Trace of Fever
Page 37
Interesting.
So Molly was somehow involved. Was that motivation enough for Trace to go after Murray? Maybe, but Priss didn’t think that covered it. Not all of it.
“I also know that Trace is working with Dare.”
No one confirmed or denied her claim.
“And I know, given the cost that goes into a place like this, that they have to have a successful enterprise to afford this much security. Stands to reason that to be successful, they have to be good at what they do. And that, of course, would coincide with all the absurd secrecy. I mean, drugging me? Is that not bizarre?”
“Maybe it was a little overkill.” Molly frowned at Trace’s hands on Priss’s arms until he spread his fingers wide and stepped back, releasing her. “Thank you,” she told Trace. She patted Dare’s hand, letting him know without words that she was fine.
He gave a small nod and stepped away from her.
With her composure restored, Molly put a slim arm around Priss’s shoulders and turned her toward a…well, an incredible home.
Priss stalled.
How the heck had she missed a house that damn big? The place was beyond anything she’d ever seen. It was the type of home she had always supposed Murray had, big, lavish, impressive and protected.
Priss whispered, “Toto, I’ve a feeling we’re not in Kansas anymore.”
Molly laughed. “In the big scheme of things, where you’re at isn’t all that important. Come on. We’ll just make you comfortable and let the guys work out the rest of it, okay?”
Suddenly Priss wasn’t at all sure she wanted to go off with this woman. Molly was far too accepting of things.
But when she looked back, both Trace and Dare stood there, arms crossed over their chests, dominating stares watching her.
Had she unsettled them with her deductive reasoning?
She put up her chin. “That sounds very nice, Molly. Thank you.” And even though she felt a little sick in her stomach, very confused, angry at being manipulated and…well, sort of fretful at being away from Trace, she allowed Molly to lead her inside.
But along the way she made note of everything, including security cameras, and multiple avenues of possible escape.
CHAPTER EIGHT
THE MINUTE MOLLY AND Priss disappeared inside, Trace cursed. He actually wanted to hit something, but a tree would break his knuckles, he didn’t want to put another dent in the truck, and Dare would hit back.
Chris Chapey, Dare’s longtime best friend and personal assistant, approached with the enormous cat draped over one shoulder so that he could keep an eye on the trailing dogs. The bottom half of Liger filled his arms, and the long tail hung down to the hem of Chris’s shorts.
Without even thinking about it, Trace started petting the cat. After a few hours in the truck together, he and Liger had an understanding of sorts.
Dare watched him, but said only, “That cat is a beast.”
“He’s an armful, that’s for sure.” Chris hefted him a little higher, and got a sweet meow in return.
Both dogs barked in excitement, but quieted when Liger gave them a level stare.
Chris laughed at that. “You want me to head in to keep an eye on things?”
“That’s why I pay you the big bucks, right?” Dare stared toward the house. “You can tell Trace’s lady—”
“She’s not mine.”
Both Chris and Dare gave him a certain male-inspired look, a look that said they understood his bullshit and would let it slide—for now.
Okay, so she was his responsibility, at least for the time being. Feeling that a warning might be in order, Trace said, “Try to lose your normal sarcasm, Chris, okay?”
“Are you kidding?” Chris snorted. “I heard every word exchanged over here, and I have a feeling that one would make mincemeat of me if she thought I was getting out of line. She sure as hell put you two in your place.”
That only worried Trace more because for the most part it was true. Hell, it had been true from the second he met Priss. “Just be on guard. I know Priss, and you can believe that it’s going to get worse before it gets better.”
“Maybe the makeover will help her chill.”
Obviously Chris hadn’t read Priss very well. “Fat chance. It’s going to be a cluster-fuck, so prepare yourself.”
“She’s not keen to the idea, I take it?”
Trace shook his head. “Especially since she knows why Murray wants it done.” And that just fired his blood all over again. “Speaking of Murray, I have to be back earlier than I thought. He wants me in his office by seven.”
Though Chris was well trusted by both of them, he rarely involved himself in business. “Matt will be here soon. Send him in when he arrives, and I’ll go—” he bobbed his eyebrows “—prepare your girlfriend.”
“She is not my—” Damn it, Chris was already walking away, rendering his protests useless. After a deep breath, Trace redirected his thoughts. “I don’t like her being in there alone with Molly.”
Dare clapped him on the shoulder. “Don’t worry about it. Molly is reasonable.”
Forgetting about Chris’s keen hearing, Trace said, “Then she’s the only woman I know who is.”
Chris, now several yards away, waved a hand back at them. “I don’t believe I’ll tell either woman that Trace said that. Some women like to kill the messenger!” Carrying the cat and followed by the dogs, Chris went up the walk and in the front door.
