Trace of Fever
Page 104
Face downcast, Alice swallowed hard and nodded in understanding.
“But he didn’t.” She took Alice’s hand. “He can’t hurt me, and he can’t hurt you, unless we let him. He made you a victim, Alice, but you didn’t stay a victim. And thanks to you, no other woman will have to fear him.”
Voice faint with fear, Alice whispered, “I don’t know what to do.”
Trace said, “You come with me. Now.”
His control, his certainty, seemed to revive Alice. She drew in a deep, steadying breath. “I’ve always trusted you, Trace. I knew you were different.”
Though emotion weighed heavy on Priss, she smiled. “Me, too.” She stood by Trace’s side, put a hand on his shoulder. “Murray was the only one dumb enough to believe that Trace was like him.”
Trace reached out his hand to Alice.
After a deep breath, she dried her face, gave one last look at Murray’s unseeing corpse and accepted his help.
WELL AWAY FROM THE SCENE, Trace put Alice in a cab. He leaned in the back door, speaking close to her ear. “You’re going straight to the address I gave you, Alice, understand? I have someone there waiting for you. If you need anything, you have a number to call.”
She nodded.
That didn’t quite satisfy him. He needed to know that she’d be okay. “Tell me you understand.”
“I understand.”
But she still looked too numb, and it bothered Trace. “Alice?”
Eyes big and sad, but no longer stark with fear, she looked up at him. Trace touched her cheek and smiled. “I always knew you were different, too.”
That admission seemed to break the fog, and she threw her arms around him, squeezing tight as if she didn’t want to let go. Trace awkwardly patted her back until she regained control.
He lifted her chin. “I’m sorry, hon, but Priss and I have to go.”
“I know.” She wiped her cheeks, and summoned a shaky smile. “Thank you. For everything.”
He hated to let her go like this. “You’ll get hold of your family?”
“First thing, I promise.”
He had nothing more to say, so Trace closed the door and stepped back.
Before the cab could pull away, Priss put her hand on the glass of the window. Alice drew a deep breath…and put her hand to the glass, too.
Both women looked on the verge of tears, and Trace wasn’t sure he could bear it. He kept thinking about what Murray had intended for Priss, how she’d been in the middle of flying bullets.
He kept remembering her standing there, a gun in her small hand, ready to kill Murray.
She should never have been there, and no way in hell did she deserve to have Murray’s death laid at her door.
At the moment, equal shares of rage, urgency and compassion vied to flatten his self-control. But damn it, he was a pro. He had things to do, and those things had an order to them. Getting sidetracked by his feelings wasn’t on the agenda.
He took Priss’s arm and pulled her back.
The cabbie drove away from the curb. Putting his hand to the small of her back, Trace prodded her toward the car. They had to ditch it, get another ride, and get the hell out of town.
Later he’d deal with the bombardment of emotion. Right now, he had to focus on details, and hopefully that would see him through.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
AS TRACE DROVE AWAY from the area, a fierce emotion settled over Priss. It was final and dark, and scarier than facing off with Murray in a deserted, musty factory.
Now that Murray was dead, what would she do?
She glanced at Trace. What would they do?
Even though he’d been careful with Alice, Priss could see that Trace was in a killing mood, silent and distant.
He probably resented her involvement, because he saw it as interference.
Given all that had transpired she understood his reaction. He’d had a long-term plan, and she’d thrown a kink in the works. Poor Trace. He was so methodical, so detailed in what he did, so quick to react in every situation, having someone like her around must have been a trial.
What to do? When Priss lifted a hand to push her hair from her face, she noticed that, with the adrenaline wearing off, she shook like a freezing, wet cat.
She also realized how badly her feet hurt in the stupid heels. Fighting back useless tears, she bent and removed the shoes. Trace glanced at her, at her naked feet, and then her legs. His look was narrow-eyed and mean.
Enough already.
Drawing up one leg, Priss turned to face him in the seat. The new position hiked the dumb dress up farther, but she didn’t care. “What are we going to do now?”
Other than a slight shifting of muscles, he didn’t move. He stared straight ahead at the road. “We’re not doing anything. I’ve got follow-up work to see to.”
“What kind of follow-up work?”
“Twyla, Helene, the entire business office…” His hands tightened on the wheel. “And you’re going to keep your nose out of it.”
Exasperating man. “I hadn’t thought about all of that. All I wanted was Murray.”
His jaw clenched noticeably.
Priss rolled her eyes. “That’s not what I meant anyway.” Her mouth felt dry, so she licked her lips. “I meant us—as in you and me.”
His forearms flexed and his knuckles turned white.
Not real encouraging. If he tensed any more, he’d end up breaking something.
“Because, like—” Priss cleared her throat. No point in dithering. “I really need to see Liger. I’ve missed him horribly. I know your friends are taking care of him, but it’s not the same. And I need to get back to the shop, too. I need to check on things.” She lifted her shoulders. “My life—my real life—is waiting for me.”
