulsion to keep others safe, Trace’s voice sounded more raw than usual. “You said it yourself that we don’t want the police involved. But if you fire that gun, no way in hell will you keep them away.”

  “True.” She turned thoughtful, and then lifted his stun baton instead, hefting it in her hand, testing the weight of it.

  Trace cursed low. It wasn’t easy to focus with blood burning through his veins, his skin on fire and his cock twitchy, but he tried.

  “That’s not much better, Helene. You could still kill with that, and if you leave behind a victim—”

  “You mean other than you?”

  Hard-jawed, Trace nodded. “Yes, other than me. Murray won’t easily accept a mess of yours that he has to clean up.

  “Perhaps.” She came back to crouch over him.

  Though the nearness of that baton left his nerves jumping, he didn’t look at it. He wouldn’t give her the satisfaction of knowing his unease. “I’ll tell him about this myself.”

  “I doubt that.” Her thumb on the button as a tacit threat, she stroked the baton over his body. “The connecting room did seem strange to me. Who’s over there, Trace?”

  “How the fuck should I know?”

  “Oh, I think you know.” She moved the baton between his legs. “You’re too cautious to be in a connecting room next to someone without doing a full background check.”

  True, but he wouldn’t tell her shit.

  She cuddled his balls a second, then sighed and stood. “Make a sound, and I’ll switch to the gun and to hell with the consequences.”

  Picking up more restraints, she moved to the connecting door and stood to the side.

  Seconds ticked by, and then a full minute.

  At least Jackson was being smart, Trace thought. He was taking his time, not rushing things or charging in like a white knight. Of course, he expected no less of him. If Jackson had been the reckless type, he and Dare never would have brought him on board.

  Unfortunately, Helene showed incredible patience. She kept her gaze off his body so she wouldn’t be distracted, giving Trace an opportunity to seek ways of escape.

  He didn’t find many. The handcuffs were so tight that his arms were going numb.

  But she had left his watch on his wrist, and he wiggled around until he was able to get hold of it. It wasn’t easy from this angle, bound as he was, but he managed to remove the tiny pin hidden in the band. He went to work picking the lock on the handcuffs. If he could get his hands free…

  He saw his knife on the table with his gun. The knife was all he needed. But could he reach it with his legs still hobbled?

  His gaze jerked back to the door when the knob, ever so slowly, started to turn. It had barely opened two inches when Helene jammed the baton through and pressed the trigger button.

  The sound of arching electricity mixed with Jackson’s groans. When Helene finally let up, his body fell into the room. Lightning fast, Helene was on him, straddling the small of his back to secure his wrists behind him.

  When Jackson stirred enough to react, she zapped him again.

  “Helene, stop it!”

  “All right.” She smiled, and stroked a hand over Jackson’s ass.

  Jesus, why was Jackson even here? Trace hadn’t asked him to come. He’d even closed the damn phone.

  Hadn’t he?

  At this point, after the drugs, things were kind of hazy.

  Jackson groaned again.

  Dredging up a more commanding tone, Trace said, “Leave him alone.”

  “Not until he’s incapacitated.” Helene tossed the stun baton off to the side and wrapped the nylon around Jackson’s ankles, too. But she did so over his jeans, which would at least give him a little wiggle room.

  With that complete, she backed away from him. “Well, well. It’s like Christmas morning.” Breathing hard, she looked at Jackson top to toes—and smiled.

  Jackson grunted out something that sounded vaguely like “Fuck you.” He rolled to his back.

  Helene kicked his ankle. “Anyone else in that room?”

  Trace stared into the other room, but saw nothing and no one.

  Still grimacing in pain, Jackson repositioned his legs, bending his knees and bracing his heels on the floor. To the casual observer, it appeared he only wanted to ease his discomfort. Trace knew better. Though Jackson’s arms were tight behind him, he could be deadly with his legs. “See for yourself.”

  To do so, she’d have to get close to Jackson again. She’d have to get in range.

  “Ah, no.” Helene crossed her arms and laughed. “If you’re even half as good as Trace—”

  “Who’s Trace?” He glanced over, tucked in his chin at seeing Trace’s naked boner, and said with sympathy, “Damn, man, she really has you sprung, doesn’t she?”

  Helene put her hands on her hips. “I’m not buying it, so save your breath.”

  “Buying what?”

  “You two know each other, and that means if I get too close you’ll find a way to…do something to me.”

  “Nah, sugar. I don’t know what that dude did to piss you off, but I’m harmless. I promise.”

  “Somehow I doubt that.” She chewed her swollen lip. “Push yourself away fro
m the door.”

  With a shrug, Jackson did as she asked. “Now what?”

  She circled him, cautiously. “Now you tell me who you are.”

  “Innocent bystander?”

  Though her smile didn’t waver, her eyes narrowed the tiniest bit. “You think you’re really clever, don’t you?”

  “Obviously not clever enough.” He wiggled some more until he was able to sit up against the wall. “Damn, woman. Care to tell me what this is all about?”

  Still playing innocent, Trace realized. Not that Helene would buy it. But at least it kept her occupied, and he almost had the lock free….

  As if in deep thought, Helene ran the fingers of her free hand along her cleavage, slowly, back and forth. “You’re quite the morsel, aren’t you?” Her attention went to Jackson’s lap, his abs, and then back to his face. “Hmm. Now what should I do with you?”

  Grinning at her, he said, “Did I overhear some discussion about blow jobs?”

  She leaned in long enough to slug him in the face, then quickly backed away again.

  Trace had never in his life felt so helpless. Who was with Priss? How the hell would this twisted scenario end now that Jackson had flubbed his way into it?

  And worse, what would Murray’s reaction be to all this?

  Jackson flexed his jaw, and continued with his easy humor. “Maybe I misunderstood. I could’ve sworn I heard you mention—”

  “Shut up!” She stomped back over to her purse and, with her back to the men, fiddled with something. Jackson was about to push to his feet when she returned, one hand behind her back.

  He eyed her cautiously. “Change your mind, then, sugar?”

  “Possibly.” Crouching down near him, but not too near, Helene said, “But not until I have you properly sedated.” She parted her knees, giving Jackson an eyeful—and the idiot looked. “When I get done with you, you won’t be so damned handsome.”

  “Well, it’s bound to be an improvement. Being this good-looking is a curse. The women won’t leave me alone.” He smiled at her. “Case in point.”

  She presented the needle.

  Jackson scowled. “You don’t need that.”

  Tapping the syringe, she let one drop leak from the end. “It’ll make you all nice and easy to get along with. Better still, it’ll shut you up for a bit.” Grinning, Helene nodded toward Trace. “How do you think I got him tied up?”