Trace of Fever - Lori Foster [64]
He shook his head to let her know he didn’t buy it, but he didn’t press her, either.
For the longest time, they drove in companionable silence along gravel roads that turned to paved and eventually gave way to busier streets that melded into highway ramps.
While Trace repeatedly stole looks at her, Priss took note of all the beautiful scenery. There were rolling green hills, natural lakes and ponds, and many horse farms.
“Kentucky?” she finally guessed.
“Yeah.” Trace turned on the radio, not loud but on a music station. “Not far from home, though. We’ll cross the bridge over into Ohio in just a couple of hours.”
It was such a nice concession, having Trace give her even a small but obvious fact, that she felt she owed him a truth. “You know, if it makes you feel better, my sense of direction sucks. I doubt I’d be able to find my way back here even if I had a GPS.”
Trace grinned. “Dare wasn’t worried.” He ruined what could have been a nice compliment by adding, “There was nothing in your background to suggest you’d be a threat in any way.”
“Mmm.” Priss looked out the window at a field of cows. “Let’s hope Murray sees it that way, too.”
The mention of Murray soured Trace’s mood. “I can’t get over how you look.”
And he didn’t sound happy about it. Curious, Priss watched him. “So how do I look?”
“Hot.” His mouth tightened, but he said, “Fuckable.”
Startled, she felt heat tinge her cheeks. “You smooth talker, you.”
“Forget smooth.” He squeezed the steering wheel. “I’m worried about how Murray’s going to react when he sees you.”
His worry started to chew on her, too. “I’m his daughter, remember?”
Trace cursed low. “Murray’s not going to care that you’re supposedly related.”
Supposedly? So he still didn’t believe her about that? Well, truthfully, she couldn’t be one hundred percent about it herself. Her mother’s best guess put Murray as the paterfamilias, and that was all that mattered to Priss.
“What do you think he’ll do?”
Trace gave her a lingering glance, then returned his attention to the road. “Given how you look—”
“Fuckable?”
“Yes. And like a prime piece of salable property.”
“Oh.” That wasn’t much of an improvement, but she got his point. Murray was in the business of selling human property. If he thought he could make money off her…
“I wouldn’t be surprised if he tried to use you to cement a deal, sort of as the icing on the cake, and at the same time he could remove you as a threat to his empire.”
Her skin started to crawl. “You think he sees me as a threat?”
“To get where he’s at now, Murray had to be shrewd in the beginning. But these days, his lust for power warps everything else, and now he’s just a deranged, sick paranoid who sees everyone as a threat.”
Yeah, she’d gotten that impression.
“No way in hell is he going to let anyone get close, most definitely not a daughter. A dissipated son, maybe. Murray could relate to that. But a fresh-faced, moral daughter? Not in this lifetime.”
So her con had been wrong from the very beginning. And if she’d really done her homework, she’d have known that. But no, she’d gotten high on her need for revenge, and she’d gone off half-cocked on righteousness. “Damn.”
“Yeah.” Trace rolled one shoulder. “Look at it this way, what you’re presenting and the way you’re presenting it is the antithesis to what Murray wants in his life.”
Now that her perspective was different, Priss knew he was probably right. “I see your point.” It sickened Priss to even consider it, but she said it anyway. “Maybe I should have tried to…you know, come on to him?” She fought off a gag.
“Hell, no!” Trace sent her a furious glare. “He’d have used you, then shared you, then sold you.”
Her temper unraveled without warning. “Then what should I have done?” Hurt squeezed in on Priss, prodded by memories of her mother’s fear and the irreversible damage done to her. Her mother had lived in hell, never able to escape the past or the constant terror of being caught again. She saw things that weren’t there, ran from men who only wanted conversation, and for all