Trace of Fever
Page 92
Helene gasped again and went still. “No!”
Was it possible that Murray actually wanted Priss to be his daughter? More likely, he was just taken off guard at having his plans—whatever those plans might be—thwarted by a possible sham.
Was Priss capable of that much duplicity?
Helene struggled anew. “He’s lying!”
Uncaring if he hurt her, Trace tightened his hold. “Wouldn’t you rather know for sure?”
Eyes narrowed, Murray moved closed to them. “You know, I believe you’re right, Trace.”
There was so much finality in Murray’s voice, Trace could guess what would probably happen to Helene now. He released her and stepped back.
Babbling, pleading, she threw herself against Murray. “You can’t believe him, Murray. You can’t!” She kissed his face, his fat neck. “Baby, you know I wouldn’t lie to you.”
Gently, Murray cupped her face. “Oh, I think you’re most capable of anything, my dear. Most capable. I believe, as Trace suggested, I will have the results checked myself. But not to worry, in the meantime you’ll be kept…safe.”
She whimpered in the first sign of real fear Trace had ever seen from her. Eyes wide, pulse tripping, she whispered, “Murray…”
He smiled at Trace. “Call in security.” He pushed Helene into a chair.
“All right.” Trace gave a quick, pitying glance at Helene, but he knew better than to interfere. He stepped outside the door. “Alice?”
Startled, she jumped up from her desk and jerked around to face him.
Trace frowned. Her face was pale, her expression one of worry. She’d always been inhibited, but he’d never seen her so stressed. He felt very protective toward her. “Get security up here, will you?”
“Security…other than you?”
“Building security,” he clarified. He tried a smile that had no effect on her, so he gave up and prompted her to action, saying, “Thank you.”
“Oh.” She rushed to take care of the order. “Yes, of course. I’ll see to that right away.”
As she reseated herself behind her desk, Trace closed the door. “On the way.”
“Excellent.”
In one of the padded guest chairs, Helene sat in stony silence, her gaze lost, staring at nothing in particular. Trace couldn’t help but wonder what had happened with her last night after Jackson dumped her.
“We need to find her,” Murray mused.
“Her?”
“Priscilla.” He scowled at Trace. “Keep up.”
In a seeming reprieve from Murray’s censure, Trace’s cell phone rang. Jackson would only use the private cell, and he wouldn’t call; he’d leave a code. While Murray waited expectantly, Trace had no choice but to pull out the phone to turn it off. “Sorry.”
Murray gestured magnanimously. “Go ahead.”
In his bones, Trace knew that answering the call wouldn’t be a good idea. “Whatever it is, it’ll wait.”
“Nonsense. It could be Priscilla.” Murray gestured. “Answer it already.”
With no other choice, he conceded. “All right.” Not sure what new game Murray played, Trace put the phone to his ear. “Trace Miller.”
“Hey, Trace.”
Priscilla. Good God, what was she thinking? He struggled to keep his expression inscrutable. “What is it?”
“Bad timing? Sorry about that. Nothing is tragically wrong, so don’t worry. I just wanted you to know that I’m here.”
Aware of Murray’s unrelenting attention, Trace asked, “Here…where?”
“Right outside. At a pay phone.”
Un-freaking believable. Priss sounded contrary and lighthearted and he wanted to throttle her. Jaw clenched, he asked, “How?”
“Cabbie. I skipped out before Jackson showed up, so if he calls in a panic, no worries.”
Trace glanced at Murray. “I’m in an important meeting.”
“Oh, with Murray? Awkward! I just wanted you to know that I’m coming in.”
No way in hell. He held the phone tighter. “Negative.”
“Positive,” she replied without concern for the direct order he’d just given her. “Oops. Especially since the jig is up.”
Why had he ever thought her reasonable? “Tell me where you are. I’ll come and get you.”
Murray’s brows lifted.
“Too late for that. Some apes are headed my way. I don’t think I can outrun them, so I’m guessing I’m being brought in. Real quick. Did you say anything to Murray yet? About Helene I mean.”
“Yes.”
“Oh. Well, I can only hope our stories match up— Shoot. Gotta go, Trace. See you soon.” Almost as an afterthought, she added, “Smooches.” The phone died.
Smooches? Was she out of her mind? Had being around Murray and Helene addled her wits?
With numbness creeping over him, Trace closed the phone and dropped it into his pocket.
“Who was that?”
No point in lying about it. “Priscilla.”
Helene said, “Priscilla?” almost at the same time Murray said, “No shit? I thought she was long gone.”
“Apparently not.” He took up a stance by the door. “I offered to go get her, but she said she was close by and that apes were coming after her. Your apes, I hope.”
Murray examined a nail. “Most likely. I told the men that if she approached the building, or anywhere near the building, I wanted her brought to me.”
