Trace of Fever

by Lori Foster

  “I thought maybe he was willing.”

  “No.” She smiled. “But don’t worry. It’s not going to hurt you. Not too bad, anyway. And there are no serious side effects.”

  “I’m not sure I believe that.”

  “Oh, stop being a baby. Do you really think I want dead bodies left behind? Well, I don’t.”

  Jackson positioned his feet again. “Lady, you are not sticking me with that.”

  “Oh, I believe I am.” She held it like a dagger in her fist, raised high, ready to stab him wherever she could.

  And Priss appeared out of nowhere. Without making a sound, she slipped into the room, swooped up the discarded stun baton and jolted Helene with a steady stream of electricity.

  Trace felt the lock give away. Quick as he could, he started freeing his hands.

  Priss held the baton steady, her face twisted with rage, her body rigid. The needle fell out of Helene’s hand, and Jackson was quick to use his heel to bring it closer to him.

  The handcuffs caught in the pipe, frustrating Trace.

  Jackson surged to his feet, then propped himself against the wall, hobbled by his ankle restraints. “Good timing, darlin’.”

  Dear God. With every second that passed, they ran the risk of Priss’s duplicity being discovered. Trace would kick Jackson’s ass for this stunt later, but for right now, he wanted to ensure Priss’s safety.

  Given the circumstances, any other woman would be hysterical. But not Priss. She was clearheaded enough to time her entrance to go unnoticed, to retrieve and use the stun baton with devastating effect—possibly deadly effect if she didn’t let up.

  Her jaw tightened as she clenched her teeth and kept on firing.

  Trace had no choice but to take control. Calmly, his voice low and even, he said, “She’s done for, honey. I need you to ease up now.”

  Priss didn’t seem to hear him. She looked determined to inflict more damage.

  Helene fell to her back, her body jerking and flinching. Her eyes rolled back and spittle formed at the sides of her mouth.

  “Enough.” Though she probably felt justified, Trace knew that the last thing Priss needed was a death on her conscience. “I said that’s enough!”

  Almost as if in a struggle, Priss managed to release the trigger. She panted, her arms still stiff, ready to go at Helene again if she moved.

  “That’s it.” Trace tried to sound soothing. “Good job.”

  “Damn it.” Priss issued the complaint while looking at her hand. “She made me break a nail.”

  Jackson huffed out a quick laugh. When Hell twitched and moaned, he turned and dropped down atop her, his knees straddling her hips, her arms pinned down, and his body blocking her view of the rest of the room. “I’ve got this.”

  “Better late than never.” Finally, Trace managed to untangle the metal cuffs from the pipe. He half stood, half leaned on the bed. Until he freed his legs, his range of movement and leverage would be limited. “Give me my knife.”

  Pulling her gaze away from Helene, Priss turned to him—and went stock-still. “Oh.” She stared at Trace’s naked body and said again, “Oh.”

  “The knife.”

  Face pinching with outrage, Priss looked at Helene again. “She was going to—”

  “I know what she was going to do.”

  Anyone could see that Priss considered inflicting more damage on Helene. Trace said firmly, “Don’t do it.”

  Jackson glanced over his shoulder, then choked down a snicker. “You see what I’ve been dealing with? It ain’t natural.”

  Too furious and too primed to talk, Trace pulled his pants back up but didn’t bother fastening them over his aching erection. If Jackson dared make a single comment about his condition, he’d flatten him.

  He said again, “The knife.” His commanding tone finally got through to Priss and she moved with belated alacrity.

  “Sorry.” She snatched up the knife and came to him.

  Trace held out his hand, but instead of giving it to him, Priss went to work on the restraints, wielding the knife with clumsy inefficiency, sawing needlessly before finally cutting through the resistant nylon. “She made these so tight….”

  “Quiet.” Taking the knife from her, Trace surged over to Jackson and released his hands. He gave him the handcuffs and, with the most pressing issues resolved, turned back to Priss. “I want you out of here.”

