Trace of Fever
Page 87
His eyes narrowed. “Sweet? I offer to kill a man and you think it’s sweet?”
“You wanted to kill him anyway. And so do I.” The hair on his chest fascinated her, so she concentrated on that. “You’ve never come right out and said so, but I’ve known for a while that you’re a good guy, Trace.”
He gave her a cautious survey. “I’m not sure that accurately describes me.”
“Of course it does. From the very beginning, you were making moves to protect me. When you kept my license, it was so that Murray couldn’t run a check on me, and that was before you had any idea who I was or what I wanted. Everything you’ve done since then has been a balancing act of fulfilling what Murray expects of you, while at the same time trying to keep me from getting too involved.”
“As of this minute, you’re not involved, not in any way.”
If only that were true. For some, it’d be so easy to step back and let Trace do his thing. Especially since he did it so well. He would kill Murray, she knew that. But she couldn’t delegate the responsibility. She’d never be able to live with herself. “Sorry, Trace, but I’m involved up to my eyeballs. There’s no changing that.”
He sat up suddenly. “Wrong. It’s changed.”
Worry niggled up her spine. “What do you mean?”
“I mean that you’re out of it.” He took his watch off the nightstand and strapped it around his wrist. “I’ll tell Murray that you ran off, that I don’t know where you went. He won’t be able to find you, and after sending Helene after you, it’s a believable lie.”
“No.” She wouldn’t let him be this autocratic. She wouldn’t allow him to decide her fate—her life—for her.
He strode to the chair and picked up his slacks. “Jackson will take you to stay with Dare until I’ve wrapped up things here.”
Meaning after he’d killed Murray and all his cohorts. Panic squeezed around her. She didn’t want to be separated from him, and she didn’t want him to rob her of the vengeance she rightfully deserved. “No.”
He pulled on his T-shirt, now wrinkled. “You don’t get a say in this, honey. Sorry.”
The tightness in her chest made breathing difficult. Naked, irate, she left the bed to confront him. “You are not my keeper. You don’t get to make those decisions.”
“They’ve been made.” He didn’t look away from her. Something flickered in his eyes, something both dangerous and defenseless. His voice went hoarse. “I don’t want you to get hurt, Priss.”
She gulped back emotion. “It hurts me that you want to exclude me from this.”
The vulnerability left, replaced by a hard glitter. “You’ll get over it.”
Desperate to reach him, Priss said, “I feel the same way about you, Trace.” When he paused, she said, “About you getting hurt, I mean.”
He stepped around her to get his shoes. “You should realize by now that I can handle myself.”
“Because this is what you do?” Priss stormed after him, grabbing his arm and demanding his attention. “And that’s what exactly? Tell me what you do, Trace. Tell me why I should trust you to handle things with Murray.”
He went stony again, not answering, not even blinking.
Oh, God, this time his silence demolished her. “No, damn you.” She shook her head hard. “You can’t dictate things without telling me a single truth.” He wanted to take over her life without giving anything in return.
He caught her arms and bodily moved her to sit on the edge of the bed. Going to one knee in front of her, he said, “You want truths? Fine. I was in an old factory with Murray.”
As far as disclosures went, that was vague. “Why?”
“To beat the shit out of some scumbag buyer who dared to dicker price with him.”
“Oh.” Her heart pounded double time, part in relief that he was finally confiding in her, but also in dread for what she’d hear. There was something about Trace’s mood, something darker and edgier than usual. She knew that whatever he told her, it wasn’t going to be easy to take. “A guy who would buy…women?”
“Yes.”
“And did you beat him?”
“Yes.”
“Good.” Anyone involved with Murray deserved that, and more. “Go on.”
“After Murray sells the women…” Trace squeezed her hands. “The buyer stores them there at the factory. It’s used in part as a place for transactions, and to keep the victims locked up until he can get them sold individually.”
If she hadn’t been sitting down, her knees would have given out on her. Her vision closed in. “You left women there?”
“No.” His frustration crackled in the air around them. “No, I wouldn’t…” He let that go. “The thing is, Murray mentioned that he’d kept women there long ago.”
No air could enter past the restriction in her throat. “Long ago.”
“Back when he was just starting down this road of human trafficking.”
Back when her mother was a young, innocent girl. Her gaze focused inward as she remembered her mother’s terror, a terror so strong that it became a phobia. For as long as Priss could remember, her mother lived in constant fear of being taken prisoner.
