Trace of Fever - Lori Foster [119]
In a pretence of excitement, she clapped her hands together. “To a business meeting? You mean it?”
Deadpan, he looked at Trace, then back to Priss. “I always say what I mean.”
“Oh, Murray, I’d love to see what you do and how you do it. But…” She looked down at herself. “I’m hardly dressed properly.”
“I’ll have Twyla send over something. She should have your size on record.”
Priss gasped in credible awe. “You can do that?”
For an answer, he hit the button to summon Alice. When the poor woman entered, feet dragging, Murray said, “Priscilla will be joining me on my business meeting today.”
Alice shot a pitying glance her way.
“Get Twyla to send over something nice for her to wear. Tell her I need it within the hour.”
“Yes, sir.” Alice waited to be dismissed.
Studying her, Murray tapped his thick sausage fingers on the desktop. “You know, Alice, it’d be nice if you dressed a little more appropriately, too. You don’t have to look so dreary all the time.”
She looked like she’d just been struck. Even more meekly, she said, “Yes, sir.”
“We’ll leave at two.” His expression boded ill for all. “Clear my calendar for the rest of the day after that.” When she still hesitated, he said, “That’s all.”
After she’d left the room, Trace frowned. “Alice is going along, too?”
“Always. She keeps the books.”
Whoa. That was something Priss hadn’t considered. Surely Alice wasn’t a willing participant. Not that she was a good judge of such things, but still—Helene, she could see. Murray, obviously. But not Alice.
When Priss looked at Trace, he wore no expression at all. But she already knew him well enough to pick up on his escalating tension.
“I have some things to attend to.” Murray moved around them, speaking to Trace as if she didn’t exist. “Take her to the conference room. Alice will bring the clothes as soon as they arrive. Supervise her when she changes. I don’t want any surprises.”
“I’ll get her something to drink in the meantime.”
“Yeah.” He glanced at Priss without much interest. “Make her comfortable.” He went out the door with an intent scowl of preoccupation.
As he passed Alice’s desk, she jumped up to follow…almost like a pet, eager to please—or fearful of disappointing.
When the coast was clear, Priss said, “Wow, that was—”
Trace caught her wrist, shushing her. She looked at him and he shook his head.
Bugged? she mouthed.
He shrugged, letting her know he wasn’t certain. But he glanced at the intercom system Murray used, and she realized it could easily go both ways.
“Come on.” Still holding her wrist, he led her from the room, down a hall and into another, even larger room framed by floor-to-ceiling windows on two walls.
Already feeling exposed, Priss wrapped her arms around herself. “I’m expected to change in here?”
Trace looked harsh, furious and determined. “You’re expected to do whatever Murray tells you to.”
“Yeah, I know. But…” She bit her lip, and nodded. “You said something about a drink?”
His left eye twitched before he turned away and went to a built-in bar. From under the bar he produced a Coke. He tossed ice in a glass and poured. “Have you eaten?”
“Not much.”
That seemed to anger him more. “I can’t leave you to get real food, so your choices are peanuts, pretzels or cheese crackers.”
He treated her like a stranger, and even though she knew it was a precaution in case Murray listened in, it still hurt. She wanted to tell him that she’d be okay, that she did have a plan, but talking about it would be too risky.
Pulling out a padded chair at the long conference table, she seated herself. “Cheese crackers, thank you.” She lifted free the long chain around her neck and toyed with it.
Trace didn’t appear to notice.
He hadn’t gone through her purse this time, either. He might do that yet, but would he recognize the heart-shaped key chain? Once she removed the cover off the heart, it was a sharp-edged weapon. And what about her pink cell phone? It looked innocent enough, but