Trace of Fever
Page 91
Murray continued in a humorous vein. “Ah, so I take it you got free before she could…compromise you?”
“I was too pissed to deal with her, so I gave her a dose of her own medicine. Literally.”
“No shit?” His brows rose high. “You doped her?”
Trace gave a hard nod. “And then I left. When I came back later that night she was gone.”
“And yet she didn’t mention any of this.” Letting out a thoughtful breath, Murray stewed. “I got the feeling that whatever she wants to discuss with me, it has nothing to do with you.”
“I told her that you wouldn’t like it. And I told her that I’d inform you.” Trace shrugged. “I don’t think she believed me.”
“I have to say, I’m surprised you didn’t try to cover it up.” He tilted his head, studying Trace. “You weren’t concerned that I might put you at fault?”
“No, but it doesn’t matter anyway. I wouldn’t keep something important from you.”
“You consider this important?”
Trace didn’t like being played with. “You said yourself that Helene is unstable. You can best judge how unstable with reports of what she does.”
“Right you are.”
“I’m surprised you didn’t already know.” It never hurt to stroke Murray’s colossal ego—or to show his own. “You’ve had so many tails on me lately, I don’t know if I should be insulted at your lack of trust, or complimented that you’re concerned enough to keep the dogs out on me.”
“Take my advice. Be complimented.” He pushed the intercom. “Alice, tell Helene to get in here pronto.”
So Murray would waste no time in dealing with her. “Did you want me to stay?” Trace hoped so. As distasteful as he found the dynamics of Helene and Murray’s relationship, he wanted to stay apprised of any status changes.
“Knowing Helene, I might need your protection.” Murray smiled as he said it.
Given Murray’s fluctuating mood, Trace didn’t know if the lunatic would kill Helene, or applaud her audacity.
Helene barged in minutes later with a paper in hand. Usually picture-perfect from her hair to her shoes, she looked less pulled together today. Besides her lank hair and her eyes dark with exhaustion, her sleeveless, pullover blouse had a few wrinkles, her split skirt was askew, and her shoes didn’t quite match the ensemble. She looked…more average than not, a regular woman instead of a live fetish with evil intent.
When she found Trace standing there by the windows, she paused. Her worried gaze went to Murray—and she knew she’d just stepped in it.
Helene wasn’t dumb, just insane.
“Yes, Helene,” Murray told her with a heavy dose of apathy. “You’re in trouble.”
Trying to brazen her way through, she waved a paper. “I have something important to share with you.”
“Really?” He turned to Trace. “And she looks so anxious to share. I suppose we can wait for our little disciplinary hearing, can’t we?”
Hiding his frustration, Trace said, “Your decision, as always.”
Murray left his chair and circled around to the front of his desk. He leaned back on it, arms crossed over his thick chest. “All right, Helene. Let’s hear it. And it better be good.”
Triumphant, she held out the paper. “The paternity results are in. That little fraud is not your daughter.”
Trace was so stunned that he didn’t know how to react. Murray seemed even more thrown, proving that he had believed Priss to be of his blood.
Neither of them reached for the paper.
“It’s true,” Helene declared. “I swear.”
Softly, Murray said, “I’ll be damned. I bought her act completely.”
“But it was an act.” Slapping the paper down on the desk beside Murray, Helene presented the epitome of false sympathy. “She was trying to use you, Murray.” She stroked his goatee, the back of his head. “She wanted to take advantage of you, to take your money and your possessions. The evidence doesn’t lie. She’s not related to you in any way.”
Frowning in distraction, Murray set her away from him and looked at Trace. “What do you think?”
He thought Priss had dug a very deep hole for herself, and now, for him, too. “Maybe you ought to give Priscilla a chance to explain.”
Helene bristled. “Why are you deferring to him? I have the proof! Who cares what he thinks?”
“I do, obviously.” He swept her away from him and gave his attention to Trace. “What’s the point in that?”
“It could be a true misunderstanding instead of a deliberate ruse.” He leveled a look on Hell. “And I’d double-check the results myself before taking her word for it.”
“Bastard!” Hell launched at him, but Trace easily caught her arm and pinned it painfully behind her back.
Near her ear, uncaring of Murray’s audience, he whispered, “I’m not drugged now, Helene, so don’t even think about it.” While she struggled futilely, gasping in pain, Trace conferred with Murray. “Think about it. Helene has proven herself untrustworthy. Instead of going to Priscilla as you gave her permission to do, she came to me. Priscilla is now missing, and suddenly Helene has these results?”
