Trace of Fever

by Lori Foster

He pulled on his T-shirt, now wrinkled. “You don’t get a say in this, honey. Sorry.”

  The tightness in her chest made breathing difficult. Naked, irate, she left the bed to confront him. “You are not my keeper. You don’t get to make those decisions.”

  “They’ve been made.” He didn’t look away from her. Something flickered in his eyes, something both dangerous and defenseless. His voice went hoarse. “I don’t want you to get hurt, Priss.”

  She gulped back emotion. “It hurts me that you want to exclude me from this.”

  The vulnerability left, replaced by a hard glitter. “You’ll get over it.”

  Desperate to reach him, Priss said, “I feel the same way about you, Trace.” When he paused, she said, “About you getting hurt, I mean.”

  He stepped around her to get his shoes. “You should realize by now that I can handle myself.”

  “Because this is what you do?” Priss stormed after him, grabbing his arm and demanding his attention. “And that’s what exactly? Tell me what you do, Trace. Tell me why I should trust you to handle things with Murray.”

  He went stony again, not answering, not even blinking.

  Oh, God, this time his silence demolished her. “No, damn you.” She shook her head hard. “You can’t dictate things without telling me a single truth.” He wanted to take over her life without giving anything in return.

  He caught her arms and bodily moved her to sit on the edge of the bed. Going to one knee in front of her, he said, “You want truths? Fine. I was in an old factory with Murray.”

  As far as disclosures went, that was vague. “Why?”

  “To beat the shit out of some scumbag buyer who dared to dicker price with him.”

  “Oh.” Her heart pounded double time, part in relief that he was finally confiding in her, but also in dread for what she’d hear. There was something about Trace’s mood, something darker and edgier than usual. She knew that whatever he told her, it wasn’t going to be easy to take. “A guy who would buy…women?”

  “Yes.”

  “And did you beat him?”

  “Yes.”

  “Good.” Anyone involved with Murray deserved that, and more. “Go on.”

  “After Murray sells the women…” Trace squeezed her hands. “The buyer stores them there at the factory. It’s used in part as a place for transactions, and to keep the victims locked up until he can get them sold individually.”

  If she hadn’t been sitting down, her knees would have given out on her. Her vision closed in. “You left women there?”

  “No.” His frustration crackled in the air around them. “No, I wouldn’t…” He let that go. “The thing is, Murray mentioned that he’d kept women there long ago.”

  No air could enter past the restriction in her throat. “Long ago.”

  “Back when he was just starting down this road of human trafficking.”

  Back when her mother was a young, innocent girl. Her gaze focused inward as she remembered her mother’s terror, a terror so strong that it became a phobia. For as long as Priss could remember, her mother lived in constant fear of being taken prisoner.

  “I had Dare check it out, Priss, to see how long that factory had been shut down—”

  “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 se
en 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.

  Even from a man who now meant the world to her.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  AFTER ARRANGING TO meet up with Murray at the offices, Trace called Dare.

  He answered with, “What’s up?”

  “I’m cutting things short. Murray has to go. The sooner the better.”

  “Okay.” Dare fell quiet a second. “Why the change in plans?”

  “I know where the women will be taken. The deal is happening any day now. There’s no reason to wait. I can round up the major players in one net, and then when they talk, we can get the rest.”

  “If they talk.”

  “They will.” He’d see to it.

  “And the sudden turnaround has nothing to do with Priss?”

  Trace squeezed the steering wheel. “Actually, it has a lot do with her.”

  “I figured.”

  He owed Dare the truth. “I slept with her.”

  “So, you got carried away.” Dare sounded unconcerned. “It happens.”

  “Not just once, Dare. All night long.” And it had been amazing, so amazing that he knew he couldn’t give it up. He couldn’t give her up. “I know damn good and well I’m going to sleep with her again.”

  “It’s like that, huh?” As usual, Dare stayed calm in every situation. “So I take it that we need to remove her from the picture?”

  Out of harm’s way. “Absolutely.”

  Without hesitation, Dare said, “If you can convince her, she can stay here.”

  “Thank you.” He’d known that Dare would offer, but having it confirmed put him at ease. “I already talked to Priss. Jackson can drive her down today. I want her out of the area completely.”

  “Today?” Dare hesitated. “You sure you know what you’re doing, Trace? How are you going to explain her sudden disappearance to Murray? He’s always suspicious, so he’s not going to be real accepting that a daughter presented herself one day only to take off the next.”

  That was the first thing Trace had figured out. “He’ll believe she bolted after Helene went after her.”

  “Hmm.” Dare considered the theory. “Yeah, that might be a good enough reason. God knows Hell is enough to scare most normal people into bolting.”

  “It’ll have to do, because I’m not letting her within a hundred miles of Murray. Never again.”

  “I take it Priss agreed with this decision?”

  Not really, but she wasn’t irresponsible, so he had to believe that she’d play along. “She’ll be all right. I’ll see to it.”

  Dare didn’t push the issue. “Chris can get the guest room ready. If you need anything else, let me know.”

  Half an hour later, Trace got to the offices. He tried to ignore the prickling of unease that seeped into his every pore, but his instincts had never let him down. Something wasn’t right; he felt it even in the air he breathed into his lungs.

  Was Murray onto him? Was he walking into a trap?

  A guard at the parking garage door greeted him. “The boss man is waiting for you.”

  Trace gave him an icy stare. “Since when do I need you to tell me that?”

  The guy, a new recruit lacking smarts, quailed. “I—I dunno. Just saying.”

  “You think I don’t know what Murray is doing at all times?”

  “I guess you do.”

