Trace of Fever
Page 71
He withdrew his gun and took aim.
Murray touched his wrist. “On second thought, Belford might need him to get home. You’re so thorough that he’s in worse shape than Dugo.”
Trace dropped the hand holding the gun. His temper prickled. “Another f**king test?”
Murray laughed. “And as always, you passed with gusto.” He nudged Belford with the toe of his custom-made shoe. “You’ll take the women, all of them, at the agreed-upon price and, in the end, when you make your profit, you’ll realize how valuable this exchange has been.”
Belford made a sound of agreement.
Squatting down by him, Murray said, “Unfortunately, I’m one girl short of our agreement. Consider it a toll for making me come here and explain myself. Got it?”
Again Belford struggled to give reply.
“Great. Show up with the money, don’t ever try my patience again, and we can put this unpleasantness behind us.” And with that, Murray regained his feet and started out.
Trace backed out behind him; the men were fallen, but they weren’t entirely incapacitated, and he didn’t take chances.
Outside, Murray stretched. “That was entertaining. Two fights in one night, against how many men now?”
“Four.” He opened Murray’s door for him. “I’m not counting Belford.”
That made Murray laugh, and on the drive back to the office, he engaged in small talk, almost as if the extreme violence of the past hour hadn’t taken place. It was another indication of his sickness.
Another reason to put him down.
Rain pounded from the sky, leaving the streets steaming from the earlier heat of the day, as Trace escorted Murray into the office. They went past an army of night guards and most of them not only nodded to Murray, they deferred to Trace as they would a drill sargeant.
Idiots, all of them. Most knew what they did, who they protected, but some of them went by the creed of “seeing nothing, hearing nothing, repeating nothing.”
Almost to himself, Murray said, “You’re better than all of them put together.”
He was, but Murray’s mood was strange, too introspective, and he didn’t want to find all the guards dead in the morning. “They have their uses.”
“True enough.” Murray strode into his office and went straight to the bar. “Drink?”
“No, thanks.” He wasn’t about to muddle his senses with alcohol, and besides, he didn’t trust Murray or Hell not to slip something into his drink.
Of course that thought led him to Priss and unrelenting guilt.
Murray sprawled into his chair. “I have a slew of employees on different levels performing many different duties. But for the business I’m in and the security I require, you’re far more valuable to me than the rest.”
Trace eyed him. He didn’t know if Murray wanted to promote him, confide in him or f**k him. “Was there something else you needed from me tonight?”
For the longest time Murray studied him, then he laughed and shook his head. “No. You’re free to go.”
“You’re sure?” If Murray wanted to spill his guts, Trace damn straight wanted to listen.
“Get some sleep,” Murray suggested. “You’ve surely tired yourself after the brutality of the day.”
“No.”
Amused, Murray tilted his head. “No, you won’t sleep, or no, you aren’t tired?”
Trace shrugged. “Both, I guess.” He looked at his watch. “You think Helene is done with Priscilla yet?”
“Doubtful.” Rocking back in his big office chair, Murray cradled the glass of whiskey and propped his feet on the desk. “For tonight, don’t worry about Priscilla.”
“Great.” Thank God Jackson would keep Helene from getting anywhere near Priss. “Then I think I’ll get some dinner, maybe hit up a club.”
“Missing your social time lately?”
Trace thought about how to answer, and settled on saying, “Following up a fight with a relaxing lay suits me.”
“If you can call what you do a fight,” Murray snorted. “You’re so damn fast and effective, there’s no real fight to it.”
“Did you want it otherwise?”
Shaking his head, Murray said, “No, that wasn’t a complaint, just an observation. But I understand the adrenaline rush, so go and get some relief, but stay on call in case something comes up.”
“Always.”
“Oh, and, Trace?”
One hand on the door, Trace glanced back.
“I’ve decided to move up my lunch with Priscilla. I’m anxious to see her now that she’s been made over.”
One blow after another. Cautiously, Trace turned to face him. “All right.” He wanted to ask why the change, but didn’t dare push things.
“I have to admit I’m curious about Helene’s effect on her, too.” Murray watched him. “Think she’ll be hysterical, or accepting?”
Staring him in the eyes, Trace said only, “Hard to say.”
“Women are all so different,” Murray mused in agreement. “And yet, they’re all weak.”
Trace kept quiet.
“We’ll keep the meeting private, but I want you there watching on as security—just in case things get out of hand.”
Meaning if Priss didn’t go along with Murray’s twisted plans? “I can take care of it.”
