Trace of Fever

Alice peered up at Trace with big brown eyes. “He’s free tomorrow for a few hours.”

No, no, no. She wasn’t ready yet.

Trace frowned, and to Priss’s relief, he said, “That’s not enough time for me to prep her.”

Alice glanced at Priss with new sympathy. “Oh. I see.”

Oh, what? What did she see? Priss wondered. Put out that Trace so thoroughly ignored her, she started over to a leather chair to sit, but without looking away from Alice, Trace caught her wrist and kept her ensnared beside him.

“Early next week he has three hours free. That’d give you through the weekend to … finish.”

“That’ll work. Pick a swanky place and set the reservation. Wherever Murray likes best, okay? I’ll get the details from you later.”

Priss tapped her foot in impatience. She couldn’t cross her arms, not with the way Trace kept her trapped in his hold, so foot tapping was the only way to express her annoyance.

But then Trace’s big foot came down over hers, not hard, but with a clear message. He didn’t even look at her while he gave the silent order for her to be still. The jerk.

“Got it,” Alice said.

“Thanks, honey.” He straightened again and, after removing his foot, turned his dangerous stare on Priss. “Let’s go.”

Without a word of complaint, she followed him to the elevator. She was more than ready to breathe in some fresh air untainted by corruption and evil.

This time the elevator took them all the way to the basement and into a private parking garage.

“I parked out—”

Trace jerked her closer, making it almost look as if she’d tripped, when she hadn’t. As he helped her straighten, he breathed near her ear, “Monitored.”

“Ah.” She knew better than to start looking around, but the idea of surveillance made her skin crawl.

Was Murray watching her even now? She fought off a shiver of dread.

When Trace stopped at a spiffy, shiny-clean, black Mercedes with darkened windows, Priss lifted her brows. “Wow.”

He opened the passenger door, and she more than willingly got in.

“Buckle up.” He shut her door, circled the hood and folded his big body in behind the wheel. With both doors closed, he took several deep breaths, then braced his hands on the steering wheel, squeezing and working until his knuckles turned white and the muscles in his forearms bulged.

Impressive. Knowing no one could see her through the dark windows, Priss lifted her brows. “Is it safe in here?”

By way of answer, he whipped his head around to pin her in place with white-hot rage. “I should save myself a lot of trouble and just kill you now, before Murray has me do it.”

Oh, shit. Priss reached for the door handle, but the locks clicked into place, and she knew she wouldn’t be going anywhere, not unless Trace wanted her to.

Possibilities and probable scenarios winged through her mind. Should she fight right now, or wait until they were out on the street? How should she attack? Face first, or the more susceptible crotch?

She peeked over at Trace, and knew no matter what she tried, he’d be ready. Well, hell.

CHAPTER THREE

AWARE OF PRISCILLA seething beside him, Trace put the car in gear and headed for the exit ramp. “What does your car look like and where did you park?”

“Umm …”

He sensed her tensing beside him, probably waiting for sunlight to hit the car before she launched herself at him. Such a foolish, but brave, consideration.

He shook his head. “I never hit a woman.” He glanced at Priss. “First.”

Confusion softened her hostile edge. “What?”

“I don’t suggest you try me, Priscilla. I’m seriously pissed enough right now to give you that paddling you so very much deserve.”

Understanding that he’d just been letting off steam, her shoulders slumped. She even scoffed. “Paddling? Don’t be an ass.” She dropped her purse onto the floor in front of her seat and put her head back. Almost as an afterthought, she said, “I’d never allow that.”

She honestly thought she could stop him if he was inclined toward a little discipline? What a joke. But she was correct to relax. He had no intention of abusing her in any way.

Far as he was concerned, she’d been abused enough for one day.

“I parked two blocks away, just in case, ya know? It’s a dark blue Honda Civic coupe.”

“I’ll have someone pick it up.”

“Just like that, huh?” She stretched, yawned. “You don’t need my keys?”

“No.”

When she slipped her feet from her shoes, wiggled her toes and let out a sigh, Trace’s temper shot up another notch. “Feel better now?”

“Well, yeah.” She turned her head to see him, and even smiled a little. “Knowing that you’re not really thinking about murdering me is a huge relief.”

“Don’t get too comfortable. You’re not out of the woods yet.”

She shifted toward him. “Yeah, I get that. So what’s going on here? What’s with the wardrobe and all that nonsense?”

“You require a whole new look to showcase your dubious charms.”

“My …” Her jaw went slack as everything finally fell into place. “That son-of-a-bitch! I told him I was his daughter.”

“You think Murray cares about a kid he’s never known? Get real.” Trace couldn’t believe her naivete. “No way in hell will he allow anyone a claim on his empire. Being related makes you a bigger possible threat, not more endearing.”

“But … people saw me with him. A whole building full of people!”

“People who work for him.” And that said it all—or should have.

“And they do what he says, when he says?”

“That’s about it.” Those who wouldn’t be an accomplice to his ruse of legit business, or an alibi when the facade cracked, would be as susceptible to harm as Priscilla.