by Lori Foster
“She tied me up. She was going to have her jollies regardless of what I had to say about it.”
Murray simmered…and then burst out laughing. “By God, Trace, you sound like one of those little twit virgins I’ve brought to auction!” He slapped his hands onto the desk again. “Worried about your virtue, are you?”
There was no comparing him, a capable, hard-living grown man to a helpless, frightened and fragile girl. But yeah, it had given him a small—very small—taste of how those females probably felt being so helpless.
The difference was that he knew he’d get loose, and he knew he’d make them all pay. The women whose lives Murray had ruined never had that satisfaction.
Expression and mood dark, Trace said, “You like control, Murray. I like control. Anything else is out of the question.”
“True, true.”
It wasn’t exactly accurate, but close enough. Trace said silkily, “If she wasn’t yours, I would have killed Helene for what she tried to do.”
Murray continued in a humorous vein. “Ah, so I take it you got free before she could…compromise you?”
“I was too pissed to deal with her, so I gave her a dose of her own medicine. Literally.”
“No shit?” His brows rose high. “You doped her?”
Trace gave a hard nod. “And then I left. When I came back later that night she was gone.”
“And yet she didn’t mention any of this.” Letting out a thoughtful breath, Murray stewed. “I got the feeling that whatever she wants to discuss with me, it has nothing to do with you.”
“I told her that you wouldn’t like it. And I told her that I’d inform you.” Trace shrugged. “I don’t think she believed me.”
“I have to say, I’m surprised you didn’t try to cover it up.” He tilted his head, studying Trace. “You weren’t concerned that I might put you at fault?”
“No, but it doesn’t matter anyway. I wouldn’t keep something important from you.”
“You consider this important?”
Trace didn’t like being played with. “You said yourself that Helene is unstable. You can best judge how unstable with reports of what she does.”
“Right you are.”
“I’m surprised you didn’t already know.” It never hurt to stroke Murray’s colossal ego—or to show his own. “You’ve had so many tails on me lately, I don’t know if I should be insulted at your lack of trust, or complimented that you’re concerned enough to keep the dogs out on me.”
“Take my advice. Be complimented.” He pushed the intercom. “Alice, tell Helene to get in here pronto.”
So Murray would waste no time in dealing with her. “Did you want me to stay?” Trace hoped so. As distasteful as he found the dynamics of Helene and Murray’s relationship, he wanted to stay apprised of any status changes.
“Knowing Helene, I might need your protection.” Murray smiled as he said it.
Given Murray’s fluctuating mood, Trace didn’t know if the lunatic would kill Helene, or applaud her audacity.
Helene barged in minutes later with a paper in hand. Usually picture-perfect from her hair to her shoes, she looked less pulled together today. Besides her lank hair and her eyes dark with exhaustion, her sleeveless, pullover blouse had a few wrinkles, her split skirt was askew, and her shoes didn’t quite match the ensemble. She looked…more average than not, a regular woman instead of a live fetish with evil intent.
When she found Trace standing there by the windows, she paused. Her worried gaze went to Murray—and she knew she’d just stepped in it.
Helene wasn’t dumb, just insane.
“Yes, Helene,” Murray told her with a heavy dose of apathy. “You’re in trouble.”
Trying to brazen her way through, she waved a paper. “I have something important to share with you.”
“Really?” He turned to Trace. “And she looks so anxious to share. I suppose we can wait for our little disciplinary hearing, can’t we?”
Hiding his frustration, Trace said, “Your decision, as always.”
Murray left his chair and circled around to the front of his desk. He leaned back on it, arms crossed over his thick chest. “All right, Helene. Let’s hear it. And it better be good.”
Triumphant, she held out the paper. “The paternity results are in. That little fraud is not your daughter.”
Trace was so stunned that he didn’t know how to react. Murray seemed even more thrown, proving that he had believed Priss to be of his blood.
Neither of them reached for the paper.
“It’s true,” Helene declared. “I swear.”
Softly, Murray said, “I’ll be damned. I bought her act completely.”
