Trace of Fever

PRISS PONDERED the idea of lying. Again.

“Don’t bother.”

Damn, he was astute. So what the heck? She put her chin up. “I’m the owner of an adult store.”

That annoying gun-tapping stopped. His eyes narrowed, and then he gave a dramatic, negligent shrug. “Somehow, with you, that makes sense.”

“I’m not sure I like it that you think so.” Was he trying to pigeonhole her? Jerk. “And you know, it’s really conceited of you to think I’m here on account of you.”

Trace wedged his shoulder against the door, getting comfortable. “Is that right?”

“Yeah.” Priss reached over and patted his cheek. “You’re just an unexpected perk.” She rested her hands on her thighs, aware of Trace looking at her chest in the stupid halter. “I’m here for Murray.”

“Because he’s your father?”

“Yeah.” She slanted him a look. “And because I’m going to kill him.”

For long seconds, Trace said nothing. He reholstered the gun, shifted back in his seat and put the car in gear. “You’re not killing anyone, Priss, but I’d like to hear more about this dirty little store of yours.”

“I am so killing him, as soon as I can.” And in the same even, nonchalant tone, she said, “The shop is great, not at all dirty. It’s well run—by me—and it stays busy. It supported me and my mother before she passed away.”

Thinking of her mother hurt, so she shook that off.

“How big is it?”

“Not even as big as Murray’s office. Most of our business is DVDs and books, along with the occasional battery-operated item.” She bobbed her eyebrows at him. “The underwear … well, we have a few crazy things, like crotchless panties and pasties and bondage bras, but mostly just for display. When people want stuff, they order out of a catalog, and we get a percentage of the sales.”

Trace drove out, and there wasn’t a single sign of their tail. “Go on.”

“What else do you want to know?”

His gaze kept moving around the area, alert, cautious. His question sounded almost as an afterthought. “You ever wore any of the merchandise before?”

“Nope. I’m a comfy cotton kind of gal.”

He nodded, then tossed out, “How did your mother die?”

Lacking a smooth transition, Priss wondered if Trace hoped to take her off guard, or was it just his way? Even as he questioned her—and listened to her answers—he kept constant surveillance of the area.

When they were on the main road again, he stuck with back streets rather than return to the highway.

“Mom had a stroke.”

“So what you told Murray was the truth?”

She nodded.

Trace drove with one hand and, with the other, he reached over for her knee. “I’m sorry.”

Priss badly wanted to cover his hand with her own, but before she could really think about it, he withdrew again. “You haven’t exactly been nice to me, Trace, so why should I believe you care?”

He shrugged. “We’re each stuck in our role, and you know it.” He glanced at her, then away again. “I lost my parents, both of them, long ago. Regardless of everything else we have going on, I know how it is to go through that.”

Priss accepted his explanation. “Thanks.”

“It was rough?”

“Yeah.” Such an understatement. “Mom suffered for a long time before she died. She was … incapacitated. Unable to care for herself. Little by little, she wasted away, and in the end, her death was a mercy.”

Putting his hand back on her knee, Trace squeezed in a show of comfort. “You cared for her yourself?”

“The best I could.” Her chest hurt, remembering how inadequate she’d been. “There wasn’t anyone else. But I still had to work, and we’d laid low for so long—”

“Staying out of Murray’s radar?”

“Why else? Not that mom thought Murray would have any real interest in me, not as a father anyway. She didn’t trust him, with good reason. And yes, that’s why we had a sex shop. Mom said Murray never would have thought to look for us there.”

“He’d have assumed she went back to her middle-class upbringing?”

Priss nodded. “So she hid where she knew he wouldn’t look for her. But because of our lifestyle, we never had much insurance, or much cash put away.”

They rode in silence for a while, and Priss—thinking Trace’s nosiness had been appeased—closed her eyes. It had been a long, very tumultuous day. And it wasn’t over yet.

After ten minutes or so, Trace asked, “You asleep?”

“No.” It had been so long since she’d had any real sleep, she’d forgotten what it was like.

“Who’s running the shop for you while you’re here?”

“My partner, Gary Deaton.” Priss hated to think about that, because no way would Gary keep up things the way she wanted.

“Partner, as is business, or personal?”

“Personal? Eewwww. Hardly.” Such a repugnant thought made her shudder. “Business only, thank you very much. And actually, he’s not really a partner. More like an employee. I just call him a partner because he works as many hours as me, sometimes more. Right now, while I’m here, definitely more.”

“Anyone else in the picture?”

“No, and what do you care anyway?”

