Trace of Fever - Lori Foster [113]
“Seems so.”
He searched Trace’s face. “And you think Helene did something with her?”
“That, or she scared her off.”
“I suppose that’s possible. Helene can be very…exuberant at times.” Rubbing his goatee, Murray thought about it. His gaze slashed up to Trace in suspicion. “What did you say to Helene when you found her there?”
“I told her to get lost.”
Chiding, Murray said, “Trace. Tsk, tsk. That was unkind of you.”
“You already knew my plans, and they didn’t include secondhand bait from you.”
“Oh-ho! If Helene heard you call her that, she’d castrate you.”
No doubt she’d try. “I wanted a quick shower, a couple of drinks and a woman.”
“Other than my Helene.”
Trace shrugged. “As you just said, she’s yours, and I don’t share.”
“A man after my own heart.” He slapped his hands down onto the desk. “So. After you rejected her, what happened?”
Remembering brought new tension to invade Trace’s muscles. “The bitch drugged me.”
Murray lost his relaxed posture. “Come again?”
“She stabbed me in the ass with a hypodermic. Whatever it was, it left me dopey long enough for her to…”
Sitting forward in anticipation, scowling darkly, Murray demanded, “Don’t keep me in suspense, damn it! For her to do what?”
“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.