by Lori Foster
Priss shook her head. “I’m not worried about that.” They went up the metal stairs, precariously attached to the structure.
After muttering a rude sound, Trace said, “There’s a lot you should be worried about, but aren’t.”
No reason to debate it with him. Her options on what to worry about, and what to ignore, were pretty damned limited. “This way.”
The ancient run-down house had been reworked in better years to accommodate four separate tenants. She was on the back corner, facing the bar.
Trace nodded toward the rowdy establishment. “It fired up early.”
“My understanding is that it opens with lunch and is going pretty strong by early dinner. It won’t bother me. I’m used to that type of noise.”
Trace gave her a long look, but Priss refused to meet his probing gaze.
Using the key, she unlocked the dead bolt and then the door lock. “Careful now.”
“Careful of what?” Trace asked.
They stepped in and before she could turn on a light, a low growl sounded. Behind her, Trace froze.
But not for long.
Somehow, before she even knew it, Priss found herself behind Trace, pressed to the wall. When she realized he’d pulled his gun, she smacked his shoulder. “Don’t you dare shoot my cat!”
His confusion was palpable. “Cat?”
“Yes, as in a pet.” Priss stepped away from him and found a lamp. Though she’d checked in days before contacting Murray, she wasn’t yet entirely accustomed to the space. She fumbled for a moment before getting the light on.
Liger, her enormous kitty, came over to her and rubbed his head against her shin. Priss knelt down to hug him, to stroke along his broad back. She got a throaty purr in response.
Gun now hanging limp at his side, Trace stared at her. “You have to be kidding me.”
“Put away your gun, Trace.” She dropped to her butt on the floor and let Liger crawl into her lap. Because he was twenty-three pounds of solid love, he overflowed in every direction. Priss laughed as he ran the edge of his teeth along her knee, then rolled to his back.
“Good God. That’s a domestic cat? Really? I’ve never seen one so big.”
“He’s a Maine coon. They’re naturally large.”
“You’re telling me that’s a normal size?”
“For the males, yeah. I found him at a shelter a few years ago. Isn’t he beautiful?”
“Actually…” Trace holstered the gun and hunkered down beside her. “Yeah. He is.”
For whatever reason, that surprised Priss. “You like animals?”
“Sure.” He held out a hand to Liger. “Is he friendly?”
Priss rubbed her nose against the cat’s neck. “Very. He’s also really smart. He’s a big lover boy, aren’t you, Liger?”
The cat watched Trace, then put a giant paw on his thigh. He let out another snarl, making Trace go still.
“That’s just his way of checking you out. He won’t bite,” Priss assured him. “I mean, he will, but not unless you were doing something you shouldn’t.”
“He has his claws?”
Priss glared. “Of course he does. Declawing is cruel!”
Trace paid no attention to her affront. He stroked the cat and Liger closed his eyes in bliss. “He has a tail like a raccoon.”
“I know.”
“What did you call him?”
“Liger.” She hugged the cat again. “Because of his lionlike ruff, and his stripes.”
“He’s the wrong color.”
True. Being mostly black with gray and white stripes, Liger didn’t resemble a lion or a tiger. “I was going by size and that great roar of his.”
The cat abandoned her to crawl up on Trace’s lap, then stretched up to sniff his face. Trace grinned, petting Liger and rubbing under his chin. “He really is a nice guy, isn’t he?”
“He’s wonderful. Maine coons are like big affectionate dogs. They enjoy attention and have, for the most part, very gentle natures.”
“For the most part?”
“He detests bugs and can get pretty vicious with them.”
Trace laughed at that mental image, but then sobered. “I hate to tell you this, but he’s going to be a big problem.”
Priss froze. “What are you talking about?”
“Sorry, honey, but he has to go.”
CHAPTER FIVE
SNATCHING THE GIANT cat away from him, Priss held him protectively.
With his chin tucked into the longer hair on his chest, Liger continued to purr.
Priss looked equal parts alarmed, furious and defensive. “Listen to me,” Trace said.
