Trace of Fever
Page 78
Too furious and too primed to talk, Trace pulled his pants back up but didn’t bother fastening them over his aching erection. If Jackson dared make a single comment about his condition, he’d flatten him.
He said again, “The knife.” His commanding tone finally got through to Priss and she moved with belated alacrity.
“Sorry.” She snatched up the knife and came to him.
Trace held out his hand, but instead of giving it to him, Priss went to work on the restraints, wielding the knife with clumsy inefficiency, sawing needlessly before finally cutting through the resistant nylon. “She made these so tight….”
“Quiet.” Taking the knife from her, Trace surged over to Jackson and released his hands. He gave him the handcuffs and, with the most pressing issues resolved, turned back to Priss. “I want you out of here.”
In that instant, Helene started to come around. Jackson flipped her to her stomach and secured the handcuffs to her wrists. She moaned, and Jackson said, “Sorry, sweetheart,” before giving her a sharp tap to the jaw.
She went out like a light again. He sat back against the wall, his legs over Helene, using her like a footstool, and frowned at Trace. “I can explain.”
Trace gave him one hard, direct look. “Shut up.”
“Right.” Going silent, Jackson concentrated on freeing his ankles.
“Don’t be mad at him,” Priss interjected. “I insisted—”
Bodily turning Priss, Trace headed her toward the connecting room. “Not another word out of you, and don’t you dare move until I come for you.”
“Trace…”
“Now.”
She jumped at his hard, furious tone, but damn it, he couldn’t moderate his temper. When she started to speak again, he gave her his deadliest stare. He’d been through a day of hell, and finding her anywhere near the carnage was enough to send him through the roof. Control? Shot to hell.
With any luck, Helene didn’t know who had stunned her, and Trace wanted to keep it that way. She couldn’t know that Priss had been hiding in the connecting room, or that she’d been with Jackson.
He could only hope.
But either way, he didn’t want Priss still around when Helene came to.
She gave him a look of hurt and left for the adjoining room.
“What do we do with this one?” Jackson asked. He nudged Helene with his feet.
Trace turned his back on Jackson without answering.
He went to Helene’s purse and dumped it. Inside he found two more vials of the serum. Apparently she’d planned on one crazy little party for herself.
Jackson was already on his feet, so Trace tossed the vial to him. “Shoot her up with that shit. Use the needle she dropped, but give her a double dose.”
“It won’t kill her?”
“I have no idea.” And at the moment, he didn’t really care. One dose had his memory hazy, so hopefully two would leave her completely at a loss as to what had transpired. “When you finish, dump her somewhere. One shot would give you about a half hour of her being pliable before she turns into a hellcat again. Two might buy you more time.”
“Got it.” After picking up the needle she’d dropped, Jackson eyed Helene’s fallen body. “Shame she’s such a nut. If she had even an ounce of sanity or compassion, she’d be pretty damned sexy.”
Trace didn’t see it. To him, raging psychosis negated any physical appeal Helene might have. “It’ll be better if she doesn’t see you again.”
“That’s what I figured, too.” Jackson tapped the needle, releasing an air bubble, then went back and pulled up Helene’s tight skirt. He made a sound of regret, and stuck her right cheek.
Helene never stirred.
Trace started to go…but he had to know. He grabbed Jackson’s arm and pulled him to the other side of the room, away from Helene, and away from where Priss could listen in.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
WITH A CLEAR VIEW OF Helene still out cold, Trace asked Jackson, “Why the hell are you even here?”
Jackson looked far too uneasy for Trace’s peace of mind. “I know you didn’t want me here. I got the message loud and clear when you cut the call. Thing is, your little lady was damned insistent that I do something.”
“Like get stunned and tied up?”
“You try planning with a hellcat breathing fire in your ear, making demands, prodding you—”
“Priss?”
“She’s a terror. That name doesn’t suit her at all.”
Fine, so Priscilla had been worried. There was no reason, and he’d explain that to her later, but that didn’t get Jackson off the hook. “Why aren’t you at least alone?”
“There was no reasoning with her. She was hell-bent on heading out the door, with or without me.” He met Trace’s anger front on. “My only option was to go along with her, or knock her out the same way I did with Helene.”
The idea of anyone putting hands on Priss left Trace bunched with rage. “Don’t even think—”
Jackson smirked. “Right. I figured you wouldn’t like that idea much.” He glanced back at Hell, saw she was totally limp, and said to Trace, “I was hoping for better timing to tell you this, but since we’ll both be busy tonight… Priss was already riled before she heard you on the phone.”
