Trace of Fever
Page 88
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“I remember you talking with him.”
Trace stood and paced away. “You’re smart, Priss. You know where this is going.”
She nodded, but since Trace had his back to her, he didn’t see. “Yes. You’re saying it’s possible that—that my mother was kept there. That place could be where he let his friends have her. It could be where he forced her…to share herself.”
“Did she ever tell you?” He kept his distance, but did turn to face her again. “Did she give you details?” Before she could answer, Trace said, “Understand, Priss, I’m hoping she didn’t. I’m hoping like hell that she let you keep some of your innocence, some of your childhood. Those details…they aren’t something that a girl needed to hear.”
“I know.” When she shivered, Priss belatedly recalled her nakedness. She pulled the sheet around her.
“Priss?”
She looked down at her hands. No, her mother hadn’t spared her. She’d considered it all too important. She’d considered it for Priss’s own good. “I—I remember her telling me once that she was kept locked in a damp, windowless room with…brick walls.”
Hands on his hips, Trace dropped his head forward. “Shit.”
She stared toward him. “You think that’s the place?” If so, she would raze it. She’d take a wrecking ball to it. Not a single brick would be left standing….
“Priss, listen to me. You will not do a damn thing. Do you understand?”
Had he read her mind? He couldn’t be serious! “Then why even tell me?”
“Murray has a deal going down there. He’ll deliver the women to that location and they will be locked inside.” He went back to dressing, strapping on his vest, his gun and knife and baton. “I can’t concentrate on freeing them if there’s a single possibility that you could get hurt.”
Baloney. She had no doubt that Trace could do many things, multitasking one of them. “When?”
His expression darkened like a thundercloud. “It doesn’t matter, damn it!”
Her chin went up. “To me, it does.”
“Priss, I want…” He ran a hand through his hair, and then rubbed the back of his neck before appealing to her. “I need to know that you’ll be out of danger.”
Unrelenting, she pushed up off the bed. “What do you do?”
He lifted his hands. “I get the bad guys.”
Such a simple statement for such an amazing feat. Thinking of Helene, Priss asked, “And the bad women?”
“It’s happened.”
Had he gone undercover to get a woman? How far would he go to accomplish that? “Have you…you know, ever gotten involved…sexually—”
His tone, his expression softened. “I’m thirty years old, Priss. I’ve had relationships. You know that.”
“That’s not what I meant.” No one would ever mistake Trace for a monk. What she really wanted to know was if she was somehow special, but she didn’t know how to ask.
He watched her a moment, and as usual, he deciphered her meaning. “As a rule, I stay emotionally detached from anyone connected to a case. Emotion can dick up perspective every time. It robs a man of the edge needed to do what has to be done, when it has to be done.”
Like pulling the trigger. She nodded, her hopes dashed. “I see.”
“Do you?” He smoothed her wildly tangled hair. “I tried, Priss, I really did. But I couldn’t stay detached from you.”
“You couldn’t?”
He shook his head. “That’s the problem.”
So he saw her as a problem. Not that she’d expected much else, given his undercover position, and how her appearance had caused such a stir with Murray. “I couldn’t stay detached, either.”
He cracked a smile. “I noticed. And I’m glad.” His put his palm to her jaw, curved his long fingers around her head, into her hair. “Now, will you please work with me instead of against me?”
“Yes.” She would definitely work with him, but probably not in the way he hoped. Priss slipped her arms around him, and he felt so big and strong and safe that she could barely get the next words out. “You can go, Trace. I promise I won’t get in your way.”
Tangling a hand in her hair, he gently pulled her head back and put his mouth to hers in a kiss of relief. “Jackson should be here soon.” He kissed her temple, and she felt his smile before he said, “If you could get dressed, that’d be great. I’d just as soon he not see you naked again.”
Priss slugged him in the gut for that, and even though he grunted, he laughed.
“It’s not funny.” Her face flamed anew as she remembered how Jackson had seen her.
“Believe me, I know.” Growing somber, Trace opened the sheet and looked at her body. “I’d have been a whole hell of a lot happier if no other man had seen you like this.”
Her heart started tripping in double time. “Why?”
“Because you’re mine.” He stepped back from her. “And I’m starting to realize that I’m a territorial bastard.”
On that note he walked out the door. Leaving her for Jackson, going to deal with Murray himself…
Trusting her to do as he asked.
Poor Trace. She loved him, she really did. But she wasn’t a person to consign responsibility, to sit idle while others were at risk, or to take orders from anyone.