“But he didn’t.” She took Alice’s hand. “He can’t hurt me, and he can’t hurt you, unless we let him. He made you a victim, Alice, but you didn’t stay a victim. And thanks to you, no other woman will have to fear him.”
Voice faint with fear, Alice whispered, “I don’t know what to do.”
Trace said, “You come with me. Now.”
His control, his certainty, seemed to revive Alice. She drew in a deep, steadying breath. “I’ve always trusted you, Trace. I knew you were different.”
Though emotion weighed heavy on Priss, she smiled. “Me, too.” She stood by Trace’s side, put a hand on his shoulder. “Murray was the only one dumb enough to believe that Trace was like him.”
Trace reached out his hand to Alice.
After a deep breath, she dried her face, gave one last look at Murray’s unseeing corpse and accepted his help.
WELL AWAY FROM THE SCENE, Trace put Alice in a cab. He leaned in the back door, speaking close to her ear. “You’re going straight to the address I gave you, Alice, understand? I have someone there waiting for you. If you need anything, you have a number to call.”
She nodded.
That didn’t quite satisfy him. He needed to know that she’d be okay. “Tell me you understand.”
“I understand.”
But she still looked too numb, and it bothered Trace. “Alice?”
Eyes big and sad, but no longer stark with fear, she looked up at him. Trace touched her cheek and smiled. “I always knew you were different, too.”
That admission seemed to break the fog, and she threw her arms around him, squeezing tight as if she didn’t want to let go. Trace awkwardly patted her back until she regained control.
He lifted her chin. “I’m sorry, hon, but Priss and I have to go.”
“I know.” She wiped her cheeks, and summoned a shaky smile. “Thank you. For everything.”
He hated to let her go like this. “You’ll get hold of your family?”
“First thing, I promise.”
He had nothing more to say, so Trace closed the door and stepped back.
Before the cab could pull away, Priss put her hand on the glass of the window. Alice drew a deep breath…and put her hand to the glass, too.
Both women looked on the verge of tears, and Trace wasn’t sure he could bear it. He kept thinking about what Murray had intended for Priss, how she’d been in the middle of flying bullets.
He kept remembering her standing there, a gun in her small hand, ready to kill Murray.
She should never have been there, and no way in hell did she deserve to have Murray’s death laid at her door.
At the moment, equal shares of rage, urgency and compassion vied to flatten his self-control. But damn it, he was a pro. He had things to do, and those things had an order to them. Getting sidetracked by his feelings wasn’t on the agenda.
He took Priss’s arm and pulled her back.
The cabbie drove away from the curb. Putting his hand to the small of her back, Trace prodded her toward the car. They had to ditch it, get another ride, and get the hell out of town.
Later he’d deal with the bombardment of emotion. Right now, he had to focus on details, and hopefully that would see him through.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
AS TRACE DROVE AWAY from the area, a fierce emotion settled over Priss. It was final and dark, and scarier than facing off with Murray in a deserted, musty factory.
Now that Murray was dead, what would she do?
She glanced at Trace. What would they do?
Even though he’d been careful with Alice, Priss could see that Trace was in a killing mood, silent and distant.
He probably resented her involvement, because he saw it as interference.
Given all that had transpired she understood his reaction. He’d had a long-term plan, and she’d thrown a kink in the works. Poor Trace. He was so methodical, so detailed in what he did, so quick to react in every situation, having someone like her around must have been a trial.
What to do? When Priss lifted a hand to push her hair from her face, she noticed that, with the adrenaline wearing off, she shook like a freezing, wet cat.
She also realized how badly her feet hurt in the stupid heels. Fighting back useless tears, she bent and removed the shoes. Trace glanced at her, at her naked feet, and then her legs. His look was narrow-eyed and mean.
Enough already.
Drawing up one leg, Priss turned to face him in the seat. The new position hiked the dumb dress up farther, but she didn’t care. “What are we going to do now?”
Other than a slight shifting of muscles, he didn’t move. He stared straight ahead at the road. “We’re not doing anything. I’ve got follow-up work to see to.”
“What kind of follow-up work?”
“Twyla, Helene, the entire business office…” His hands tightened on the wheel. “And you’re going to keep your nose out of it.”
Exasperating man. “I hadn’t thought about all of that. All I wanted was Murray.”
His jaw clenched noticeably.
Priss rolled her eyes. “That’s not what I meant anyway.” Her mouth felt dry, so she licked her lips. “I meant us—as in you and me.”
His forearms flexed and his knuckles turned white.
Not real encouraging. If he tensed any more, he’d end up breaking something.
“Because, like—” Priss cleared her throat. No point in dithering. “I really need to see Liger. I’ve missed him horribly. I know your friends are taking care of him, but it’s not the same. And I need to get back to the shop, too. I need to check on things.” She lifted her shoulders. “My life—my real life—is waiting for me.”
