Trace of Fever
Page 35

Trace jerked back with a curse.
Swinging her feet up and pulling her knees to her chest, Priss kicked him in the sternum.
He wheezed as he went sprawling backward through the open driver’s door of the truck.
In a flash she had the passenger door open, but her legs were so weak, she fell out in a rather inelegant sprawl.
She didn’t stay down. No way.
Though her head pounded, she surged to her feet and after one fast glance back at Trace, she bolted forward—and right into something rock-solid.
More staggered now than ever, she reeled back.
Arms of steel went around her, locking tight and inciting pure, red-hot terror. Like a wild woman whose life depended on getting away, Priss fought. She utilized every escape method she’d ever learned, but sadly, she didn’t gain even the slightest edge toward release.
And then Trace was there. “Let her go, Dare.”
Without a word, the immobilizing arms opened and she ended up crushed close to Trace’s chest instead. “It’s all right, honey.” His voice was low, melodic. Apologetic. “Take it easy now. No one’s going to hurt you.”
The frantic pumping of her heart subsided. For reasons that had to allude to insanity, she felt…safe. It was Trace she’d been escaping, Trace who had slipped something into her water. And yet it was there, in his tone, in the way he rocked her side to side.
Remorse.
Caring.
Fighting off nervous tears, Priss shoved back from him. Not out of his arms, because she still needed the support, but back enough that she could glare into his face.
Already his left eye was swelling, turning purple. That gave her grim satisfaction.
“You drugged me.”
“I know.” He stroked a big hand over her hair. “I’m sorry about that. No choice, really.”
It occurred to her that her hair hung loose and tangled around her shoulders. Where had her rubber band gone?
“No choice?” She sneered at him and, finally feeling grounded, slapped his hands away from her. “Of course you had a choice.”
From behind her, a man said, “No, he didn’t.”
Priss whirled around, and almost toppled herself again. A man—a big man—stood less than two feet from her. His size didn’t alarm her, not when she was already used to Trace’s size. This one stood a few inches taller than Trace, but looked no more imposing for it.
It was the way he completely towered over her smaller stature that put her on alert. Early thirties, short brown hair and electric-blue eyes.
Dangerous. Just like Trace.
Her throat tightened, and she stepped back against Trace. Casually, as if he’d expected no less from her, Trace looped his arms around her and clasped his hands over her stomach.
“Priss, this is my good friend, Dare.”
Dare nodded. “Trace would no more give away my location than I would his. You’re an unknown, lady, and around here, we don’t take chances.”
Around here, meaning…what? The location, or the business?
Dare wasn’t exactly hostile, but close enough to rile Priss. And with Trace’s arms around her, well, she wasn’t afraid. Nervous, yes, but her fear was on temporary hold. “I’m known enough that he’s seen me nearly naked.”
Dare’s gaze lifted above her, no doubt to meet up with Trace’s.
She heard Trace sigh, and felt his shrug. “Murray’s orders.”
Dare nodded in understanding.
Understanding! How in the world could he understand that? The big jerk.
“I’m known enough for him to take a picture of me almost naked, too.” Priss scowled fiercely. “With his stupid cell phone. And he still has it!”
That sent Dare’s right eyebrow up, but he said nothing.
Trace stiffened behind her. “Damn it, Priss….”
Feeling braver by the second, she again left Trace’s secure hold to confront Dare. “And I’m known enough that your good buddy has felt me up, twice.”
The left eyebrow lifted to join the right. Dare shrugged. “If that’s true—”
“It is!”
“Then I’m sure Trace had his reasons.” He looked to Trace for confirmation.
Clearly growing irritated with her, not that she cared, Trace growled, “For the most part.”
And damned if Dare’s stony face didn’t show her a quirk of a smile—there and gone. Her hands balled into fists and her neck stiffened. “Why, you—”
A female voice suddenly intruded. “What in the world is going on out here?”
Trace muttered, “Shit,” under his breath.
At the same time, Dare said, “Molly,” in dark warning.
Priss looked up to see a top-heavy, average-looking woman of average height, with average brown hair and an exceptional look of outrage aimed at the men. She wore a pink T-shirt and jeans with flip-flops.
Her kind of woman.
Sensing an ally, Priss took two steps toward her, but Trace pulled her up short by grabbing her arm.
“No, you don’t,” he told her, and no matter how Priss yanked and pulled, she couldn’t free herself.
“Settle down, will you?” Trace said near her ear. “You’re not helping things.”
The woman’s expression pinched even more.
Dare started toward her in a ground-eating stride. “Back inside, Molly,” he said, sounding more cajoling than commanding. “I’ll explain in private.”