Trace of Fever
Page 45

Pure reaction? Meaning she was trained enough to react by instinct? Every hour he learned something new about her. If she was trained, that would be a good thing. Not that she could possibly have enough instruction to deflect the likes of Murray. “I’m fine, Priss. Don’t worry about it.”
“I won’t.” She took a few steps away and peered off at the lake. “It’s beautiful here.”
“You should see it early in the morning.” Trace set Liger on a settee and moved up behind Priss. He wanted to touch her. Hell, he wanted to consume her. “The fog rises off the lake, the leaves rustle, fish jump and birds sing. You see the blinding sunrise across the surface of the lake. It’s really something.”
“Does anyone swim in there?”
“Everyone does.” Without thinking, he added, “I can bring you back sometime when we’re not so pressed for—” Trace caught himself before finishing that awesome thought. Pressed for time or not, the odds of him ever returning here with Priss were slim to none.
Gaze cynical, Priss looked at him over her shoulder. “Yeah, right. Maybe we’ll do that.” She turned to face him. “Sometime when we’re not at odds, when we’re not dealing with a madman who enjoys selling women, when you haven’t just drugged me earlier in the day?”
Trace rubbed the back of his neck. “All of the above.”
“You know, something just occurred to me.” She stared at his swelling eye before shaking her head. “We’ll be leaving here soon.”
“Yes.” The sooner the better. He didn’t dare risk getting to Murray late. And before that, he had to ensure Priss’s safety. Jackson could keep an eye on things, but damn it, he hated relegating responsibility. Not that anyone, least of all Priss, expected him to take on that task. But he wanted to.
He insisted on it.
“Do you plan to drug me for the return trip, too? Because I have to tell you, no way in hell will I willingly ingest anything from you or your friends.”
He’d been wondering about that himself. “I hope I won’t have to.”
His answer made her both belligerent and wary. “So tell me, what are my alternatives?”
He reached out a hand, and after a brief hesitation, Priss took it. Her fingers felt small and soft, cool to the touch despite the warmth of the day.
They were not the hands of a killer. They were, however, the hands of a woman feeling desperate rage above all else.
Trace led her to the narrow seat where Liger rested in regal splendor. Squeezing in between cat and woman, Trace seated himself beside her, keeping his hold on her hand.
Matt opened the door. “We seriously need to finish the process with her hair.”
“Two more minutes,” Trace said.
Matt balked over the delay, but finally said, “Fine. Two minutes and no more.” He ducked back inside.
“Oh, wow,” Priss teased. “He really is terrified of you, isn’t he?”
Trace smiled. “It was noble of you to try to shield him earlier.”
“Yeah, well.” She huffed out a breath and looked down at their clasped hands. “You were mean-mugging him, and I wasn’t sure what you might do.”
“And you figured whatever I did, you could stop me even if another man couldn’t?”
Her gaze snapped up to his. “Actually, I figured I was to blame, so why should Matt catch the brunt of your temper?”
Noble. Kind. More and more, Priss appealed to him, not just physically, though God knew that was enough to weaken his knees. But she was protective and bold. And sweet. Sometimes.
“Matt knows I wouldn’t hurt him.” Trace watched her expression. “Not without good reason.”
“I’m dying to hear what you consider a good reason, but first…” She tugged her hand free, settled back and crossed her legs. “What’s the plan? And it better be good, because I won’t be easy to fool again. If you want me out when we leave here, plan on clubbing me over the head, and don’t plan on me making it easy for you.”
Trace kept getting distracted with the glinting foil. He gestured at her head. “It’s difficult to think when you look like this.”
“Try wearing it. Now talk.”
Forever amusing. Her droll humor was nearly as sharp as Chris’s, and that was saying something. “I did a background check on you using your driver’s license.”
Her jaw loosened and her face went blank in surprise. Then she sat forward. “Oh, my God.” She smacked her own forehead. “How did I forget that you still had that?”
“Other things on your mind?” Trace shrugged, unrepentant. “Now I know that at least part of what you told me is true.”
Cautious, Priss watched him. “Which part?”
“You’re from Ohio.”
Her eyes darkened. “What else?”
“I verified your age.”
“And?”
He wasn’t ready to tell her everything he’d learned, not yet. “You do own an adult store. It earns enough to sustain you, but you’re never going to be financially comfortable.”
“My idea of comfort probably differs from yours.”
“Your employee, Gary Deaton, is in his early forties. He has a minor criminal record, and a big-time case for you.”
Her eyes went wider.
“You officially took over running the place about six months ago. Three months ago, it became yours.” Because her mother had died. Trace shook his head. He didn’t want to get into a big discussion on her mother, yet. “That’s all.”