Trace of Fever

by Lori Foster

  “I understand.”

  But she still looked too numb, and it bothered Trace. “Alice?”

  Eyes big and sad, but no longer stark with fear, she looked up at him. Trace touched her cheek and smiled. “I always knew you were different, too.”

  That admission seemed to break the fog, and she threw her arms around him, squeezing tight as if she didn’t want to let go. Trace awkwardly patted her back until she regained control.

  He lifted her chin. “I’m sorry, hon, but Priss and I have to go.”

  “I know.” She wiped her cheeks, and summoned a shaky smile. “Thank you. For everything.”

  He hated to let her go like this. “You’ll get hold of your family?”

  “First thing, I promise.”

  He had nothing more to say, so Trace closed the door and stepped back.

  Before the cab could pull away, Priss put her hand on the glass of the window. Alice drew a deep breath…and put her hand to the glass, too.

  Both women looked on the verge of tears, and Trace wasn’t sure he could bear it. He kept thinking about what Murray had intended for Priss, how she’d been in the middle of flying bullets.

  He kept remembering her standing there, a gun in her small hand, ready to kill Murray.

  She should never have been there, and no way in hell did she deserve to have Murray’s death laid at her door.

  At the moment, equal shares of rage, urgency and compassion vied to flatten his self-control. But damn it, he was a pro. He had things to do, and those things had an order to them. Getting sidetracked by his feelings wasn’t on the agenda.

  He took Priss’s arm and pulled her back.

  The cabbie drove away from the curb. Putting his hand to the small of her back, Trace prodded her toward the car. They had to ditch it, get another ride, and get the hell out of town.

  Later he’d deal with the bombardment of emotion. Right now, he had to focus on details, and hopefully that would see him through.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  AS TRACE DROVE AWAY from the area, a fierce emotion settled over Priss. It was final and dark, and scarier than facing off with Murray in a deserted, musty factory.

  Now that Murray was dead, what would she do?

  She glanced at Trace. What would they do?

  Even though he’d been careful with Alice, Priss could see that Trace was in a killing mood, silent and distant.

  He probably resented her involvement, because he saw it as interference.

  Given all that had transpired she understood his reaction. He’d had a long-term plan, and she’d thrown a kink in the works. Poor Trace. He was so methodical, so detailed in what he did, so quick to react in every situation, having someone like her around must have been a trial.

  What to do? When Priss lifted a hand to push her hair from her face, she noticed that, with the adrenaline wearing off, she shook like a freezing, wet cat.

  She also realized how badly her feet hurt in the stupid heels. Fighting back useless tears, she bent and removed the shoes. Trace glanced at her, at her naked feet, and then her legs. His look was narrow-eyed and mean.

  Enough already.

  Drawing up one leg, Priss turned to face him in the seat. The new position hiked the dumb dress up farther, but she didn’t care. “What are we going to do now?”

  Other than a slight shifting of muscles, he didn’t move. He stared straight ahead at the road. “We’re not doing anything. I’ve got follow-up work to see to.”

  “What kind of follow-up work?”

  “Twyla, Helene, the entire business office…” His hands tightened on the wheel. “And you’re going to keep your nose out of it.”

  Exasperating man. “I hadn’t thought about all of that. All I wanted was Murray.”

  His jaw clenched noticeably.

  Priss rolled her eyes. “That’s not what I meant anyway.” Her mouth felt dry, so she licked her lips. “I meant us—as in you and me.”

  His forearms flexed and his knuckles turned white.

  Not real encouraging. If he tensed any more, he’d end up breaking something.

  “Because, like—” Priss cleared her throat. No point in dithering. “I really need to see Liger. I’ve missed him horribly. I know your friends are taking care of him, but it’s not the same. And I need to get back to the shop, too. I need to check on things.” She lifted her shoulders. “My life—my real life—is waiting for me.”

  Braking in the middle of the road, Trace turned to stare at her. His fair hair was mussed, his T-shirt dirty. He stared at her with hazel eyes so bright, they looked lit from behind. His jaw ticked.