Murray rubbed his chin, pulled at his goatee thoughtfully. “It does seem rather convenient, doesn’t it?”
“I was too pissed to deal with her, so I gave her a dose of her own medicine. Literally.”
“No shit?” His brows rose high. “You doped her?”
Trace gave a hard nod. “And then I left. When I came back later that night she was gone.”
“And yet she didn’t mention any of this.” Letting out a thoughtful breath, Murray stewed. “I got the feeling that whatever she wants to discuss with me, it has nothing to do with you.”
“I told her that you wouldn’t like it. And I told her that I’d inform you.” Trace shrugged. “I don’t think she believed me.”
“I have to say, I’m surprised you didn’t try to cover it up.” He tilted his head, studying Trace. “You weren’t concerned that I might put you at fault?”
“No, but it doesn’t matter anyway. I wouldn’t keep something important from you.”
“You consider this important?”
Trace didn’t like being played with. “You said yourself that Helene is unstable. You can best judge how unstable with reports of what she does.”
“Right you are.”
“I’m surprised you didn’t already know.” It never hurt to stroke Murray’s colossal ego—or to show his own. “You’ve had so many tails on me lately, I don’t know if I should be insulted at your lack of trust, or complimented that you’re concerned enough to keep the dogs out on me.”
“Take my advice. Be complimented.” He pushed the intercom. “Alice, tell Helene to get in here pronto.”
So Murray would waste no time in dealing with her. “Did you want me to stay?” Trace hoped so. As distasteful as he found the dynamics of Helene and Murray’s relationship, he wanted to stay apprised of any status changes.
“Knowing Helene, I might need your protection.” Murray smiled as he said it.
Given Murray’s fluctuating mood, Trace didn’t know if the lunatic would kill Helene, or applaud her audacity.
Helene barged in minutes later with a paper in hand. Usually picture-perfect from her hair to her shoes, she looked less pulled together today. Besides her lank hair and her eyes dark with exhaustion, her sleeveless, pullover blouse had a few wrinkles, her split skirt was askew, and her shoes didn’t quite match the ensemble. She looked…more average than not, a regular woman instead of a live fetish with evil intent.
When she found Trace standing there by the windows, she paused. Her worried gaze went to Murray—and she knew she’d just stepped in it.
Helene wasn’t dumb, just insane.
“Yes, Helene,” Murray told her with a heavy dose of apathy. “You’re in trouble.”
Trying to brazen her way through, she waved a paper. “I have something important to share with you.”
“Really?” He turned to Trace. “And she looks so anxious to share. I suppose we can wait for our little disciplinary hearing, can’t we?”
Hiding his frustration, Trace said, “Your decision, as always.”
Murray left his chair and circled around to the front of his desk. He leaned back on it, arms crossed over his thick chest. “All right, Helene. Let’s hear it. And it better be good.”
Triumphant, she held out the paper. “The paternity results are in. That little fraud is not your daughter.”
Trace was so stunned that he didn’t know how to react. Murray seemed even more thrown, proving that he had believed Priss to be of his blood.
Neither of them reached for the paper.
“It’s true,” Helene declared. “I swear.”
Softly, Murray said, “I’ll be damned. I bought her act completely.”
“But it was an act.” Slapping the paper down on the desk beside Murray, Helene presented the epitome of false sympathy. “She was trying to use you, Murray.” She stroked his goatee, the back of his head. “She wanted to take advantage of you, to take your money and your possessions. The evidence doesn’t lie. She’s not related to you in any way.”
Frowning in distraction, Murray set her away from him and looked at Trace. “What do you think?”
He thought Priss had dug a very deep hole for herself, and now, for him, too. “Maybe you ought to give Priscilla a chance to explain.”
Helene bristled. “Why are you deferring to him? I have the proof! Who cares what he thinks?”
“I do, obviously.” He swept her away from him and gave his attention to Trace. “What’s the point in that?”
“It could be a true misunderstanding instead of a deliberate ruse.” He leveled a look on Hell. “And I’d double-check the results myself before taking her word for it.”
“Bastard!” Hell launched at him, but Trace easily caught her arm and pinned it painfully behind her back.
Near her ear, uncaring of Murray’s audience, he whispered, “I’m not drugged now, Helene, so don’t even think about it.” While she struggled futilely, gasping in pain, Trace conferred with Murray. “Think about it. Helene has proven herself untrustworthy. Instead of going to Priscilla as you gave her permission to do, she came to me. Priscilla is now missing, and suddenly Helene has these results?”
Murray rubbed his chin, pulled at his goatee thoughtfully. “It does seem rather convenient, doesn’t it?”