  In that instant, Helene started to come around. Jackson flipped her to her stomach and secured the handcuffs to her wrists. She moaned, and Jackson said, “Sorry, sweetheart,” before giving her a sharp tap to the jaw.

  She went out like a light again. He sat back against the wall, his legs over Helene, using her like a footstool, and frowned at Trace. “I can explain.”

  Trace gave him one hard, direct look. “Shut up.”

  “Right.” Going silent, Jackson concentrated on freeing his ankles.

  “Don’t be mad at him,” Priss interjected. “I insisted—”

  Bodily turning Priss, Trace headed her toward the connecting room. “Not another word out of you, and don’t you dare move until I come for you.”

  “Trace…”

  “Now.”

  She jumped at his hard, furious tone, but damn it, he couldn’t moderate his temper. When she started to speak again, he gave her his deadliest stare. He’d been through a day of hell, and finding her anywhere near the carnage was enough to send him through the roof. Control? Shot to hell.

  With any luck, Helene didn’t know who had stunned her, and Trace wanted to keep it that way. She couldn’t know that Priss had been hiding in the connecting room, or that she’d been with Jackson.

  He could only hope.

  But either way, he didn’t want Priss still around when Helene came to.

  She gave him a look of hurt and left for the adjoining room.

  “What do we do with this one?” Jackson asked. He nudged Helene with his feet.

  Trace turned his back on Jackson without answering.

  He went to Helene’s purse and dumped it. Inside he found two more vials of the serum. Apparently she’d planned on one crazy little party for herself.

  Jackson was already on his feet, so Trace tossed the vial to him. “Shoot her up with that shit. Use the needle she dropped, but give her a double dose.”

  “It won’t kill her?”

  “I have no idea.” And at the moment, he didn’t really care. One dose had his memory hazy, so hopefully two would leave her completely at a loss as to what had transpired. “When you finish, dump her somewhere. One shot would give you about a half hour of her being pliable before she turns into a hellcat again. Two might buy you more time.”

  “Got it.” After picking up the needle she’d dropped, Jackson eyed Helene’s fallen body. “Shame she’s such a nut. If she had even an ounce of sanity or compassion, she’d be pretty damned sexy.”

  Trace didn’t see it. To him, raging psychosis negated any physical appeal Helene might have. “It’ll be better if she doesn’t see you again.”

  “That’s what I figured, too.” Jackson tapped the needle, releasing an air bubble, then went back and pulled up Helene’s tight skirt. He made a sound of regret, and stuck her right cheek.

  Helene never stirred.

  Trace started to go…but he had to know. He grabbed Jackson’s arm and pulled him to the other side of the room, away from Helene, and away from where Priss could listen in.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  WITH A CLEAR VIEW OF Helene still out cold, Trace asked Jackson, “Why the hell are you even here?”

  Jackson looked far too uneasy for Trace’s peace of mind. “I know you didn’t want me here. I got the message loud and clear when you cut the call. Thing is, your little lady was damned insistent that I do something.”

  “Like get stunned and tied up?”

  “You try planning with a hellcat breathing fire in your ear, making demands, prodding you—”

  “Priss?”

  �
��She’s a terror. That name doesn’t suit her at all.”

  Fine, so Priscilla had been worried. There was no reason, and he’d explain that to her later, but that didn’t get Jackson off the hook. “Why aren’t you at least alone?”

  “There was no reasoning with her. She was hell-bent on heading out the door, with or without me.” He met Trace’s anger front on. “My only option was to go along with her, or knock her out the same way I did with Helene.”

  The idea of anyone putting hands on Priss left Trace bunched with rage. “Don’t even think—”

  Jackson smirked. “Right. I figured you wouldn’t like that idea much.” He glanced back at Hell, saw she was totally limp, and said to Trace, “I was hoping for better timing to tell you this, but since we’ll both be busy tonight… Priss was already riled before she heard you on the phone.”

  “Riled?”

  He shrugged, uneasiness showing. “Over how the whole rescue went down.”

  “What are you talking about?” A thousand scenarios went through Trace’s head. “Did you hurt her?”