Was it possible that Murray actually wanted Priss to be his daughter? More likely, he was just taken off guard at having his plans—whatever those plans might be—thwarted by a possible sham.
Was Priss capable of that much duplicity?
Helene struggled anew. “He’s lying!”
Uncaring if he hurt her, Trace tightened his hold. “Wouldn’t you rather know for sure?”
Eyes narrowed, Murray moved closed to them. “You know, I believe you’re right, Trace.”
There was so much finality in Murray’s voice, Trace could guess what would probably happen to Helene now. He released her and stepped back.
Babbling, pleading, she threw herself against Murray. “You can’t believe him, Murray. You can’t!” She kissed his face, his fat neck. “Baby, you know I wouldn’t lie to you.”
Gently, Murray cupped her face. “Oh, I think you’re most capable of anything, my dear. Most capable. I believe, as Trace suggested, I will have the results checked myself. But not to worry, in the meantime you’ll be kept…safe.”
She whimpered in the first sign of real fear Trace had ever seen from her. Eyes wide, pulse tripping, she whispered, “Murray…”
He smiled at Trace. “Call in security.” He pushed Helene into a chair.
“All right.” Trace gave a quick, pitying glance at Helene, but he knew better than to interfere. He stepped outside the door. “Alice?”
Startled, she jumped up from her desk and jerked around to face him.
Trace frowned. Her face was pale, her expression one of worry. She’d always been inhibited, but he’d never seen her so stressed. He felt very protective toward her. “Get security up here, will you?”
“Security…other than you?”
“Building security,” he clarified. He tried a smile that had no effect on her, so he gave up and prompted her to action, saying, “Thank you.”
“Oh.” She rushed to take care of the order. “Yes, of course. I’ll see to that right away.”
As she reseated herself behind her desk, Trace closed the door. “On the way.”
“Excellent.”
In one of the padded guest chairs, Helene sat in stony silence, her gaze lost, staring at nothing in particular. Trace couldn’t help but wonder what had happened with her last night after Jackson dumped her.
“We need to find her,” Murray mused.
“Her?”
“Priscilla.” He scowled at Trace. “Keep up.”
In a seeming reprieve from Murray’s censure, Trace’s cell phone rang. Jackson would only use the private cell, and he wouldn’t call; he’d leave a code. While Murray waited expectantly, Trace had no choice but to pull out the phone to turn it off. “Sorry.”
Murray gestured magnanimously. “Go ahead.”
In his bones, Trace knew that answering the call wouldn’t be a good idea. “Whatever it is, it’ll wait.”
“Nonsense. It could be Priscilla.” Murray gestured. “Answer it already.”
With no other choice, he conceded. “All right.” Not sure what new game Murray played, Trace put the phone to his ear. “Trace Miller.”
“Hey, Trace.”
Priscilla. Good God, what was she thinking? He struggled to keep his expression inscrutable. “What is it?”
“Bad timing? Sorry about that. Nothing is tragically wrong, so don’t worry. I just wanted you to know that I’m here.”
Aware of Murray’s unrelenting attention, Trace asked, “Here…where?”
“Right outside. At a pay phone.”
Un-freaking believable. Priss sounded contrary and lighthearted and he wanted to throttle her. Jaw clenched, he asked, “How?”
“Cabbie. I skipped out before Jackson showed up, so if he calls in a panic, no worries.”
Trace glanced at Murray. “I’m in an important meeting.”
“Oh, with Murray? Awkward! I just wanted you to know that I’m coming in.”
No way in hell. He held the phone tighter. “Negative.”
“Positive,” she replied without concern for the direct order he’d just given her. “Oops. Especially since the jig is up.”
Why had he ever thought her reasonable? “Tell me where you are. I’ll come and get you.”
Murray’s brows lifted.
“Too late for that. Some apes are headed my way. I don’t think I can outrun them, so I’m guessing I’m being brought in. Real quick. Did you say anything to Murray yet? About Helene I mean.”
“Yes.”
“Oh. Well, I can only hope our stories match up— Shoot. Gotta go, Trace. See you soon.” Almost as an afterthought, she added, “Smooches.” The phone died.
Smooches? Was she out of her mind? Had being around Murray and Helene addled her wits?
With numbness creeping over him, Trace closed the phone and dropped it into his pocket.
“Who was that?”
No point in lying about it. “Priscilla.”
Helene said, “Priscilla?” almost at the same time Murray said, “No shit? I thought she was long gone.”
“Apparently not.” He took up a stance by the door. “I offered to go get her, but she said she was close by and that apes were coming after her. Your apes, I hope.”
Murray examined a nail. “Most likely. I told the men that if she approached the building, or anywhere near the building, I wanted her brought to me.”
