Trace of Fever - Lori Foster [123]
“So goddamned confident.” He chuckled and prodded Priss ahead of him. “Have you ever known anyone that cocky?”
Priss giggled. “I’m guessing you’re every bit as sure of yourself.”
“True. With good reason.”
Trace was barely in the door when Dugo, shoulder wrapped and forehead badly bruised, stepped into view. He saw no one else.
Alice and Priss crowded in behind him, but Trace didn’t budge. Not yet.
“How’s the shoulder, Dugo? I hope you got that looked at.”
Dugo pointed a meaty finger at him. “You shut up.”
Trace looked beyond him as Mr. Belford presented himself. He was barely upright, still in obvious pain. Shaking his head, Trace said, “Jesus, man, you look like you should be home in bed.”
“I was,” Belford complained. “But plans got changed.”
Ah, the phone call he’d overheard. Trace nodded. “And you wisely chose to man up and drag your sorry ass here?”
Disgruntled with the insults, but unwilling to push it, Belford gave the slightest of shrugs. “Something like that, yes.”
Murray forced his way in, shoving Priss and Alice aside. “The truck came in early. No choice.”
Limping, Belford moved to lean on a wall. His face was so badly battered that he was almost unrecognizable.
Priss, always on game, asked, “Whatever happened to you? Were you in a car wreck?”
Alice groaned. She hovered close by Trace’s back, no doubt sensing he could, and would, protect her from Murray. Or at the very least, she found him to be less of a threat.
Murray laughed. He looked at Priss, and laughed some more, almost bending double with hilarity.
Frowning, Priss put her hands on her hips. “What is so funny?”
Still amused, Murray wiped his eyes. “I’d say you’re priceless, but that wouldn’t be entirely accurate, would it?” His gaze skipped over to Belford’s. “What do you think?”
That bastard straightened with new awareness, his swollen eyes directed on Priss. In the killer dress and fetish heels, her long reddish hair hanging loose, she looked like a walking wet dream.
Trace had no doubt that Belford would be interested.
Bent like an old man, Belford pushed away from the wall and moved closer to size her up with his leering gaze. “A bonus?”
“Ah, no. Never that.” Murray gripped Priss’s bare arm. “But I’m sure we can work out something.”
Priss reacted as any young lady would when sensing imminent peril. Eyes wide and body stiffening, she leaned away from Murray as far as she could. Her voice sounded appropriately high when she asked, “What are you talking about? What do you mean?”
Murray jerked her closer again, almost tumbling her off her shoes. “I’ve decided, Priscilla, that you should see the…extent of my business.”
“I don’t understand. What does that have to do with him?” She pointed at Belford.
Trace watched her—and even though it amazed him, he knew that she wasn’t truly afraid. Again, that damned admiration hit him.
Unbelievable.
As Murray led her toward the loading dock and the back of the semi, Belford followed, all but drooling on himself as he eyed Priss’s ass in the snug dress.
The idiot couldn’t know how he tempted fate.
“Get a move on,” Dugo said.
Unnerving him with a slow smile, Trace said, “You first.”
He could tell that Dugo didn’t want to, but he also knew that Trace wouldn’t give him any choice. Until the bosses said otherwise, Dugo wouldn’t risk a conflict.
He locked his jaw and fell into line.
Trace took up the rear. Was Jackson in place? Damn, he hoped so.
At the back of the locked semi trailer, Murray paused. “Priscilla, dear, I’ve given this some thought, and before we further our relationship, I’ve decided that it’d be wise for me to do a DNA test myself to ensure that you’re truly my daughter.”
Hearing that, Belford stopped short in disbelief. Dugo almost plowed into him.
“Daughter?” they asked in unison. Their gazes went from Priss to Murray and back again.
Priss nodded fearfully. “I understand. Of course, I’d be happy to do whatever you need me to.”
“Lovely Priscilla.” Murray cupped her cheek, smoothed