“No, you listen.” It was the darkest, coldest tone he’d heard from her. “If you touch one finger to my cat, I’ll…”
She didn’t finish the threat, unable to think of anything dire enough.
Rolling his eyes, Trace rose back to his feet and surveyed her apartment. It was clean but ragtag, spare beyond measure, and in no way secure. “I’m trying to make sure the cat stays safe. Anything or anyone that can be used against you is in danger. That’s why I asked you if you were involved with anyone else in any way.”
“Oh.”
He cut his gaze to her. “What did you think? That I was hitting on you?”
Her right shoulder lifted. “You had just seen me all but naked.”
God, he didn’t need her to remind him; the image would be forever burned into his brain. “You flaunted your near nakedness, but here’s a news flash for you, Priss. You’re not the first naked woman I’ve seen.”
“And probably not the best-looking, I know.” Hefting the big cat in her arms, Priss stood and went to a well-worn couch. She collapsed onto it in a sprawl. She looked at Trace through slumberous eyes and an edge of curiosity. “But you looked like you enjoyed the show.”
What the hell did she want? A confession that she’d deeply affected him? Well, she wouldn’t get it.
“I have a pulse, so of course I enjoyed it.” The apartment was really no more than two spaces, the living, eating and sleeping area all rolled into one, and a tiny bathroom with stained sink and toilet bowl, and cracked tiles in the shower. There were no barricades, no alternate escape routes other than a window in the bathroom and one behind the couch. It wouldn’t do. Almost absently, he added, “You’re stacked, Priscilla Patterson. And that’s a problem, too.”
“Too?”
“The cat?” Fists on his hips, Trace turned to face her, and saw desolation in her big green eyes. As susceptible to real tears as any other guy, he gentled his tone. “Priss. You need to move Liger someplace safe.”
She shook her head, and hugged the cat tighter. “There isn’t any place. I’m all he has.”
And he was all she had? Looked like it. Trace frowned as he considered things, then he withdrew the prepaid phone again and dialed Dare.
His friend answered on the second ring. “What’s up?”
“I need a favor.”
With a shrug in his tone, Dare said, “Name it.”
“The conundrum I told you about? Well, she has a cat.”
“Is that a euphemism, or are you talking about a pet?”
Trace grinned. “Pet. A big pet.” He lowered the phone to ask Priss, “How much does that monster weigh?”
“He’s not a monster, but he’s twenty-three pounds.” She stared at him with grave distrust. “And what exactly are you doing now?”
Back to the phone, Trace said, “He’s a twenty-three-pound cat, if you can believe that. Thing is, he’s a sweetheart, so fair game. And I just know he’d make a powerful weapon against her.”
“Yeah.” Dare went thoughtful, but only for a moment. “You want me to keep him out of harm’s way? Hell, my girls would love it. They enjoy all things furry. Since I’m not on assignment right now, I’ll be around to make sure they get along.”
Relieved that Dare had offered, Trace let out a breath. “If you’re sure, I could drive Priss and her cat down there tomo
rrow. She needs a damned makeover anyway. Coburn ordered it.”
“Damn. That’s not sounding good.”
“No.” But Trace didn’t want to go into Murray’s motives yet. If he did, he’d want to go kill the bastard now instead of sticking with the plan. “Maybe you could arrange for a beautician or whatever to be there, to help cover the trip. If Priss returns with her hair changed, and her nails done up, no one would think anything of it. And Jackson could make sure we got out of town without being followed.”
“Yeah, I think we can manage that. I’m pretty sure Chris has a friend who’s a hairdresser.”
Amused, Trace shook his head. Dare’s wife, Molly, though very pretty, wasn’t into long hours spent at a salon. But Dare’s good friend and employee, Chris, had a variety of acquaintances ranging from football players to beauty queens—all of them guys. “Unless something comes up, I could have her down there late morning.”
“Plan to eat lunch here.”
