Trace of Fever - Lori Foster [118]
She’d already seen too much in her young life. He wanted to shield her—but right now, he couldn’t do anything at all.
“Get the door,” Murray told him. And then to Priss, “Don’t you go anywhere, young lady. I’ll be right back.”
Wide-eyed, Priss nodded.
Trace stood aside as Murray dragged Helene out into the foyer. She was a tough one, but even she had her limits, and Trace found he wasn’t immune in reacting to her pain and fear.
Through the open door they could see Murray talking quietly to the men, but couldn’t hear what he said. Alice, on the other hand, was close enough to go alternately pale, then flushed.
For a moment, Trace thought she might faint. He wanted to protect her, too, but he had Priss to contend with. And then Alice stiffened her spine and he knew she’d be okay.
For now.
The guards, for their part, didn’t seem to relish whatever duty had befallen them. When Murray shoved Helene toward them, they caught her awkwardly and she broke into sobs.
“Jesus,” Priss whispered.
Teeth clenched and temper burning, Trace said, “Not. A. Word.”
She glanced at him, and patted his arm. “Okay.”
Now she was agreeable? With no other choice left to him, Trace slipped his hand into his pocket and sent a code to Jackson before saying to Priss, “If only you’d shown that much sense before now.”
She kept her gaze on Murray through the doorway. “I’m sorry, but you can’t cut me out of this.”
God help them. Falling back into the role assigned him, Trace turned and grabbed her arm. He pressed her into the seat Helene had just vacated, saying low, “You need to trust me now.”
“I do.” Priss swallowed hard, her eyes bright, determined. “Now it’s your turn to show a little trust in return.”
CHAPTER NINETEEN
DESPICABLE AS HELENE might be, it wasn’t easy to see her dragged away. And with Trace so furious, it was even harder to maintain her pretense, especially when Murray strode back in as if he hadn’t just physically and emotionally abused his lover. Horror would be the appropriate reaction, so Priss gave in to it.
Hand to her mouth, she stared from Trace to Murray. “What in the world did she do?”
“She destroyed your new clothes.”
“Oh, but…” Surely Murray wouldn’t pretend that was her only offense? “If that’s so…why? Why would she do such a thing?”
“Jealousy, no doubt.” Murray finished off a drink, and went to the liquor cabinet to pour another.
“Oh.” What the hell could she say now? “I seriously doubt that.”
Laughing, Murray sent a toast to Trace.
“Well, really, whatever the reason, I don’t want to see her hurt….”
“Don’t worry about it, my dear. The authorities will deal with her.”
Yeah, right. “You called the police?”
“Of course.” He smirked at her. “What did you think I would do?”
Torture her? Kill her? Sell her to the highest bidder, or maybe pass her around to his associates for grins and giggles?
Saying none of that aloud, Priss shook her head. “I don’t know. You’ve said yourself that you’re a powerful man, and so many strange things have happened since I came here. I don’t know what to think anymore.”
“It’s understandable.” He knocked back the drink and poured another.
Was he getting toasted? That’d be convenient.
Almost to himself, Murray said, “You have actually seen far too much.”
Wow, not a subtle threat at all. Priss eased out of the chair. “Maybe I should come back another time.”
“No.” The way he bared his teeth in the semblance of a smile certainly wasn’t meant to reassure her. Stepping around her, he said to Trace, “The deal is happening today. I need you along.”
The deal. Priss hoped and prayed he meant what she thought he meant, because she badly wanted this all to end.
Trace looked far from relieved. “What about her?” He nodded toward Priss.
“With villains pursuing her left and right, we can’t very well leave her unprotected, now, can we?”
Face set and cold, Trace said nothing.
Murray clapped him on the shoulder. “I believe we’ll take her along.”
Afraid of what she’d see, Priss didn’t look at Trace. She knew he’d be in a killing mood, but trusted him—yeah, she did trust