  “Ah…no. It was the other way around.” Jackson crossed his arms. “You know, you could have warned me about her violent tendencies.”

  Yeah, he probably should have. But since he’d told Priss that Jackson might come by… “I don’t understand.”

  “Her modesty was bruised, that’s all.” More subdued, Jackson added, “I managed to stuff her out the window and to my car with nary a bruise.”

  “So why the hell are you grinning?”

  Jackson chewed his lips a minute, then coughed. “She was…well, she was in the shower when I got there. Naked. You know…” He nodded. “All wet and stuff.”

  Trace’s heart stopped. “What?” And then with cold menace, he asked, “You saw her naked?”

  “Buck-ass. Yup.”

  Fighting the urge to flatten a trusted friend and colleague, Trace spoke through his teeth. “You looked?”

  “Hello! A little hard not to, Trace, okay? She was naked.” He ran a hand over his jaw. “Helene was literally at the door, so I, uh…had to hoist Priss up and out the window.”

  Imagining that, Trace went blank, numb.

  “No time to waste, you know? I did give her a towel, but…yeah. She dropped it.” In a rush, Jackson added, “Once I had her outside, I gave her my shirt to wear.”

  Once he had her outside. Meaning…he hadn’t just seen a flash of her naked. No. It was way more than that.

  Trace had nothing to say. Nothing. The idea of Jackson seeing what he hadn’t, for whatever reason, left him sick with fury and possessive rage.

  Jackson cleared his throat. “Well…I should take care of Hell, right? Figure I’ll pull my car around to the hallway exit and just wrap her in a blanket. Since she’s out and can’t start fussing, odds are no one will notice.” He squinted one eye, peeked down at Trace’s lap and winced. “You okay, buddy? I mean, that looks mighty uncomfortable.”

  Trace stared at Jackson, then turned and walked out. Okay? Hell, no, he wasn’t okay. He’d been drugged with some strange but powerful chemical substance that made him ultra sensitive, painfully hard and kept even his skin singing.

  And then to find out what Priss had been through, the situation she’d been in with Jackson…

  Seeing Priss sitting primly on the edge of the bed dressed in Jackson’s clothes did little to assist a return to coherency.

  Especially when Priss’s gaze immediately dropped to his open fly.

  Damn. She practically devoured him with her eyes—and he liked it. He loved it.

  He needed it.

  But now wasn’t the time, damn it all. Using care, Trace fastened his pants the best he could. “Let’s go.”

  “Where?”

  Did she sound worried, merely curious or a little annoyed? He let out a breath. “I need you someplace safe before anything else happens.”

  Priss nodded, but still she sat there, her gaze bright, her cheeks flushed with residual anger. “You’re really okay?”

  “I will be.” If she wanted an apology for him yelling at her, she’d be doomed to disappointment. She shouldn’t have been there in the first place, and she shouldn’t have been bullying Jackson.

  He held out a hand. “Come on.”

  She inhaled sharply, then propelled off the bed and into his arms, squeezing him tight. Her body was flush against his, touching him, moving, and he lost his fragile grip on propriety.

  Tangling a hand in her hair, Trace drew her face back and took her mouth in a consuming, starving kiss.

  It wasn’t enough.

  He wanted to brand her, to claim her, to make her his own in every way imaginable. And she wasn’t fighting him. No, not even close. Instead Priss was all over him, accepting and anxious.

  Trace let his hands drop to her bottom, lifting her up and against him. He ground against her, oblivious to everything except her taste, the heat of her body and his straining erection.

  When he left her mouth to taste her throat, she whispered, “Trace?” with confusion and need.

  “I’m sorry.” There was her damned apology after all, but not for yelling earlier. “Helene drugged me.” He lifted her higher so that he could open his mouth over the tender swells of her breasts.

  “I know.” Her hands braced against his shoulders, trying to find balance. “I was so afraid….”

  Backing her to the wall, he caught her thighs and lifted them to either side of his hips. Oh, God, perfect. The feel of her, her scent swirling around him… He ravaged the soft, fragrant skin of her throat while moving against the junction of her thighs. A few seconds more, and he’d be coming.

