Trace of Fever
Page 39

Now he and Dare shared a vested, very personal interest in destroying every human trafficker they could locate. Odd as it seemed, Ohio had become a hotbed for human traffickers, both in sex slavery, and debt bondage where loans were paid off with slave labor and sexual submission. Without a state law to make the offense a felony, and with few officers trained to recognize the crime, too many creeps were setting up shop in the state.
Molly had been taken right in front of her apartment building, located in a small, quiet town. Sadly, hers wasn’t an isolated case.
Dare said, “Most times, she acts like she’s forgotten.” He sounded almost tortured. “I think she does that for me.”
Seemed possible to Trace. Molly was a strong woman, and despite Dare’s capability, she often appeared as protective of him as he was of her. “Molly’s okay, Dare. Whatever she suffered, she’s fine now—happy even—so relax.”
Deliberately, Dare drew in a deep breath and let it out. “What’s Murray’s other reason for trying to force you on Priss?”
Glad for the change of subject, Trace explained, “Sick jollies, maybe. But I also think he’s trying to trip me up, to see how far he can push me.”
“And?”
Trace met Dare’s level gaze. “And what?”
As the sound of a car approached, Dare shielded his eyes from the sun and looked toward the road. “How far will you go, Trace? That’s something you need to decide, and soon.” He gave Trace one more quick glance. “Before that girl decides it for you.”
And with that, Dare stepped away to the control box. No one entered or left Dare’s property without him knowing.
Presumably the car at the gate was Matt, the man who would work over Priss, head to toes. Even from a distance, Matt looked flamboyant with bleached-blond hair, dark shades and a purple convertible.
It was unreasonable and it made little sense, but because he’d be working on Priss, Trace disliked him on sight.
PRISS FELT SICK AND confused over what had been done to her. Just when she’d started to trust Trace, to think that they were somehow connecting…
She closed her eyes as a great well of hurt pulled at her, making it difficult to interact, even though she really liked everyone.
Chris was genuine, and hilariously witty. Matt was all serious business over the task of improving upon her very humdrum appearance.
And Molly, well, Molly sensed her upset and tried to put her at ease, to make her more comfortable. But the truth was, Trace had touched her, kissed her and then he’d drugged her. His remorse meant nothing, not when on the heels of apologizing, he’d dropped her off among strangers and then left her.
Where the hell was he?
Even in her agitation, Priss concentrated on not crossing her arms or shifting her feet too much. She didn’t want to bump her hands into anything and maybe ruin her pretty French manicure, or mar the sexy red polish on her toes.
It felt very new to be spiffed up like this, and if it wasn’t for her need to get closer to Murray, she’d never have allowed it. But Murray had ordered it, and if she refused, she’d give herself away and possibly miss the opportunity to destroy him.
That she wouldn’t do.
Since the makeover took place in Dare’s family room in front of a small audience, it was doubly awkward. The family room connected from the kitchen, and that meant Trace or Dare could come upon them at any minute, too.
But they didn’t.
Dare’s house was enormous, and beautiful, and masculine. Molly told her that she hadn’t changed a thing after moving in, except to put away her belongings and turn one of the rooms into an office for her personal use.
Chris Chapey, Dare’s personal assistant and, she gathered, a very close friend, did a good job at keeping everything well organized. Chris was a funny guy with sinful good looks, a great body, a wicked sense of humor and edgy sarcasm. He kept Dare’s home running smoothly.
But personally, his tastes tended toward grunge chic. He was sloppy, disheveled and half dressed, but somehow on Chris, it worked.
Though it wasn’t overly obvious, Priss figured he was also g*y. That helped ease her discomfort with him. Matt, too.
And Molly, well, Molly was so cheerful, so accepting of the bizarre circumstances of Trace showing up with a drugged woman, that Priss couldn’t help but wonder about her.
What had she been through to make everything else seem so ordinary?
Molly came from the kitchen carrying a tray filled with cans of Coke and two glasses with ice. “Priss, would you like a cola? Or something to eat?”
So that someone else could drug her again? Did they all think she was an idiot? She gave Molly a look of disbelief. “We’ve already been through this.”
Molly blushed. “But the Cokes aren’t even opened yet.”
Forgoing the glasses, which Priss assumed were for the ladies, Chris snagged a can for himself.
“Neither was the water before I drank it.”
Matt said, “Priss needs to sit still until I’m finished and until her polish has dried.”
When he’d first arrived, Matt had set up a makeshift salon, unloading everything he’d need, including a vinyl cover on the floor, a special chair with a tray in the front, and a big mirror, in record time. He moved at a frenetic pace and expected her to keep up. “But I’ll take a drink over ice. Thank you.”
Glaring at him through the mirror, Priss said, “If I wanted a drink, I’d have a drink. But I think I’ll be safer sticking with stuff that I’ve bought or prepared myself.”