“I had Dare check it out, Priss, to see how long that factory had been shut down—”
“You wanted to kill him anyway. And so do I.” The hair on his chest fascinated her, so she concentrated on that. “You’ve never come right out and said so, but I’ve known for a while that you’re a good guy, Trace.”
He gave her a cautious survey. “I’m not sure that accurately describes me.”
“Of course it does. From the very beginning, you were making moves to protect me. When you kept my license, it was so that Murray couldn’t run a check on me, and that was before you had any idea who I was or what I wanted. Everything you’ve done since then has been a balancing act of fulfilling what Murray expects of you, while at the same time trying to keep me from getting too involved.”
“As of this minute, you’re not involved, not in any way.”
If only that were true. For some, it’d be so easy to step back and let Trace do his thing. Especially since he did it so well. He would kill Murray, she knew that. But she couldn’t delegate the responsibility. She’d never be able to live with herself. “Sorry, Trace, but I’m involved up to my eyeballs. There’s no changing that.”
He sat up suddenly. “Wrong. It’s changed.”
Worry niggled up her spine. “What do you mean?”
“I mean that you’re out of it.” He took his watch off the nightstand and strapped it around his wrist. “I’ll tell Murray that you ran off, that I don’t know where you went. He won’t be able to find you, and after sending Helene after you, it’s a believable lie.”
“No.” She wouldn’t let him be this autocratic. She wouldn’t allow him to decide her fate—her life—for her.
He strode to the chair and picked up his slacks. “Jackson will take you to stay with Dare until I’ve wrapped up things here.”
Meaning after he’d killed Murray and all his cohorts. Panic squeezed around her. She didn’t want to be separated from him, and she didn’t want him to rob her of the vengeance she rightfully deserved. “No.”
He pulled on his T-shirt, now wrinkled. “You don’t get a say in this, honey. Sorry.”
The tightness in her chest made breathing difficult. Naked, irate, she left the bed to confront him. “You are not my keeper. You don’t get to make those decisions.”
“They’ve been made.” He didn’t look away from her. Something flickered in his eyes, something both dangerous and defenseless. His voice went hoarse. “I don’t want you to get hurt, Priss.”
She gulped back emotion. “It hurts me that you want to exclude me from this.”
The vulnerability left, replaced by a hard glitter. “You’ll get over it.”
Desperate to reach him, Priss said, “I feel the same way about you, Trace.” When he paused, she said, “About you getting hurt, I mean.”
He stepped around her to get his shoes. “You should realize by now that I can handle myself.”
“Because this is what you do?” Priss stormed after him, grabbing his arm and demanding his attention. “And that’s what exactly? Tell me what you do, Trace. Tell me why I should trust you to handle things with Murray.”
He went stony again, not answering, not even blinking.
Oh, God, this time his silence demolished her. “No, damn you.” She shook her head hard. “You can’t dictate things without telling me a single truth.” He wanted to take over her life without giving anything in return.
He caught her arms and bodily moved her to sit on the edge of the bed. Going to one knee in front of her, he said, “You want truths? Fine. I was in an old factory with Murray.”
As far as disclosures went, that was vague. “Why?”
“To beat the shit out of some scumbag buyer who dared to dicker price with him.”
“Oh.” Her heart pounded double time, part in relief that he was finally confiding in her, but also in dread for what she’d hear. There was something about Trace’s mood, something darker and edgier than usual. She knew that whatever he told her, it wasn’t going to be easy to take. “A guy who would buy…women?”
“Yes.”
“And did you beat him?”
“Yes.”
“Good.” Anyone involved with Murray deserved that, and more. “Go on.”
“After Murray sells the women…” Trace squeezed her hands. “The buyer stores them there at the factory. It’s used in part as a place for transactions, and to keep the victims locked up until he can get them sold individually.”
If she hadn’t been sitting down, her knees would have given out on her. Her vision closed in. “You left women there?”
“No.” His frustration crackled in the air around them. “No, I wouldn’t…” He let that go. “The thing is, Murray mentioned that he’d kept women there long ago.”
No air could enter past the restriction in her throat. “Long ago.”
“Back when he was just starting down this road of human trafficking.”
Back when her mother was a young, innocent girl. Her gaze focused inward as she remembered her mother’s terror, a terror so strong that it became a phobia. For as long as Priss could remember, her mother lived in constant fear of being taken prisoner.
“I had Dare check it out, Priss, to see how long that factory had been shut down—”