“Thanks.” The mention of food made Trace wonder—when was the last time Priss had eaten? Now that she’d slouched comfortably on the couch, her exhaustion showed. He frowned. “I’ll call when we’re on our way.”
After hanging up with Dare, Trace went to the blinds and peered out. The parking lot adjoined the bar on one side, a back street on the other. He didn’t like the layout, or the noise level, or the lack of security. Even the shittiest joint should have some safeguards in place.
This place had none.
“You made arrangements for Liger?”
He nodded. “It’ll just be until you’re in the clear, Priss. That’s all.”
“But we don’t know how long that might be.”
“No.” Trace rubbed his face. “Have you eaten?”
“Not since breakfast.”
And it was now well past dinnertime. “All right. Let’s get your things together.”
“How much should I gather?”
“Everything you might actually need. If I can help it, you won’t be spending any nights here.”
“Such a shame.” She looked around wistfully. “I was already settled.”
He wouldn’t debate it with her. She was moving, period. “We’ll get you checked into a hotel, but not the one you mentioned. I don’t want you any place where Murray knows to look for you.” He’d take her to the same hotel where he was staying, as close as he could keep her.
“Won’t that make him suspicious?”
“I’ll think of something.” He watched her rise from the couch. “After that we’ll grab some food.”
She hesitated. “And Liger?”
“He’ll stay with you for tonight. Then tomorrow we’ll take him to stay with my friend.” Trace watched her, and saw her gearing up for an argument, based on concern and fear. “Don’t look like that. Dare will be really good to him, I promise. He has two dogs who love other animals. Between them, they’ll make him feel right at home.”
Trace knew she didn’t want to. She had that look of stubborn machination coming over her; he could practically see the variety of alternate plans flitting through her thoughts.
He used stark reality to convince her. “Would you rather one of Murray’s henchmen find him? Trust me on this, Priss, they’re more than capable of using the cat to hurt you. It would be…ugly.”
Given the look on her face, she knew exactly what he meant.
Her shuddering breath and trembling lips left fear in his soul. Do not cry. Please. Priss had a body like sin, and the disposition of a hedgehog, but seeing her love for that big fat cat…well, it struck something tender deep inside him.
Very softly, Trace said, “You okay?”
Regaining her self-confidence, she firmed her lips and nodded. “Thank you for thinking of it.” And then in a less intense voice, “I’d die if anything happened to him.”
Which meant Trace would do every damn thing in his power to see that it never came to that. “This way he’ll be safe.” Now if only it was that easy to ensure Priss’s safety. “Let’s get going. We’ll have a long day tomorrow.”
“All right.” She left the cat on the couch and went into the bathroom. In one overnight case, she had everything already packed. From behind the fold-out couch, she produced a large duffel bag stuffed full. “Other than this, I need to get Liger’s litter box and food.” She lifted the cat’s leash and harness off the door knob.
Amazed, Trace looked at her paltry belongings. “You hadn’t unpacked yet?”
“I hadn’t planned on sticking around too long. And I didn’t want to have to leave anything behind if I got boned on this deal.”
“The deal to…kill Murray?”
“That’s right.” Priss’s smile felt like an alarm. “You might think I’m a silly girl acting on impulse, but I had a plan, Trace. A sound plan. And if you hadn’t shown up, I’d be that much closer to ridding the world of a very rotten soul. Now that I know seeing my cat again depends on my success…well, let’s just say I’m doubly motivated to get this over with.”
Trace saw the gleam of success in her eyes, and the cocky tilt of anticipation on her sexy mouth. For a slight, shapely female with an innocent face, she was so damn bloodthirsty.
Contradictions. Nothing but constant contradictions.
So why the hell was he starting to find that so exciting?
PRISS STRETCHED AWAKE IN the much-cleaner and better-smelling hotel room. The sheets were smooth, the pillows soft. She had enough space to actually move around without bumping into anything.
Sunlight crept in around the haphazardly closed curtains. It would be another gorgeous June day. Time to get up—except that she couldn’t move her legs, not with Liger stretched out in full splendor across her. He had her blankets pinned down so that they only covered her waist.