“But it was an act.” Slapping the paper down on the desk beside Murray, Helene presented the epitome of false sympathy. “She was trying to use you, Murray.” She stroked his goatee, the back of his head. “She wanted to take advantage of you, to take your money and your possessions. The evidence doesn’t lie. She’s not related to you in any way.”
Frowning in distraction, Murray set her away from him and looked at Trace. “What do you think?”
He thought Priss had dug a very deep hole for herself, and now, for him, too. “Maybe you ought to give Priscilla a chance to explain.”
Helene bristled. “Why are you deferring to him? I have the proof! Who cares what he thinks?”
“I do, obviously.” He swept her away from him and gave his attention to Trace. “What’s the point in that?”
“It could be a true misunderstanding instead of a deliberate ruse.” He leveled a look on Hell. “And I’d double-check the results myself before taking her word for it.”
“Bastard!” Hell launched at him, but Trace easily caught her arm and pinned it painfully behind her back.
Near her ear, uncaring of Murray’s audience, he whispered, “I’m not drugged now, Helene, so don’t even think about it.” While she struggled futilely, gasping in pain, Trace conferred with Murray. “Think about it. Helene has proven herself untrustworthy. Instead of going to Priscilla as you gave her permission to do, she came to me. Priscilla is now missing, and suddenly Helene has these results?”
Murray rubbed his chin, pulled at his goatee thoughtfully. “It does seem rather convenient, doesn’t it?”
Helene gasped again and went still. “No!”
Was it possible that Murray actually wanted Priss to be his daughter? More likely, he was just taken off guard at having his plans—whatever those plans might be—thwarted by a possible sham.
Was Priss capable of that much duplicity?
Helene struggled anew. “He’s lying!”
Uncaring if he hurt her, Trace tightened his hold. “Wouldn’t you rather know for sure?”
Eyes narrowed, Murray moved closed to them. “You know, I believe you’re right, Trace.”
There was so much finality in Murray’s voice, Trace could guess what would probably happen to Helene now. He released her and stepped back.
Babbling, pleading, she threw herself against Murray. “You can’t believe him, Murray. You can’t!” She kissed his face, his fat neck. “Baby, you know I wouldn’t lie to you.”
Gently, Murray cupped her face. “Oh, I think you’re most capable of anything, my dear. Most capable. I believe, as Trace suggested, I will have the results checked myself. But not to worry, in the meantime you’ll be kept…safe.”
She whimpered in the first sign of real fear Trace had ever seen from her. Eyes wide, pulse tripping, she whispered, “Murray…”
He smiled at Trace. “Call in security.” He pushed Helene into a chair.
“All right.” Trace gave a quick, pitying glance at Helene, but he knew better than to interfere. He stepped outside the door. “Alice?”
Startled, she jumped up from her desk and jerked around to face him.
Trace frowned. Her face was pale, her expression one of worry. She’d always been inhibited, but he’d never seen her so stressed. He felt very protective t
oward her. “Get security up here, will you?”
“Security…other than you?”
“Building security,” he clarified. He tried a smile that had no effect on her, so he gave up and prompted her to action, saying, “Thank you.”
“Oh.” She rushed to take care of the order. “Yes, of course. I’ll see to that right away.”
As she reseated herself behind her desk, Trace closed the door. “On the way.”
“Excellent.”
In one of the padded guest chairs, Helene sat in stony silence, her gaze lost, staring at nothing in particular. Trace couldn’t help but wonder what had happened with her last night after Jackson dumped her.
“We need to find her,” Murray mused.
“Her?”
“Priscilla.” He scowled at Trace. “Keep up.”
In a seeming reprieve from Murray’s censure, Trace’s cell phone rang. Jackson would only use the private cell, and he wouldn’t call; he’d leave a code. While Murray waited expectantly, Trace had no choice but to pull out the phone to turn it off. “Sorry.”
Murray gestured magnanimously. “Go ahead.”
In his bones, Trace knew that answering the call wouldn’t be a good idea. “Whatever it is, it’ll wait.”