  And damn it, she just didn’t care. She didn’t want this to end. “I want to see you again.”

  He went comically blank. “What?”

  Why did that surprise him? “You know.” She gestured with her hand. “See you.” She could really use some comfort right now, but he didn’t look all that receptive to the idea. “Like…date? I’ve never dated, remember?”

  Brows pulling down into another frown, heaving a little, his nostrils flared, Trace continued to stare at her.

  His attitude was starting to annoy her. “Okay, look, I know it’s a stretch, you and me together in a relationship, but you don’t have to act like—”

  So fast that she yelped, Trace reached out and caught the back of her neck. As he leaned in, he hauled her across the seat so he could close his mouth over hers. Her lips parted in surprise and his tongue moved in, thorough and hot and definitely possessive.

  Wow. It wasn’t exactly comfort, but it’d work. On a soft, accepting moan, Priss slid her hands up his hard chest and around his neck. No one else could possibly feel so solid, so safe and sexy and…perfect. He pressed her back into the seat, his kiss consuming her.

  A horn beeped.

  Reluctantly, Trace drew back in infinitesimal degrees. He had one hand on the steering wheel, one on her neck. His gaze moved over her face, and then he shook his head. “You’re going to make me nuts, Priscilla.”

  He reseated himself and drove forward again.

  Nonplussed, Priss settled back in her seat. The way his moods blew hot and cold was addling her brain. “So…that kiss. Does it mean you want to keep seeing me, too?”

  “It does.”

  He didn’t seem all that happy about it. After a few minutes of silence, she said, “I still have to get Liger and go to the shop to check on things.”

  “When?”

  She didn’t really want to go anywhere without Trace, but with the danger over, she couldn’t bear to be apart from Liger any longer. And really, the shop required her input. Her one and only employee, Gary, could only do so much on his own.

  Downcast, Priss admitted, “The sooner, the better.”

  He nodded. “If I arrange it, will you agree to let Jackson take you to Dare’s until I can wrap up things here? Then I’ll go with you to the shop.”

  He wanted to accompany her? Priss wasn’t sure what to make of that. “How long will it take you?”

  “A couple of days.” He glanced at her. “Everything’s already in place, so it won’t be long.”

  Her spirits lifted as she looked out her window at the passing scenery. “All right.”

  “You mean it this time? I’d like to trust you, Priss.”

  She’d like that, too. “I promise that I won’t ever mislead you again.”

  “That’s a start.”

  A start to what, exactly? Happiness? She wanted to be happy, but Murray had disrupted so many lives that she couldn’t think about herself too much right now. “Do you really think that Alice will be all right?”

  “Yes.” Trace firmed his mouth and nodded. “I have to believe that, or I’d go crazy thinking about what my sister has been through.”

  Her heart skipped a beat. “Your sister?”

  “Trust goes both ways, honey.”

  “What does that mean?”

  Visibly bracing himself, Trace said, “My last name is Rivers, not
Miller.”

  Her eyes widened. “Oh, my God, I was right about your name.”

  “You’ve been right about a whole lot of things.”

  She whispered the name, “Trace Rivers.” Nice. “That sounds better.”

  Trace wasn’t done. “My sister, Alani, was taken. Not by Murray, but others like him.”

  There was no mistaking the gravity of the subject for him, and Priss, although she’d already heard him say as much to Murray, recognized that he’d just taken a giant step toward trusting her. It was such a fragile thing, so incredible, that she wanted to throw herself against him.

  “And you’ve been set on wiping out human traffickers since then?”

  “Something like that.”

  Having it hit close to home had probably spurred Trace, but Priss knew he’d never turn a blind eye to injustice or cruelty. Keeping her tone gentle, she asked, “How long did they have her?”

  “Only a few days. But they took her across the southern border into Tijuana.” Trace flexed his hands on the steering wheel. “I couldn’t go after her. She was kidnapped by people who knew me.”

