Trace of Fever (22 page)

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 fuck 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.”

“No, I’ll make the arrangements with Alice myself.” Murray smiled. “I’ll let you know the details.”

As far as dismissals went, that wasn’t too subtle. Trace nodded and let himself out. Despite what he’d told Murray, he had no interest in clubs or other women.

The sex…yeah, that sounded right. But only with Priss.
God, he needed her.

Anxious to make a private call to Jackson to check on Priss’s welfare, Trace headed straight for his apartment. There was enough traffic to make it difficult to spot anyone following him, but he did notice one set of headlights that stayed too close.

When he pulled into the lot next to the apartment, the car went on past. Trace waited, but didn’t see it return. Besides, with Priss elsewhere, the threat was minimal.

Just in case, he waited a minute more, and then pulled into the apartment parking lot. If the coast was clear and no one had followed Jackson, he would shower off the blood and then go to her.

He could hardly wait to get her close, to touch her, taste her…to get her under him.

If fate dealt him a winning hand, tonight would be the night.

B
LOOD PUMPING HOT AND FAST
, Helene waited just inside the entry doors of Trace’s hotel. After finding Priss’s apartment empty, she decided she would not waste the night. They thought they were so clever, but they had underestimated her.

Even through the rain, she had a clear view of the parking lot. Trace, always so cautious, furtively checked everything and everyone—but he didn’t see her, she made sure of that.

As she waited, he left the car, turned up his jacket collar and, ignoring the rain, pulled out his cell phone to put in a call.

When he started in, she ducked to the side of the foyer, partially behind a tall plastic plant, not really hiding, but not exactly making herself noticeable, either.

She had hoped that Trace would have Priscilla with him, and to that end, she’d brought plenty of her special formula with her, enough to make them both pay, enough that they would finally understand what she could and would do.

Unfortunately, Trace entered alone, speaking intently into the phone.

To Murray? She couldn’t hear what he said, but she didn’t think so. The usual curt deference reserved for Murray wasn’t in evidence. In fact, he almost—but not quite—smiled. No, he spoke to someone else, someone friendlier than Murray.

From his fair hair to his broad shoulders and down that strong back to his powerful thighs, Helene’s gaze went over him.

She shivered.

Having Trace defenseless against her, even dependent upon her, would be better, much better, than playing with Priss.

Almost as if he felt her heated interest, Trace suddenly stopped—and oh, so slowly turned to face her.

Their gazes clashed, held.

Something dangerous, something ultimately deadly shone in his mesmerizing hazel eyes. She breathed harder, her stomach tightening, her sex growing damp.

She’d wanted him from day one, but he’d always treated her with contempt. Tonight, he would do as she wanted. He’d have no choice.

“Hello, Trace.”

He dropped the hand holding the phone, keeping it lax at his side. “Helene. What are you doing here? Where’s Priscilla?”

Gliding up to him, feeling the taut pull of her nipples and the burning rush of lust, she smiled. “You tell me.”

“You were supposed to be with her.” His brows, so much darker than his light blond hair, pinched down, but his voice remained neutral. “You damned lunatic. I know you didn’t finish with her so quickly, so what did you do? Kill her?”

Strange, but he didn’t seem overly alarmed by the possibility. But then, maybe he had known Priss wouldn’t be there when she arrived. “I never even got to see her. Her apartment was empty.”

“Where is she?”

Shrugging, Helene trailed a fingernail down his damp chest. “I assumed you swept her away.”

Catching her wrist in a bruising hold, Trace tossed her off him. “Keep your stories straight. I was with Murray.”

“So where is she then, hmm?”

“No idea, but I know where
I’m
going.” He dropped the cell into his jacket pocket and turned his back on her, striding away.

Rushing to keep up with him, Hell asked, “To bed? That’s perfect for me.”

“Go fuck yourself.” He kept walking. “That’s the only way you’ll get laid, because I’m sure as hell not touching you.”

No one should ever underestimate this man. He was cagey, slicker, and maybe more cruel than even Murray. His reflexes impressed her, and his body combined with his confidence left her desperate to experience him.

She kept a safe distance.

Without looking at her, he said, “Go away, Helene.”

“When I came specifically to see you? Not a chance.”

Over his shoulder, he pinned her with his sharp gaze. “How’d you know where I was staying?”

“Murray doesn’t keep secrets from me.”

That made him laugh. “If you say so.”

As Trace retrieved his card key from his wallet and unlocked his door, she slowly withdrew two hypodermics from her pocket. She’d meant one for Priss, one for Trace, but having Trace all to herself would be very sweet.

And two needles would work to her advantage, given his caution.

She removed the caps on the needles. With care, she tucked one into the back waistband on her skirt, but left the other visible.

He didn’t appear to be paying any attention to her at all.

“You won’t be able to ignore me for long.” As quickly as she could while still trying to be furtive, Helene reached out to him with the needle, intending to stick him in the shoulder.

Trace turned too fast for her to dodge him. One hand on her throat, the other clamped onto her arm, he slammed her up against the wall.

Her pulse raced.

Staring into her eyes, so commanding, so much fury, he squeezed her arm until she winced—and dropped the needle.

“You conniving bitch.” He crushed it beneath his boot heel, leaving a damp spot in the carpet. “You were going to drug me?”

“Yes.” Staring at his mouth, