Trace of Fever - Lori Foster [44]
Already his left eye was swelling, turning purple. That gave her grim satisfaction.
“You drugged me.”
“I know.” He stroked a big hand over her hair. “I’m sorry about that. No choice, really.”
It occurred to her that her hair hung loose and tangled around her shoulders. Where had her rubber band gone?
“No choice?” She sneered at him and, finally feeling grounded, slapped his hands away from her. “Of course you had a choice.”
From behind her, a man said, “No, he didn’t.”
Priss whirled around, and almost toppled herself again. A man—a big man—stood less than two feet from her. His size didn’t alarm her, not when she was already used to Trace’s size. This one stood a few inches taller than Trace, but looked no more imposing for it.
It was the way he completely towered over her smaller stature that put her on alert. Early thirties, short brown hair and electric-blue eyes.
Dangerous. Just like Trace.
Her throat tightened, and she stepped back against Trace. Casually, as if he’d expected no less from her, Trace looped his arms around her and clasped his hands over her stomach.
“Priss, this is my good friend, Dare.”
Dare nodded. “Trace would no more give away my location than I would his. You’re an unknown, lady, and around here, we don’t take chances.”
Around here, meaning…what? The location, or the business?
Dare wasn’t exactly hostile, but close enough to rile Priss. And with Trace’s arms around her, well, she wasn’t afraid. Nervous, yes, but her fear was on temporary hold. “I’m known enough that he’s seen me nearly naked.”
Dare’s gaze lifted above her, no doubt to meet up with Trace’s.
She heard Trace sigh, and felt his shrug. “Murray’s orders.”
Dare nodded in understanding.
Understanding! How in the world could he understand that? The big jerk.
“I’m known enough for him to take a picture of me almost naked, too.” Priss scowled fiercely. “With his stupid cell phone. And he still has it!”
That sent Dare’s right eyebrow up, but he said nothing.
Trace stiffened behind her. “Damn it, Priss….”
Feeling braver by the second, she again left Trace’s secure hold to confront Dare. “And I’m known enough that your good buddy has felt me up, twice.”
The left eyebrow lifted to join the right. Dare shrugged. “If that’s true—”
“It is!”
“Then I’m sure Trace had his reasons.” He looked to Trace for confirmation.
Clearly growing irritated with her, not that she cared, Trace growled, “For the most part.”
And damned if Dare’s stony face didn’t show her a quirk of a smile—there and gone. Her hands balled into fists and her neck stiffened. “Why, you—”
A female voice suddenly intruded. “What in the world is going on out here?”
Trace muttered, “Shit,” under his breath.
At the same time, Dare said, “Molly,” in dark warning.
Priss looked up to see a top-heavy, average-looking woman of average height, with average brown hair and an exceptional look of outrage aimed at the men. She wore a pink T-shirt and jeans with flip-flops.
Her kind of woman.
Sensing an ally, Priss took two steps toward her, but Trace pulled her up short by grabbing her arm.
“No, you don’t,” he told her, and no matter how Priss yanked and pulled, she couldn’t free herself.
“Settle down, will you?” Trace said near her ear. “You’re not helping things.”
The woman’s expression pinched even more.
Dare started toward her in a ground-eating stride. “Back inside, Molly,” he said, sounding more cajoling than commanding. “I’ll explain in private.”
Like hell! Priss didn’t want to lose whatever opportunity this might be, so she shouted, “Molly, help me. Trace drugged me to bring me here, and Dare manhandled me when I tried to escape.” And before Trace could muzzle her, if indeed that was his intent, she added, “Some other guy stole my cat!”
The woman’s mouth dropped open, then firmed shut again. With one raised hand, she halted Dare’s progress. Dare dropped his head and groaned.
Molly looked around, and then pointed off to her right. “Over there. Chris has your cat, and he’s a good guy, so you don’t need to worry about that.