“Just wondering if anyone else is involved in this harebrained plan of yours.” He turned another corner, and they ended up on a road familiar to her. “Or if you have someone back home who’ll start looking for you soon if you don’t check in.”

Priss wasn’t really worried, but she wouldn’t take Trace lightly, either. “Thinking about killing me again?”

He gave a short laugh. “Killing you, no.”

So what was he thinking of doing with her? She didn’t dare ask. Keeping Trace Miller, or whatever his real name might be, at arm’s length was a dire necessity. “Life on the lam doesn’t lend itself to romantic entanglements.”

His thumb rubbed over her knee, and Priss wondered if he was aware of doing it, if he did it on purpose to turn her on, or if it was an extension of the thoughts she saw flickering across his face.

“Trace …”

“It occurs to me that I didn’t see a single freckle on you. Not on your face.” He gave her a quick, level look. “And not on your body.”

“Yeah, so?”

“That’s kind of curious, don’t you think, given the color of your hair?”

Priss lifted his hand and dropped it over next to him. “Okay, first off, hands to yourself. Got it?”

He said nothing, but she saw the corner of his mouth tilt up in the slightest of smiles.

“Secondly, did you happen to notice that my brows and lashes are a darker brown without a hint of red?”

“Meaning?”

“Meaning I’m not like some redheads who are …” Her face heated. “Red all over.”

“Yeah?” He glanced at her lap meaningfully. “Do tell.”

Priss punched him in the shoulder. “I don’t like what you’re thinking.”

“You don’t know what I’m thinking.” And with another provoking grin, “Do you?”

Like she’d say it out loud? No way. Priss crossed her arms. “If you were hinting that you think I dye my hair, I don’t. Everything on me is natural.”

“We’ll see.”

“No, we will not see a damn thing!”

Under his breath, Trace said, “I damn near saw today. If I’d moved a foot closer for a better look—”

“Stop it!” Priss felt heat throbbing in her face, and she hated it. “And that reminds me. I want you to delete that damned picture.”

“Not a chance. Seeing you in that getup was a trophy moment for me.” He pulled into a lot, put the car in Park and looked around. Forestalling her anger, he said, “You weren’t kidding. This place really is a dive.”

Well, hell. She hadn’t even noticed that she was back at her run-down apartment. It unnerved her that he’d distracted her enough to make her unaware of her surroundings. That could be deadly.

Sooner or later, she’d take him off guard, and then she’d get his phone and smash it. If he had emailed the picture to himself, well, at least she’d have some payback. Until then … “What now?”

“Now we go in, get some of your stuff and make it look like you’re staying at the hotel. If anyone checks on you there, and you aren’t around, you can always claim you were out late hitting bars or something.”

“Barhopping doesn’t work with my cover.”

His jaw tightened. “I’ll think of something. But from here on out, you’re in survival mode. Got it?”

“No.” Nothing and no one would keep her from doing what needed to be done. Priss tried to open her door, but it still didn’t budge. “Unlock it.”

Instead he pulled her around to face him. He started to blast her, but something funny happened. Instead of reading her the riot act, he stared into her eyes, then down at her mouth. His entire demeanor changed. He looked just as tense, but now for different, hotter reasons.

He still stared intently at her mouth when Priss heard the lock click open. She glanced down and saw that Trace had reached back for the door, all without breaking that disturbing, electrifying visual contact with her.

She met his gaze again, and softened. Damn, but resisting Trace wouldn’t be easy, not if he kept looking at her like that. “You’re coming in, too?”

“Yes.” Suddenly, almost violently, he turned away from her and left the car. Still a gentleman, he strode around to her side and opened her door. “Let’s get this night over with.”

Well. That sounded insulting. Priss would have let herself out, except that she had to extract the room key from a hidden pocket in the design of her purse.

“Fine.” She moved out of the car to stand beside him. “But when we go in, watch where you step.”

“Why?” Taking her arm, he started for the entrance, again surveying the area all around them. “You have land mines hidden around?”

Priss ignored him. “It’s this way.” She took the lead, steering him toward the side entrance. Nearby police sirens screamed, competing with music from the bar next door. “I’m on the second floor.”

They passed a hooker fondling a man against the brick facing of the building. Priss stepped over and around a broken bottle. Tires squealed and someone shouted profanities.

Distaste left a sour expression on Trace’s face. “This dive needs to be condemned.”

“Maybe, but it’s shady enough that no one asked me any questions when I checked in.”

“It’s also shady enough that you could get mugged, raped or murdered in the damned lot and no one would notice.”

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 tomorrow. 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.