Trace of Fever - Lori Foster [48]
“No.” If it had, he wouldn’t have “felt her up,” as Priss put it. And he sure as hell wouldn’t have taken her picture. But what she lacked in sexual experience, she made up for with shrewd cunning.
Dare drew him back into the conversation. “Then there’s the possibility that it didn’t convince Murray, either.”
“I’m better than he is.”
“No doubt. But it’s risky.” Considering things, Dare pushed away from the tree. “Want me to check out her background?”
He did, but…
“Anything I find will go straight to you, no one else.”
Trace nodded. “I know. But I have her driver’s license, so if it’s valid, researching her should be easy.” And then Trace would know if anything she’d told him was true.
“We can get started right now. We’ll use the computer in Chris’s house.”
“You can access the departments we’ll need from there?”
“Are you kidding? Chris’s computer is better equipped than mine.” Pointing a finger at him, Dare said, “In the meantime, don’t make a misstep until we know everything.”
In other words, don’t get in too deep until he’d dug through Priss’s past and knew more about her than she knew of herself. “You use that rule when going after Molly?”
Dare grinned. “No.”
“I didn’t think so.”
The grin faded and Dare looked away. “The minute I found Molly in that goddamned shack, drugged and mistreated, I knew she was different from the other women who would be sold, and I was lost.”
Since “lost” was exactly how Trace felt about Priss, he commiserated.
Neither of them could remember that awful time without going cold in rage. It was for Trace’s sister, Alani, that Dare had gone into Mexico. The bastards had known Trace—his face, his style—and it was because of him that Alani had been taken. Since they could identify Trace, it made more sense for Dare to go.
But that hadn’t made it easy.
That sense of helplessness was something that would always eat at Trace; he’d desperately wanted to go after his sister himself.
Dare had brought Alani out, just as Trace had known he would. But he’d brought Molly out, too. And somewhere along the way, he’d fallen in love with her.
Now he and Dare shared a vested, very personal interest in destroying every human trafficker they could locate. Odd as it seemed, Ohio had become a hotbed for human traffickers, both in sex slavery, and debt bondage where loans were paid off with slave labor and sexual submission. Without a state law to make the offense a felony, and with few officers trained to recognize the crime, too many creeps were setting up shop in the state.
Molly had been taken right in front of her apartment building, located in a small, quiet town. Sadly, hers wasn’t an isolated case.
Dare said, “Most times, she acts like she’s forgotten.” He sounded almost tortured. “I think she does that for me.”
Seemed possible to Trace. Molly was a strong woman, and despite Dare’s capability, she often appeared as protective of him as he was of her. “Molly’s okay, Dare. Whatever she suffered, she’s fine now—happy even—so relax.”
Deliberately, Dare drew in a deep breath and let it out. “What’s Murray’s other reason for trying to force you on Priss?”
Glad for the change of subject, Trace explained, “Sick jollies, maybe. But I also think he’s trying to trip me up, to see how far he can push me.”
“And?”
Trace met Dare’s level gaze. “And what?”
As the sound of a car approached, Dare shielded his eyes from the sun and looked toward the road. “How far will you go, Trace? That’s something you need to decide, and soon.” He gave Trace one more quick glance. “Before that girl decides it for you.”
And with that, Dare stepped away to the control box. No one entered or left Dare’s property without him knowing.
Presumably the car at the gate was Matt, the man who would work over Priss, head to toes. Even from a distance, Matt looked flamboyant with bleached-blond hair, dark shades and a purple convertible.
It was unreasonable and it made little sense, but because he’d be working on Priss, Trace disliked him on sight.
PRISS FELT SICK AND confused over what had been done to her. Just when