Trace of Fever - Lori Foster [98]
“It won’t kill her?”
“I have no idea.” And at the moment, he didn’t really care. One dose had his memory hazy, so hopefully two would leave her completely at a loss as to what had transpired. “When you finish, dump her somewhere. One shot would give you about a half hour of her being pliable before she turns into a hellcat again. Two might buy you more time.”
“Got it.” After picking up the needle she’d dropped, Jackson eyed Helene’s fallen body. “Shame she’s such a nut. If she had even an ounce of sanity or compassion, she’d be pretty damned sexy.”
Trace didn’t see it. To him, raging psychosis negated any physical appeal Helene might have. “It’ll be better if she doesn’t see you again.”
“That’s what I figured, too.” Jackson tapped the needle, releasing an air bubble, then went back and pulled up Helene’s tight skirt. He made a sound of regret, and stuck her right cheek.
Helene never stirred.
Trace started to go…but he had to know. He grabbed Jackson’s arm and pulled him to the other side of the room, away from Helene, and away from where Priss could listen in.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
WITH A CLEAR VIEW OF Helene still out cold, Trace asked Jackson, “Why the hell are you even here?”
Jackson looked far too uneasy for Trace’s peace of mind. “I know you didn’t want me here. I got the message loud and clear when you cut the call. Thing is, your little lady was damned insistent that I do something.”
“Like get stunned and tied up?”
“You try planning with a hellcat breathing fire in your ear, making demands, prodding you—”
“Priss?”
“She’s a terror. That name doesn’t suit her at all.”
Fine, so Priscilla had been worried. There was no reason, and he’d explain that to her later, but that didn’t get Jackson off the hook. “Why aren’t you at least alone?”
“There was no reasoning with her. She was hell-bent on heading out the door, with or without me.” He met Trace’s anger front on. “My only option was to go along with her, or knock her out the same way I did with Helene.”
The idea of anyone putting hands on Priss left Trace bunched with rage. “Don’t even think—”
Jackson smirked. “Right. I figured you wouldn’t like that idea much.” He glanced back at Hell, saw she was totally limp, and said to Trace, “I was hoping for better timing to tell you this, but since we’ll both be busy tonight… Priss was already riled before she heard you on the phone.”
“Riled?”
He shrugged, uneasiness showing. “Over how the whole rescue went down.”
“What are you talking about?” A thousand scenarios went through Trace’s head. “Did you hurt her?”
“Ah…no. It was the other way around.” Jackson crossed his arms. “You know, you could have warned me about her violent tendencies.”
Yeah, he probably should have. But since he’d told Priss that Jackson might come by… “I don’t understand.”
“Her modesty was bruised, that’s all.” More subdued, Jackson added, “I managed to stuff her out the window and to my car with nary a bruise.”
“So why the hell are you grinning?”
Jackson chewed his lips a minute, then coughed. “She was…well, she was in the shower when I got there. Naked. You know…” He nodded. “All wet and stuff.”
Trace’s heart stopped. “What?” And then with cold menace, he asked, “You saw her naked?”
“Buck-ass. Yup.”
Fighting the urge to flatten a trusted friend and colleague, Trace spoke through his teeth. “You looked?”
“Hello! A little hard not to, Trace, okay? She was naked.” He ran a hand over his jaw. “Helene was literally at the door, so I, uh…had to hoist Priss up and out the window.”
Imagining that, Trace went blank, numb.
“No time to waste, you know? I did give her a towel, but…yeah. She dropped it.” In a rush, Jackson added, “Once I had her outside, I gave her my shirt to wear.”
Once he had her outside. Meaning…he hadn’t just seen a flash of her naked. No. It was way more than that.
Trace had nothing to say. Nothing. The idea of Jackson seeing what he hadn’t, for whatever reason, left him sick with fury and possessive rage.
Jackson cleared his throat. “Well…I should take care of Hell, right? Figure I’ll pull my car