So Molly was somehow involved. Was that motivation enough for Trace to go after Murray? Maybe, but Priss didn’t think that covered it. Not all of it.
“I also know that Trace is working with Dare.”
No one confirmed or denied her claim.
“And I know, given the cost that goes into a place like this, that they have to have a successful enterprise to afford this much security. Stands to reason that to be successful, they have to be good at what they do. And that, of course, would coincide with all the absurd secrecy. I mean, drugging me? Is that not bizarre?”
“Maybe it was a little overkill.” Molly frowned at Trace’s hands on Priss’s arms until he spread his fingers wide and stepped back, releasing her. “Thank you,” she told Trace. She patted Dare’s hand, letting him know without words that she was fine.
He gave a small nod and stepped away from her.
With her composure restored, Molly put a slim arm around Priss’s shoulders and turned her toward a…well, an incredible home.
Priss stalled.
How the heck had she missed a house that damn big? The place was beyond anything she’d ever seen. It was the type of home she had always supposed Murray had, big, lavish, impressive and protected.
Priss whispered, “Toto, I’ve a feeling we’re not in Kansas anymore.”
Molly laughed. “In the big scheme of things, where you’re at isn’t all that important. Come on. We’ll just make you comfortable and let the guys work out the rest of it, okay?”
Suddenly Priss wasn’t at all sure she wanted to go off with this woman. Molly was far too accepting of things.
But when she looked back, both Trace and Dare stood there, arms crossed over their chests, dominating stares watching her.
Had she unsettled them with her deductive reasoning?
She put up her chin. “That sounds very nice, Molly. Thank you.” And even though she felt a little sick in her stomach, very confused, angry at being manipulated and…well, sort of fretful at being away from Trace, she allowed Molly to lead her inside.
But along the way she made note of everything, including security cameras, and multiple avenues of possible escape.
CHAPTER EIGHT
THE MINUTE MOLLY AND Priss disappeared inside, Trace cursed. He actually wanted to hit something, but a tree would break his knuckles, he didn’t want to put another dent in the truck, and Dare would hit back.
Chris Chapey, Dare’s longtime best friend and personal assistant, approached with the enormous cat draped over one shoulder so that he could keep an eye on the trailing dogs. The bottom half of Liger filled his arms, and the long tail hung down to the hem of Chris’s shorts.
Without even thinking about it, Trace started petting the cat. After a few hours in the truck together, he and Liger had an understanding of sorts.
Dare watched him, but said only, “That cat is a beast.”
“He’s an armful, that’s for sure.” Chris hefted him a little higher, and got a sweet meow in return.
Both dogs barked in excitement, but quieted when Liger gave them a level stare.
Chris laughed at that. “You want me to head in to keep an eye on things?”
“That’s why I pay you the big bucks, right?” Dare stared toward the house. “You can tell Trace’s lady—”
“She’s not mine.”
Both Chris and Dare gave him a certain male-inspired look, a look that said they understood his bullshit and would let it slide—for now.
Okay, so she was his responsibility, at least for the time being. Feeling that a warning might be in order, Trace said, “Try to lose your normal sarcasm, Chris, okay?”
“Are you kidding?” Chris snorted. “I heard every word exchanged over here, and I have a feeling that one would make mincemeat of me if she thought I was getting out of line. She sure as hell put you two in your place.”
That only worried Trace more because for the most part it was true. Hell, it had been true from the second he met Priss. “Just be on guard. I know Priss, and you can believe that it’s going to get worse before it gets better.”
“Maybe the makeover will help her chill.”
Obviously Chris hadn’t read Priss very well. “Fat chance. It’s going to be a cluster-fuck, so prepare yourself.”
“She’s not keen to the idea, I take it?”
Trace shook his head. “Especially since she knows why Murray wants it done.” And that just fired his blood all over again. “Speaking of Murray, I have to be back earlier than I thought. He wants me in his office by seven.”
Though Chris was well trusted by both of them, he rarely involved himself in business. “Matt will be here soon. Send him in when he arrives, and I’ll go—” he bobbed his eyebrows “—prepare your girlfriend.”
“She is not my—” Damn it, Chris was already walking away, rendering his protests useless. After a deep breath, Trace redirected his thoughts. “I don’t like her being in there alone with Molly.”
Dare clapped him on the shoulder. “Don’t worry about it. Molly is reasonable.”
Forgetting about Chris’s keen hearing, Trace said, “Then she’s the only woman I know who is.”
Chris, now several yards away, waved a hand back at them. “I don’t believe I’ll tell either woman that Trace said that. Some women like to kill the messenger!” Carrying the cat and followed by the dogs, Chris went up the walk and in the front door.