“Riled?”
He shrugged, uneasiness showing. “Over how the whole rescue went down.”
He said again, “The knife.” His commanding tone finally got through to Priss and she moved with belated alacrity.
“Sorry.” She snatched up the knife and came to him.
Trace held out his hand, but instead of giving it to him, Priss went to work on the restraints, wielding the knife with clumsy inefficiency, sawing needlessly before finally cutting through the resistant nylon. “She made these so tight….”
“Quiet.” Taking the knife from her, Trace surged over to Jackson and released his hands. He gave him the handcuffs and, with the most pressing issues resolved, turned back to Priss. “I want you out of here.”
In that instant, Helene started to come around. Jackson flipped her to her stomach and secured the handcuffs to her wrists. She moaned, and Jackson said, “Sorry, sweetheart,” before giving her a sharp tap to the jaw.
She went out like a light again. He sat back against the wall, his legs over Helene, using her like a footstool, and frowned at Trace. “I can explain.”
Trace gave him one hard, direct look. “Shut up.”
“Right.” Going silent, Jackson concentrated on freeing his ankles.
“Don’t be mad at him,” Priss interjected. “I insisted—”
Bodily turning Priss, Trace headed her toward the connecting room. “Not another word out of you, and don’t you dare move until I come for you.”
“Trace…”
“Now.”
She jumped at his hard, furious tone, but damn it, he couldn’t moderate his temper. When she started to speak again, he gave her his deadliest stare. He’d been through a day of hell, and finding her anywhere near the carnage was enough to send him through the roof. Control? Shot to hell.
With any luck, Helene didn’t know who had stunned her, and Trace wanted to keep it that way. She couldn’t know that Priss had been hiding in the connecting room, or that she’d been with Jackson.
He could only hope.
But either way, he didn’t want Priss still around when Helene came to.
She gave him a look of hurt and left for the adjoining room.
“What do we do with this one?” Jackson asked. He nudged Helene with his feet.
Trace turned his back on Jackson without answering.
He went to Helene’s purse and dumped it. Inside he found two more vials of the serum. Apparently she’d planned on one crazy little party for herself.
Jackson was already on his feet, so Trace tossed the vial to him. “Shoot her up with that shit. Use the needle she dropped, but give her a double dose.”
“It won’t kill her?”
“I have no idea.” And at the moment, he didn’t really care. One dose had his memory hazy, so hopefully two would leave her completely at a loss as to what had transpired. “When you finish, dump her somewhere. One shot would give you about a half hour of her being pliable before she turns into a hellcat again. Two might buy you more time.”
“Got it.” After picking up the needle she’d dropped, Jackson eyed Helene’s fallen body. “Shame she’s such a nut. If she had even an ounce of sanity or compassion, she’d be pretty damned sexy.”
Trace didn’t see it. To him, raging psychosis negated any physical appeal Helene might have. “It’ll be better if she doesn’t see you again.”
“That’s what I figured, too.” Jackson tapped the needle, releasing an air bubble, then went back and pulled up Helene’s tight skirt. He made a sound of regret, and stuck her right cheek.
Helene never stirred.
Trace started to go…but he had to know. He grabbed Jackson’s arm and pulled him to the other side of the room, away from Helene, and away from where Priss could listen in.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
WITH A CLEAR VIEW OF Helene still out cold, Trace asked Jackson, “Why the hell are you even here?”
Jackson looked far too uneasy for Trace’s peace of mind. “I know you didn’t want me here. I got the message loud and clear when you cut the call. Thing is, your little lady was damned insistent that I do something.”
“Like get stunned and tied up?”
“You try planning with a hellcat breathing fire in your ear, making demands, prodding you—”
“Priss?”
“She’s a terror. That name doesn’t suit her at all.”
Fine, so Priscilla had been worried. There was no reason, and he’d explain that to her later, but that didn’t get Jackson off the hook. “Why aren’t you at least alone?”
“There was no reasoning with her. She was hell-bent on heading out the door, with or without me.” He met Trace’s anger front on. “My only option was to go along with her, or knock her out the same way I did with Helene.”
The idea of anyone putting hands on Priss left Trace bunched with rage. “Don’t even think—”
Jackson smirked. “Right. I figured you wouldn’t like that idea much.” He glanced back at Hell, saw she was totally limp, and said to Trace, “I was hoping for better timing to tell you this, but since we’ll both be busy tonight… Priss was already riled before she heard you on the phone.”
“Riled?”
He shrugged, uneasiness showing. “Over how the whole rescue went down.”