  Deciding the comment had been offhand, and not a warning, Trace wrote it off. “Next time, try keeping your mouth shut.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Idiot. And here he was, taking his bad temper out on someone who, for all intents and purposes, was defenseless against him. Disgusted, Trace took the elevator to Murray’s floor. Not knowing how Murray might react to Hell’s perfidy, he was anxious to get the confrontation over with.

  For once it was nice not to get sideswiped by Helene. Of course, she was probably still recovering, not herself one hundred percent yet. He assumed she’d made it home okay. Like a cat, Helene Schumer always landed on her feet.

  Alice was sitting at her desk when Trace walked in. Odd how she was always there, night and day, workweek and weekends. If Murray showed up at the offices, Alice was there, too.

  She kept her head down, typing away on the computer.

  Frowning, Trace approached her. “Alice.”

  She glanced up and away, but smiled. “Mr. Coburn is waiting for you.”

  “Thanks.” Trace paused beside her desk. “You’re okay?”

  Alarm flashed in her big brown eyes before she averted her gaze. Again. “Yes, of course.”

  She looked tired. “When’s your day off?”

  Mistaking his interest, she stared at her monitor and her hands started to shake. “Mr. Miller…”

  “Trace.”

  She coughed, nodded. “Trace.” Her mouth opened twice before she said, “Mr. Coburn doesn’t allow any…personal relationships among employees.”

  That wasn’t precisely true, but he understood her warning. “I wasn’t hitting on you, Alice.”

  Her face went up in flames. “Oh, I know that. I meant… Well, I can’t…”

  Something cynical and angry unfurled. As gently as possible, Trace asked, “You can’t what?”

  Curling her hands into fists, Alice breathed heavily—then smiled up at him, her eyes wounded but determined. “Forgive me. I don’t know what I’m saying. You’re right. I mistook your interest. I’m sorry.”

  Trace straightened. He would recognize those signs of fear and intimidation anywhere. How the hell had he missed it with Alice? Murray hired lots of people straight up, people he kept disconnected from the seedier side of his true profession.

  Apparently Alice wasn’t one of them.

  “I’m the one who’s sorry, Alice.” He nodded at her and headed for Murray’s office. So many reasons to kill Murray. And soon.

  Trace rapped twice on the door and entered.

  Murray sat behind his desk facing the window and speaking on the phone. He glanced back as Trace entered, waved him in, and then returned to his call. “No, damn it.” He paused before snarling, “Because the product is arriving early.”

  Just inside the door, Trace waited with his head down so that Murray wouldn’t realize how intently he listened. Maybe this would all go quicker than even he had hoped.

  “Enough.” Murray jerked his chair around to face his desk. “This isn’t up for debate. Get your money together and be there.” He ended with slamming the phone down on the desktop.

  Lifting a brow at the show of temper, Trace asked, “Should I come back?”

  “No.” Murray scrubbed his hands over his face in frustration. After a second, he picked the phone back up and, with more care, placed it in the cradle. “Come on in. I need a drink. You want one?”

  As usual, Trace refused. “I just finished off a pot of coffee.”

  “Late morning?”

  “Very.”

  “Maybe it was a full moon last night or something.” He sloshed a generous portion of whiskey into a tumbler. “Helene was also running late today.”

  Was? “So she’s here now?”

  Murray downed the drink and poured another before reseating himself behind the desk. “She called ahead to say she had something important to share with me.” He studied Trace. “You know anything about that?”

  Trace took a nonthreatening stance to the side of Murray’s desk. “I have doubts that Helene would share the whole truth, but that’s actually what I wanted to talk to you about.”

  “Hel
ene?”

  “In part.”

  “Huh.” Murray folded his hands over his cumbersome gut. “You’ve got me on pins and needles.”

  “Last night, she overstepped in a big way.”

  Murray waved that off. “I gave her permission to play with Priscilla.”

  Trace locked his back teeth. “I know, I was here.” And he’d make the son-of-a-bitch pay for that. “But I don’t mean with your daughter.” He maintained eye contact with Murray. “She overstepped with me.”

  “You?” He huffed. “How so?”

  “Helene was at my hotel when I returned last night after our business.”

  A frown pulled down Murray’s thick brows. “But what about Priscilla?”

  “I have no idea. I tried to find her last night and then again this morning. No luck.”

  He sat forward, his forearms on the desk. “You’re saying that Priscilla is missing?”

  “Seems so.”

  He searched Trace’s face. “And you think Helene did something with her?”

  “That, or she scared her off.”

  “I suppose that’s possible. Helene can be very…exuberant at times.” Rubbing his goatee, Murray thought about it. His gaze slashed up to Trace in suspicion. “What did you say to Helene when you found her there?”

  “I told her to get lost.”

  Chiding, Murray said, “Trace. Tsk, tsk. That was unkind of you.”

  “You already knew my plans, and they didn’t include secondhand bait from you.”

  “Oh-ho! If Helene heard you call her that, she’d castrate you.”

  No doubt she’d try. “I wanted a quick shower, a couple of drinks and a woman.”

  “Other than my Helene.”

  Trace shrugged. “As you just said, she’s yours, and I don’t share.”

  “A man after my own heart.” He slapped his hands down onto the desk. “So. After you rejected her, what happened?”

  Remembering brought new tension to invade Trace’s muscles. “The bitch drugged me.”

  Murray lost his relaxed posture. “Come again?”

  “She stabbed me in the ass with a hypodermic. Whatever it was, it left me dopey long enough for her to…”

  Sitting forward in anticipation, scowling darkly, Murray demanded, “Don’t keep me in suspense, damn it! For her to do what?”