  Guessing how devastating that’d be for Trace, Priss covered her mouth. “So if you’d gone, it might have put her at more risk?”

  Restless, he pawed the steering wheel as if he wanted to break it in two. “It still burns my ass to think about it.”

  Because he was a take-charge man, but when the one person he cared about most had needed him, he’d been forced to sit back and entrust her rescue to others. “How did you get to her?”

  “Dare went instead, and I…” He sucked in an angry breath. “I waited for news.”

  She put a hand on his thigh. “I’m sure Dare is…competent?”

  That made Trace laugh, but it had more to do with irony than with humor. “Yeah, he’s competent.”

  “Good.”

  Trace gave her a look, and then shook his head. “Dare killed all of the bastards, freed the women and came home not only with Alani, but with an additional surprise.”

  “What do you mean?”

  A genuine smile tipped the corners of his mouth. “That’s where he met Molly.”

  Priss’s hand fell away and her mouth dropped open. “You mean…?”

  “He found her in Tijuana when he went in after my sister. Molly had been taken, too, and he brought them both back across the border.”

  It made sense, now that she knew. She remembered how the men had shielded Molly, their concern, when Priss had mentioned Murray to her. “I thought there was something about Molly….”

  “She’s a strong woman.”

  “And your sister?” She touched him again, his biceps, then his shoulder, and she wanted to go on touching him, everywhere. “She’s strong, too?”

  “God, I hope so. She seems to be dealing with it okay.”

  Priss didn’t push, and then Trace pulled out his cell. “That reminds me, I need to call Jackson now that we’re clear. I’ll be just a second, okay?”

  Nodding, Priss retreated back to her own side of the car. She let out a breath and stretched out her legs. A yawn took her by surprise. “Take however long you need. I don’t mind.”

  TRACE MARVELED AT THE odd sort of serenity that settled over Priss. She held up better than any woman should have, but then, Priss was unlike any other woman he’d met.

  Jackson answered on the second ring. “What’s up?”

  “Just checking in.” Trace watched the road, but he also stole glances at Priss. Her relaxed posture and even breathing belied any stress at all. Amazing. “The authorities handled things?”

  “Like pros. They might not have a proper task force, but they know what they’re doing. All’s well.”

  Trace had expected no less, but he wanted to hear Jackson’s take on things. “How so?”

  “Several female officers were on the scene. They brought an unmarked van instead of a paddy wagon, food, blankets, drinks… It was the best anyone could hope for.”

  It relieved Trace to know the department had shown some sensitivity. “And the offices?”

  “They closed in right on cue. Rounded up everyone.” In a hasty afterthought, Jackson asked, “Did you know Murray had Helene tied up, gagged and doped to the gills with one of her own psychotropic concoctions? I’m told she was totally out of it.”

  He’d known that Murray planned to kill Helene, but not the details. “She’ll be okay?”

  “If a life behind bars is your definition of okay.” Jackson made a sound of impatience. “So. If that’s all you wanted—”

  Trace frowned. “Is there a problem?”

  “Nope. No problem.”

  That curt answer did nothing to reassure Trace. “Then why are you rushing me?”

  “Did you want something else?”

  “No, damn it.” Priss looked at him with raised brows, so Trace moderated his tone. “But unless you have somewhere to be—”

  Jackson let out a disgusted breath, then admitted, “I’ve got your sister on the line.”

  Of all the… “Alani?”

  “You have another sister I don’t know about?”

  Next time he saw Jackson, he just might have to clout him. “Why are you talking to Alani?”

  “Remember, I told you that I wanted to hire her to redo my place.”

  He remembered and he hadn’t liked it then, either. “You said it wasn’t happening.”

  “I know, but I felt bad at how we left things.”

  “Things?”

  “Yeah, things.” Annoyance crept into Jackson’s tone. “And for the record, Trace, this isn’t any of your damn business.”