“Nonsense. It could be Priscilla.” Murray gestured. “Answer it already.”
With no other choice, he conceded. “All right.” Not sure what new game Murray played, Trace put the phone to his ear. “Trace Miller.”
“Hey, Trace.”
Priscilla. Good God, what was she thinking? He struggled to keep his expression inscrutable. “What is it?”
“Bad timing? Sorry about that. Nothing is tragically wrong, so don’t worry. I just wanted you to know that I’m here.”
Aware of Murray’s unrelenting attention, Trace asked, “Here…where?”
“Right outside. At a pay phone.”
Un-freaking believable. Priss sounded contrary and lighthearted and he wanted to throttle her. Jaw clenched, he asked, “How?”
“Cabbie. I skipped out before Jackson showed up, so if he calls in a panic, no worries.”
Trace glanced at Murray. “I’m in an important meeting.”
“Oh, with Murray? Awkward! I just wanted you to know that I’m coming in.”
No way in hell. He held the phone tighter. “Negative.”
“Positive,” she replied without concern for the direct order he’d just given her. “Oops. Especially since the jig is up.”
Why had he ever thought her reasonable? “Tell me where you are. I’ll come and get you.”
Murray’s brows lifted.
“Too late for that. Some apes are headed my way. I don’t think I can outrun them, so I’m guessing I’m being brought in. Real quick. Did you say anything to Murray yet? About Helene I mean.”
“Yes.”
“Oh. Well, I can only hope our stories match up— Shoot. Gotta go, Trace. See you soon.” Almost as an afterthought, she added, “Smooches.” The phone died.
Smooches? Was she out of her mind? Had being around Murray and Helene addled her wits?
With numbness creeping over him, Trace closed the phone and dropped it into his pocket.
“Who was that?”
No point in lying about it. “Priscilla.”
Helene said, “Priscilla?” almost at the same time Murray said, “No shit? I thought she was long gone.”
“Apparently not.” He took up a stance by the door. “I offered to go get her, but she said she was close by and that apes were coming after her. Your apes, I hope.”
Murray examined a nail. “Most likely. I told the men that if she approached the building, or anywhere near the building, I wanted her brought to me.”
“She lied to you,” Helene insisted again.
Ignoring her, Trace said, “Then I assume she’s on her way in.”
“Splendid.” He dropped his hands and again sat behind his desk. “I can’t wait to…greet her.” And then to Helene, “Not a word out of you. Do you understand?”
She hesitated, but then nodded.
A few minutes later, Alice beeped the office. “Mr. Coburn, some of your guards have brought Priscilla Patterson to see you.”
Murray rolled his eyes. “Don’t be a dolt, Alice. Send them in.”
“Yes, sir.”
It was the first time Trace had heard Murray speak to Alice with anything other than professional curtness. But he didn’t have time to dwell on that, not when the same men he’d confronted in Priss’s apartment parking lot entered the room, dragging Priss along as she carped and complained.
A man at either side of her gripped her arms, and another trailed behind. Through remaining bruises and some medical tape, they grinned when they saw Trace.
Priss tried to hide her grimace, but they were hurting her, and Trace wouldn’t tolerate it. Staring at the men but speaking to Murray, he said, “Did you tell them to manhandle her?”
Amused, Murray said, “Actually…no.” And then, in warning, “But this is my office Trace, so don’t break anything.”
“Only bones.” Straight and hard, his fist shot out and connected with the nose of the man closest to him with cartilage-crunching impact.
Stunned, the fool quickly released Priss and lurched back with a gurgling, “Arrrr…” “Do not get blood on my carpet,” Murray ordered one and all as he sat back to enjoy the show.
Busy cupping his hands around his spewing nose and trying not to pass out, the man couldn’t fight. He left the room and stumbled to Alice for tissues.
Priss darted out of the fray and away from the remaining two men. Out of the corner of his eye, Trace saw her shift closer to Murray.
She said, somewhat approvingly, “Trace is very efficient at this.”
“Indeed.”