Murray touched his wrist. “On second thought, Belford might need him to get home. You’re so thorough that he’s in worse shape than Dugo.”
Trace dropped the hand holding the gun. His temper prickled. “Another f**king test?”
Murray laughed. “And as always, you passed with gusto.” He nudged Belford with the toe of his custom-made shoe. “You’ll take the women, all of them, at the agreed-upon price and, in the end, when you make your profit, you’ll realize how valuable this exchange has been.”
Belford made a sound of agreement.
Squatting down by him, Murray said, “Unfortunately, I’m one girl short of our agreement. Consider it a toll for making me come here and explain myself. Got it?”
Again Belford struggled to give reply.
“Great. Show up with the money, don’t ever try my patience again, and we can put this unpleasantness behind us.” And with that, Murray regained his feet and started out.
Trace backed out behind him; the men were fallen, but they weren’t entirely incapacitated, and he didn’t take chances.
Outside, Murray stretched. “That was entertaining. Two fights in one night, against how many men now?”
“Four.” He opened Murray’s door for him. “I’m not counting Belford.”
That made Murray laugh, and on the drive back to the office, he engaged in small talk, almost as if the extreme violence of the past hour hadn’t taken place. It was another indication of his sickness.
Another reason to put him down.
Rain pounded from the sky, leaving the streets steaming from the earlier heat of the day, as Trace escorted Murray into the office. They went past an army of night guards and most of them not only nodded to Murray, they deferred to Trace as they would a drill sargeant.
Idiots, all of them. Most knew what they did, who they protected, but some of them went by the creed of “seeing nothing, hearing nothing, repeating nothing.”
Almost to himself, Murray said, “You’re better than all of them put together.”
He was, but Murray’s mood was strange, too introspective, and he didn’t want to find all the guards dead in the morning. “They have their uses.”
“True enough.” Murray strode into his office and went straight to the bar. “Drink?”
“No, thanks.” He wasn’t about to muddle his senses with alcohol, and besides, he didn’t trust Murray or Hell not to slip something into his drink.
Of course that thought led him to Priss and unrelenting guilt.
Murray sprawled into his chair. “I have a slew of employees on different levels performing many different duties. But for the business I’m in and the security I require, you’re far more valuable to me than the rest.”
Trace eyed him. He didn’t know if Murray wanted to promote him, confide in him or f**k him. “Was there something else you needed from me tonight?”
For the longest time Murray studied him, then he laughed and shook his head. “No. You’re free to go.”
“You’re sure?” If Murray wanted to spill his guts, Trace damn straight wanted to listen.
“Get some sleep,” Murray suggested. “You’ve surely tired yourself after the brutality of the day.”
“No.”
Amused, Murray tilted his head. “No, you won’t sleep, or no, you aren’t tired?”
Trace shrugged. “Both, I guess.” He looked at his watch. “You think Helene is done with Priscilla yet?”
“Doubtful.” Rocking back in his big office chair, Murray cradled the glass of whiskey and propped his feet on the desk. “For tonight, don’t worry about Priscilla.”
“Great.” Thank God Jackson would keep Helene from getting anywhere near Priss. “Then I think I’ll get some dinner, maybe hit up a club.”
“Missing your social time lately?”
Trace thought about how to answer, and settled on saying, “Following up a fight with a relaxing lay suits me.”
“If you can call what you do a fight,” Murray snorted. “You’re so damn fast and effective, there’s no real fight to it.”
“Did you want it otherwise?”
Shaking his head, Murray said, “No, that wasn’t a complaint, just an observation. But I understand the adrenaline rush, so go and get some relief, but stay on call in case something comes up.”
“Always.”
“Oh, and, Trace?”
One hand on the door, Trace glanced back.
“I’ve decided to move up my lunch with Priscilla. I’m anxious to see her now that she’s been made over.”
One blow after another. Cautiously, Trace turned to face him. “All right.” He wanted to ask why the change, but didn’t dare push things.
“I have to admit I’m curious about Helene’s effect on her, too.” Murray watched him. “Think she’ll be hysterical, or accepting?”
Staring him in the eyes, Trace said only, “Hard to say.”
“Women are all so different,” Murray mused in agreement. “And yet, they’re all weak.”
Trace kept quiet.
“We’ll keep the meeting private, but I want you there watching on as security—just in case things get out of hand.”
Meaning if Priss didn’t go along with Murray’s twisted plans? “I can take care of it.”