The air-conditioning—something unavailable at the apartment—kept the room cool. With a yawn, Priss crawled out from under Liger and sat up on the side of the bed. Her long hair hung in her face and the now-rumpled T-shirt she wore covered only to the top of her thighs. But for now at least, for this particular morning, she was safe.
So many changes in such a short time.
Her mother’s death had been both a devastating loss and a blessing. Not a day went by that she didn’t miss her, but at least now she didn’t suffer. That had been the worst for Priss, seeing her mother in misery, fading away in small, painful increments.
Leaving her home should have been an upheaval, but with her motivation driving her, Priss had gone through the packing, the driving, and the new town by rote. Comfort took a distant second to reaching her goals.
She’d settled in, found Murray’s location, and even found Murray. She’d been right on track.
And then she’d met Trace…whatever his last name might be. She wasn’t buying the name he’d given her. Trace had as many, maybe more secrets than she did.
She enjoyed sparring with him verbally, found him physically appealing and was intrigued by his cocky attitude of capability. By far, he was the most tempting man she’d ever met.
Because she really didn’t know enough about him to be so captivated, her reaction to him was kind of…well, sick.
Sure, her instincts were good, and her gut told her that Trace was hero material. Despite a lack of facts, she’d already decided he was one of the good guys, an alpha male who would step into danger to protect others, just as he had—so far—protected her.
And her cat.
He was the complete and total opposite of Murray Coburn. So why was he working for that bastard? Or was he?
Liger stretched leisurely, yawning widely enough to show his abundant razor-sharp teeth. He opened his big yellow eyes to blink at Priss, then gave the cutest little meow that sounded small and girlish in comparison to his opulent body.
Priss grinned. “I know. That was a long night. We’re not used to it, are we? And now you want breakfast.” She scratched his head, his favorite spot under his chin and then along his back. “Me, too, buddy. But first thi
ngs first.”
On her way to the bathroom, which was now twice the size of the one she’d used the day before, Priss glanced at the connecting door.
In the very next room, Trace slept.
Her heart pounded, and that was the biggest change of all. For all intents and purposes, she saw men purely as customers, easily coerced into buying the latest and most expensive porn. She joked with men, argued with and rejected them. Unlike her mother, Priss felt at ease in male company.
But a pounding heart? Nope. Not once had she ever met a man who affected her that way.
Before leaving the bathroom Priss splashed her face and cleaned her teeth. A glance in the mirror showed her looking a little worse for wear.
Not that she gave a flying flip.
Using both hands, she shoved back her hair from her face and gave herself a critical inspection. Before meeting Trace, she’d always accepted herself as a sexless woman, apathetic in most situations, detached from the customary interests of young females, methodical in her approach to life.
Yes, she’d loved her mother. So damn much. But beyond that one single person, no genuine affection had ever touched her. She’d been a woman set on correcting wrongs, with no other available emotions.
But around Trace she felt so much that her head swam with the conflagration of sensations. She’d gone to sleep thinking about him and, she just realized, she’d awakened with him on her mind.
Utterly pathetic.
She had just given Liger his food when a tap sounded on the connecting door. Priss’s heart leaped into her throat.
With excitement.
Not dread, or annoyance, or even indifference.
Pure, sizzling stimulation. Suddenly she was wide-awake.
Tamping down her automatic smile, Priss leaned on the door. “Yeah?”
“Open up.”
Still fighting that twitching grin, Priss tried to sound disgruntled as she asked, “Why?”
Something hit the door—maybe his head—and Trace said, “I heard you up moving around, Priss. I have coffee ready, but if you don’t want any—”
Being a true caffeine junkie, she jerked open the door. “Oh, bless you, man.” She took the cup straight out of Trace’s hand, drank deeply and sighed as the warmth penetrated the thick fog of novel sentiment. “Ahhhh. Nirvana. Thank you.”