Because he felt uneasy with her so close to Murray, Trace finished off the second man in rapid order. A short kick to an already bandaged knee took one guy completely out of the fight and had the added benefit of being blood-free. All he could do was roll on the carpet, whining.
A punch to the solar plexus, and then the ribs, put the third man down, too. He wheezed for air, close to puking but holding it back in fear of soiling Murray’s carpet.
“Excellent work, Trace.” As he again left his desk, Murray waved Trace back, and then addressed his henchmen. “You continue to disappoint me. Now get out.”
Shifting nervously, Alice held the door wide. After the men had cleared it, she asked Murray in a tiny voice, “Do you need anything else?”
Murray asked Priss, “Coffee? Soda?”
She shook her head. “No. I’m fine. I don’t want to impose further.”
Helene roused herself enough to scoff, but otherwise remained remote and quiet as ordered.
Trace took the doorknob. “That’s all, Alice. Thank you.”
She scanned the room, nodded and left. Trace closed the door.
Braced for anything, Trace aligned himself closer to Priss. If need be, he’d gut Murray and deal with the consequences as they came.
Murray smiled at Priss with the same attention he gave his financial reports. “Don’t hover over her, Trace. She’ll be fine.” He lifted a brow. “Isn’t that right, Priscilla?”
She made a noncommittal noise. “I’m not going to get weepy over a little physical violence, especially since they had it coming.”
“Priscilla,” Trace warned. He wanted to muzzle her. He wanted to whisk her away and forget the rest of the world.
He wanted to…maybe, keep her.
Entertained, Murray smiled at her. “Don’t worry, Trace. She’ll be good. Won’t you?”
More than a little mulish, Priss crossed her arms. “If, by good, you mean I won’t file charges against those goons…I don’t know yet.”
Murray barked a laugh. “Excellent.”
Trace had to wonder when Murray’s good humor would evaporate. “By necessity, Murray has to be very cautious.” He stared at her, hoping to convey the mess
age. “Don’t press him.”
Leering, Murray said, “She can press me a little. I don’t mind.” Then his gaze roamed over her jeans and loose, casual T-shirt. “What in God’s name are you wearing?”
Priss smoothed her shirt and shifted her feet. “You don’t like my clothes?”
“No, I don’t.” Propping a hip on his desk and lacing his hands together, Murray shook his head. “I had clothes specifically purchased for you so that I wouldn’t have to see these…substandard rags.”
Her face fell comically.
The little faker. Trace didn’t buy any of it. What the hell was she up to?
“I’m so, so sorry. Really. I wanted to wear them.” The picture of despondency, Priss bit her bottom lip, then lurched closer to him with theatric fanfare. “Oh, Murray, I hate to tell you this, but someone broke into my apartment last night and destroyed everything.”
Trace stared at her in fascination. God, she was a fabulous liar.
“Destroyed?” Murray looked taken aback.
“Yes. I had gone out—”
Pouncing on that, Murray asked, “Where?”
Without missing a beat, she said, “To a Laundromat. I needed to wash my pj’s and jeans and stuff.” Injecting the perfect amount of drama, she groaned. “And good thing, since everything else is gone!”
“Gone where?”
“That’s what I’m trying to tell you. While I was away, someone broke in!”
Murray looked from Trace, to Helene, and back to Priss. “You’re sure?”
Rapid nodding sent Priss’s beautiful hair spilling over her shoulders, distracting Murray. “I got home and all of my wonderful new clothes were ripped up, ruined beyond repair.” She jiggled as if distressed beyond measure. “Oh, Murray, I didn’t know what to do!”
Murray eyed her. “So what did you do?”
“I tried calling Trace.” She cast him a worried, apologetic glance. “But he didn’t answer.”
Brows up, Murray turned to him. “Trace?”
He shrugged, trying to keep up with Priss. “Must’ve been after Helene showed up. I didn’t get any calls that I know of, but during our…altercation, she took my phone and turned it off.”
Helene started to say something, but Murray gave her a narrow-eyed stare that quieted her immediately.