  He groaned with rampant need that boiled closer and closer to the surface.

  A light tap sounded on the door and Jackson cleared his throat. “Well…this is awkward.”

  God Almighty, he’d kill him yet.

  Priss’s hand smoothed over Trace’s hair, and he heard her say, “Not now, Jackson. Close the door. Trace will see you in a few minutes.”

  “A few minutes, huh?” Jackson scoffed. “Yeah, sure. But uh…you’re okay, honey?”

  Before Trace could decide whether or not to flatten Jackson, Priss hugged him closer.

  “I’m fine, I promise.” Her hand continued to move over Trace, easy soothing strokes that still incited his every nerve ending. “Now go away.”

  Trace heard the door close and he felt like a bastard, like a molester, like a weak idiot with no morals and no backbone.

  Drugs were a real son-of-a-bitch.

  Priss had been through her own kind of hell. She deserved his attention, his comfort. But he had no control at all. Hell, even now, knowing his lack of control to be true, he couldn’t seem to pull back from her.

  Her hand slid over his shoulder, down to his side. “Trace?” She kissed his ear. “This might be easier on the bed.”

  He groaned again, his body straining, racked with need.

  Feeling her smile on his temple, he heard her whisper, “Or not.” And then she moved, gliding against his cock, and even through layers of material, it was enough to devastate him.

  “Wait.” The single word sounded like sandpaper. Trace fought for a breath, then another. But he would not come in his pants like a green kid. “I can’t…I won’t do this.”

  “No?”

  He wanted her to understand, but he was short on words and long on need. “Not to you.”

  She went still, and Trace geared himself up for a variety of reactions. Then she wiggled, and he let her free even though it almost killed him. When her feet touched the floor again, she didn’t move away from him. Instead she lowered her hands to his erection.

  He hissed out a breath. “Priscilla… Honey, this is wrong.” Even though it felt so good. “Everything you’ve been through…”

  “I’m fine, Trace, really.” Her hand circled him, and she looked at him with a softened gaze and a little awe. “But you’re not.”

  He would never understa
nd her. “Everything that’s happened today… You’re not rattled?”

  “Not anymore, now that I know you’re safe from Helene.” Priss shrugged, tipped her head. “You seem pretty rock steady, too, considering.”

  “I’m on fire.” His hands shook when he cupped her face. “Jesus, I don’t know what she gave me, but…”

  “But you still handled things when you needed to.”

  Pride demanded that he explain things to her. “I was just about free when you two showed up. I would have gotten away from her.”

  Her hands continued to move on him. “I believe you.”

  “I would have handled things. You shouldn’t have gotten involved.”

  All her attention remained on his cock. “Right now, I’m sort of glad I did.”

  She sounded awed, and excited. “That’s not helping, Priss.” Whatever the drug concoction, it had a potent kick that just kept amplifying.

  “And you need to get off?”

  He stared at her. “You’re not acting very virginal.”

  “Get real.” She snorted. “I work in a porn shop.”

  A fact he’d never forget. “Yeah, I need to get off.” Even saying it put him perilously close to the edge of no return. “Afterward, maybe I can clear my head.”

  “I’d like to help with that.”

  The things she said, the things she did… “Your first time shouldn’t be like this.”

  “You’re right.” While staring down at him, Priss licked her bottom lip. “The thing is…I want to…taste you.”

  His lungs compressed. Hearing her say that nearly took out his knees. He slid his fingers into her hair, holding her head and envisioning the whole thing with devastating effect. He knew he should turn her down, but he couldn’t get the words out.

  “Can I take your silence for agreement?”

  Trace squeezed his eyes shut tight, told himself to refuse before it was too late… “Yes.”

  “Oh, good. But first I have a question.”

  He’d never survive this. “What?”

  “That bitch didn’t have her mouth on you?”

  “No.” He kissed her hard, and wanted to keep on kissing her. Her lips were soft and open, warm and sweet. One day soon he’d take his time with her. Tonight wasn’t it. “No, she didn’t. That was her plan, but then you and Jackson got there—”