Trace of Fever - Lori Foster [59]
Yeah, Trace knew just how Murray’s mind worked. “She looks good. You’ll be pleased.”
Jovial, Murray asked, “Is she there?”
Maybe he’d overestimated Murray’s level of trust. Not that Murray ever fully trusted anyone. He was forever trying to catch Trace in a lie, but Trace remained careful of what he said, and when, to avoid that particular scenario.
Lacking inflection, Trace said, “She is.”
“Great. Put her on. I want to talk to her.” No doubt to verify Priss’s whereabouts for himself.
Ice shot through Trace’s veins. Murray could have only one agenda in mind, to intimidate Priss, embarrass her or try to trip her up. An inner battle raged, but in the end, he said, “Here she is.”
He handed the phone to Priss without saying another word.
Her eyes widened. With the mascara and liner, the effect was exaggerated. “Who is it?” she mouthed.
“Murray wants to speak with you.”
Just that quick, Dare went to warn the others to silence. Trace put a finger to his mouth, alerting Priss before hitting the speaker button on the phone.
She chewed the gloss off her bottom lip, drew in a deep breath and took the phone. “Murray! Hello. How are you?”
Trace stood as close to her as he could.
Murray said, “Having fun, honey?”
“It’s amazing. I had no idea that a professional could make such a difference with my hair. I mean, I take good care of myself, but this is…well, it’s decadent. I don’t even look like me anymore.”
She gushed just as any neglected young lady might when introduced to the benefit of unlimited pampering.
Trace smiled at her, feeling unaccountably proud of how quickly she adapted to appease Murray.
“I look forward to seeing the results myself.”
“Of course, whenever is convenient for you. And Murray, thank you so much. It wasn’t necessary, I told you that and I meant it. But this is just…well, it’s the most fun I’ve ever had.”
“I’m glad you’re enjoying yourself.” A beat of silence, and then, “I understand you switched hotels?”
Shock rippled through Trace. How the hell had Murray known that already? Had the son-of-a-bitch planned to do her harm so soon?
Trace would have told Murray a story about her move as soon as he saw him, but he hadn’t thought to prepare Priss—
Unfazed, she put a hand on his chest to reassure him. “It was the oddest thing,” she said to Murray, sounding exactly like the naive young woman she claimed to be. “Trace felt certain that someone was watching us, and he didn’t think it was safe to stay where I was. He insisted that you would want me moved to a more secure place.”
Murray wasn’t expecting that quick reply. He paused, cleared his throat. “Trace is right, of course.” And then with suspicion: “You say he caught someone watching you?”
“I don’t know if he caught anyone exactly. He just said he felt someone was. He looked around, and then he said I should move. I was going to call you to tell you, but he promised me that he’d take care of that when he saw you again. I’m—I’m not sure, but I think maybe he didn’t want to give me your phone number.”
“Really? How silly of him.” But Murray didn’t offer up the number. He wanted no direct links to Priss, and everyone knew why. If —maybe when—she turned up hurt or even dead, there could be no trails leading back to him.
“I’m glad he relocated you, Priscilla.” Tone silky, he asked, “Where are you staying now?”
Priss looked at Trace, and he prayed she’d remember to give her old address, the one she’d first lied about to Murray. He’d left enough of her belongings there to fool Murray if anyone went by and checked to see if she was in residence.
Without missing a beat, Priss related her old location to Murray, but she went one better by not dwelling on it. Overtalking a lie never gave credence; just the opposite. Priss handled it like a veteran. She gave the location, and then went on to chat about her clothes, her makeup, her painted nails.
In no time, Murray cut off her rambling enthusiasm to ask for Trace again.
God love her, Priss had done an excellent job of both