Trace of Fever - Lori Foster [68]
“When you go to bed, it wouldn’t hurt to bar the door.” Murray was so unpredictable that she couldn’t take too many precautions.
Priss toyed with a lock of hair hanging over her shoulder. “So…if you finish with Murray in time, do you think you might come in to see me?”
She obviously hadn’t understood when Jackson asked him the same thing. “No. I might be keeping watch, but from a safe distance.”
“Oh.”
Trace saw her disappointment. He wished he could return to her, but that’d really be pushing their luck.
The next two hours passed pleasantly enough. They talked, but not about anything controversial. After returning the truck to the garage and retrieving the Mercedes, they stopped to pick up the rest of Priss’s clothes from Twyla. It was right at closing time for the shop. Trace kept checking his watch, but he was still on track to meet Murray.
Twyla wanted to gush about how improved Priss looked even as she admonished her for not wearing the new, more provocative clothes.
“I’m saving them for Murray,” Priss told her with the appropriate giddiness of a schoolgirl. “After all, he bought them for me.”
Twyla approved. “And don’t you forget it.”
They exited the shop with Twyla dogging their heels, trying to continue the conversation. But the day had been too long already for unnecessary politeness. Trace helped Priss into the car and shut the door. While Priss gave a happy wave to Twyla, Trace ignored her and went around to the driver’s side.
“You were rude.”
“She’s under Murray’s umbrella, so trust me, she’s used to worse.” Glad to be out of there, Trace added, “She’s aware of every scheme, so don’t start feeling sorry for her.”
“I wasn’t.”
“You waved like she was a close friend.”
“Fulfilling my role as a giddy girl, that’s all.” Priss settled in her seat. “Besides, I’ve known a lot of women like Twyla, prickly and bossy. But that doesn’t mean she’s in cahoots with a maniac.”
“She is.”
“You sound so sure.” Priss chewed her lip. “But how do you know that?”
“Murray broke me in by having me accompany Hell on a few shopping trips.” He gave her a pointed look. “Believe me, I overheard plenty.”
Until Priss relaxed, he hadn’t realized how keyed up she was. “So you never…”
“What?”
Priss rolled in her lips, but didn’t hold back. “You haven’t taken other women there to be outfitted? You haven’t…been a part of their abuse?”
“No.” His shoulders tightened. Fuck, no. Even before his sister’s ordeal, he’d never stood by and watched anyone mistreat a woman, and he never would. It was the one big conflict in his cover. Put to the right test—a test against his morality and conscience—how would he handle things? He wanted Murray and all who associated with him, but he knew where to draw the line. “Never that, Priss.”
With the smallest of relieved smiles, she nodded. “Good to know.”
A few miles from the apartment, they went into a small grocery to buy Priss more supplies. While she loaded a cart with junk food and a few basics, Trace grabbed other necessaries she might need like toiletries and a few magazines that’d help give credence to her being in residence.
Back in the car, Priss looked over a magazine, and then put it back in the bag. “It’s going to feel emptier now, without Liger there.”
“I’m sorry.” Trace knew how any living, breathing creature could offer comfort when the shadows started to close in. He suspected that Priss had a lot of shadows in her life. “Maybe you can watch TV or something to help pass the time.”
“Maybe.”
Minutes later, he pulled into the lot and, without being obvious, scanned the area. Nothing seemed out of place, but to be sure, he told Priss, “We’re back in our roles, okay?”
“Yeah, I get it.” She opened her door and stepped out, hefting several of the packages into her arms.
The second the slick, black sedan pulled into the lot, they both noticed. Priss straightened, tracking the car as it pulled past and parked toward the back of the lot, away from the street.
Suspicion narrowed Trace’s gaze as he watched the vehicle; absently, he handed the additional bags to Priss.