Trace of Fever - Lori Foster [145]
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN ALTHOUGH HE STAYED alert and ready for anything that might happen, Jackson seemed relaxed as he sat back against a rock wall. He wore his cowboy hat low, had his boots crossed at the ankles, a knapsack rested beside him and he’d been nursing the same beer—mostly a prop—for over an hour. Some men got bored when on surveillance. Not Jackson. He lived for this shit. He loved it. Fine-tuning his instincts hadn’t taken as long as it might for some. By being forced into the right spot, at the right time, he’d learned that he was born to kick ass, to protect. To operate outside the law. Yeah, that was the best part. Dare and Trace had connections that would make the president of the U.S. of A. jealous. Senators, wealthy businessmen, foreign dignitaries, hell, they probably knew the prez himself. Those types of connections provided clearance to do what had to be done when legal venues stifled progress. They were good men, walking the edge of honor, never teetering too far to t
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN AS THEY WENT AROUND to the side to enter a dank, dark section of the building, foul odors assaulted Trace’s nose. It was the smell of age, mold and…fear. “I take it this isn’t where people apply for a job.” Murray snickered. “We’re sure as hell not going to march in the front door.” He pressed up too close to Trace’s back. “Most think this section is condemned. No one comes in here.” “I can see why.” Like an old factory, the brick interior walls led through hallway after hallway, all narrow, all dirty and crumbling and dark. After some maneuvering they reached a room where large, idle machinery, now in disrepair, sat in a twisted heap of metal. More than half the bulbs were missing from overhead light fixtures, and drafts through broken windows sent shadows moving and dancing, stretching out over the concrete floor. Trace stopped to listen. “I don’t like this,” Murray complained. “Maybe I needed more guards after all.” “You don’t need anyone besides me.” “Damn you, you
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN THE HORROR OF WHAT they’d just overheard left Jackson and Priss staring at each other. It was Priss who reacted first. “Why are you standing there?” She shoved Jackson hard. “You heard everything. That bitch is going to molest him!” Looking a little sick, Jackson whispered, “Yeah.” He looked away. “Or worse.” Her stomach cramped and her eyes burned. She covered her mouth. “God only knows what she’s capable of.” “I shouldn’t have said that.” Jackson closed the now-dead phone and knotted his fingers in his hair. “And I shouldn’t have put him on speaker phone.” “I wouldn’t have given the phone back to you otherwise!” Trace had called with instructions for Jackson to do a check on an old factory. He wanted a blueprint to the building, and he wanted to know how long it had been out of operation and who owned it now. From what she’d heard, Jackson would leave much of that research to Dare, who would likely leave it to Chris. Little by little, she was learning the chain of com
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN WITH A CLEAR VIEW OF Helene still out cold, Trace asked Jackson, “Why the hell are you even here?” Jackson looked far too uneasy for Trace’s peace of mind. “I know you didn’t want me here. I got the message loud and clear when you cut the call. Thing is, your little lady was damned insistent that I do something.” “Like get stunned and tied up?” “You try planning with a hellcat breathing fire in your ear, making demands, prodding you—” “Priss?” “She’s a terror. That name doesn’t suit her at all.” Fine, so Priscilla had been worried. There was no reason, and he’d explain that to her later, but that didn’t get Jackson off the hook. “Why aren’t you at least alone?” “There was no reasoning with her. She was hell-bent on heading out the door, with or without me.” He met Trace’s anger front on. “My only option was to go along with her, or knock her out the same way I did with Helene.” The idea of anyone putting hands on Priss left Trace bunched