  Trace snarled, started to issue Jackson a very real warning, but at the last second he glanced at Priss, and changed his mind. More moderate now, he asked, “Are you making moves on my sister?”

  “Possibly.”

  God help him. “And she’s allowing it?”

  “She’s not running from me, if that’s what you mean.” A little more frustrated, Jackson added, “I can’t believe you’re chewing my ass after you let her get involved with that idiot financier guy.”

  He hadn’t liked that much, either. “Decorating is her job, Jackson.”

  “Yeah, but you can believe he made moves on her.” And then, with an edge of anger, he added, “Luckily for him, Alani turned him down flat.”

  Trace couldn’t believe Jackson’s nerve. “Just how do you know all this?”

  A long hesitation, and then with belligerence: “I’ve been keeping tabs, all right?”

  Unbelievable. “Does Alani know you’re spying on her?”

  “No, and don’t be so dramatic.”

  “I am not dramatic.” Trace heard Priss snicker and shot her a look, but she pretended to whistle.

  “Look, I’m keeping an eye on her for her own good. We both know she was skittish for a while there, but still determined to be on her own.”

  It sounded to Trace like Jackson had an awful lot of interest in his baby sister. “You’re trying to make yourself sound noble,” Trace accused. “Just admit that you want her.”

  “Damn straight. I’m not blind.”

  Unbelievable. Trace straightened. “Jackson—”

  Jackson laughed at him. “Look, Trace, I get the whole big-brother routine, I really do. But you know I’m not an idiot. I’m well aware of what Alani went through and I wouldn’t do anything to pressure her.”

  “You have her on hold? Right now?”

  “Yup.”

  “She’s willingly talking with you?”

  “If she didn’t want to, she’d hang up, right?”

  Interesting. Far as Trace knew, Alani wouldn’t look at any guy, but she was putting up with Jackson? Grudgingly, he said, “Fine. But Jackson, if she tells you to back off—”

  “I’ll back off. Now give it a rest, will you? I don’t like to keep a lady waiting.” He disconnected the call.

  Not quite sure how he felt about all that, Trace dropped the cell phone on t
he seat between them. He stared straight ahead, his thoughts jumbled.

  “So. Jackson and your sister, huh?”

  He could hear Priss’s smile even before he looked at her. How she could smile right now, he had no idea. He shrugged. “Maybe.”

  “I told you so, didn’t I?”

  Teasing, too? Trace reached for her hand, and found her fingers to be icy cold. The day was warm, so he knew she wasn’t as indifferent as she tried to pretend. He decided to divert her. “What’d you do with your toys?”

  “Toys?”

  He nodded toward her purse. “That cell phone stun gun, the barbed key chain.”

  “Oh, those.” She peeked at him. “I figured you wouldn’t be fooled.”

  “You still have them?”

  She put her head back against the seat. “Since I didn’t get a chance to use them…yeah.”

  “I’ll take them off your hands.”

  “Why?”

  Because he didn’t want her to keep reminders of the day.

  And he didn’t want her playing around with dangerous gag weapons.

  If she needed protection, he’d damn well protect her. But it wasn’t the time to lay all that on her.

  “Better to have them destroyed than to run the risk of someone later finding them, and maybe tying you to the scene.”

  Her hand squeezed his, and she said faintly, “And the deaths.”

  Trace kissed her knuckles. “Exactly.”

  She nodded agreement. “So…Alani.” She turned toward him again. “You two are close?”

  “Very. We always were, but especially after my parents died. She’s eight years younger than me, so I’ve been sort of a stand-in parent as well as a brother.”

  “Eight years younger, so that makes her…?”

  “She recently turned twenty-three.” Too damn young for Jackson. Unless…unless Jackson was the one she wanted.

  “I know what you’re thinking,” Priss told him. “But she’s not much younger than me. Definitely not a child.”

  “No.” Losing both her parents had forced her to grow up quick. “She’s been throwing herself into her work. After what happened, with the abduction I mean, I wanted her to take some time off, but she said that she needed to stay busy.”