Trace stood and paced away. “You’re smart, Priss. You know where this is going.”
She nodded, but since Trace had his back to her, he didn’t see. “Yes. You’re saying it’s possible that—that my mother was kept there. That place could be where he let his friends have her. It could be where he forced her…to share herself.”
“Did she ever tell you?” He kept his distance, but did turn to face her again. “Did she give you details?” Before she could answer, Trace said, “Understand, Priss, I’m hoping she didn’t. I’m hoping like hell that she let you keep some of your innocence, some of your childhood. Those details…they aren’t something that a girl needed to hear.”
“I know.” When she shivered, Priss belatedly recalled her nakedness. She pulled the sheet around her.
“Priss?”
She looked down at her hands. No, her mother hadn’t spared her. She’d considered it all too important. She’d considered it for Priss’s own good. “I—I remember her telling me once that she was kept locked in a damp, windowless room with…brick walls.”
Hands on his hips, Trace dropped his head forward. “Shit.”
She stared toward him. “You think that’s the place?” If so, she would raze it. She’d take a wrecking ball to it. Not a single brick would be left standing….
“Priss, listen to me. You will not do a damn thing. Do you understand?”
Had he read her mind? He couldn’t be serious! “Then why even tell me?”
“Murray has a deal going down there. He’ll deliver the women to that location and they will be locked inside.” He went back to dressing, strapping on his vest, his gun and knife and baton. “I can’t concentrate on freeing them if there’s a single possibility that you could get hurt.”
Baloney. She had no doubt that Trace could do many things, multitasking one of them. “When?”
His expression darkened like a thundercloud. “It doesn’t matter, damn it!”
Her chin went up. “To me, it does.”
“Priss, I want…” He ran a hand through his hair, and then rubbed the back of his neck before appealing to her. “I need to know that you’ll be out of danger.”
Unrelenting, she pushed up off the bed. “What do you do?”
He lifted his hands. “I get the bad guys.”
Such a simple statement for such an amazing feat. Thinking of Helene, Priss asked, “And the bad women?”
“It’s happened.”
Had he gone undercover to get a woman? How far would he go to accomplish that? “Have you…you know, ever gotten involved…sexually—”
His tone, his expression softened. “I’m thirty years old, Priss. I’ve had relationships. You know that.”
“That’s not what I meant.” No one would ever mistake Trace for a monk. What she really wanted to know was if she was somehow special, but she didn’t know how to ask.
He watched her a moment, and as usual, he deciphered her meaning. “As a rule, I stay emotionally detached from anyone connected to a case. Emotion can dick up perspective every time. It robs a man of the edge needed to do what has to be done, when it has to be done.”
Like pulling the trigger. She nodded, her hopes dashed. “I see.”
“Do you?” He smoothed her wildly tangled hair. “I tried, Priss, I really did. But I couldn’t stay detached from you.”
“You couldn’t?”
He shook his head. “That’s the problem.”
So he saw her as a problem. Not that she’d expected much else, given his undercover position, and how her appearance had caused such a stir with Murray. “I couldn’t stay detached, either.”
He cracked a smile. “I noticed. And I’m glad.” His put his palm to her jaw, curved his long fingers around her head, into her hair. “Now, will you please work with me instead of against me?”
“Yes.” She would definitely work with him, but probably not in the way he hoped. Priss slipped her arms around him, and he felt so big and strong and safe that she could barely get the next words out. “You can go, Trace. I promise I won’t get in your way.”
Tangling a hand in her hair, he gently pulled her head back and put his mouth to hers in a kiss of relief. “Jackson should be here soon.” He kissed her temple, and she felt his smile before he said, “If you could get dressed, that’d be great. I’d just as soon he not see you naked again.”
Priss slugged him in the gut for that, and even though he grunted, he laughed.
“It’s not funny.” Her face flamed anew as she remembered how Jackson had seen her.
“Believe me, I know.” Growing somber, Trace opened the sheet and looked at her body. “I’d have been a whole hell of a lot happier if no other man had seen you like this.”
Her heart started tripping in double time. “Why?”
“Because you’re mine.” He stepped back from her. “And I’m starting to realize that I’m a territorial bastard.”
On that note he walked out the door. Leaving her for Jackson, going to deal with Murray himself…
Trusting her to do as he asked.
Poor Trace. She loved him, she really did. But she wasn’t a person to consign responsibility, to sit idle while others were at risk, or to take orders from anyone.
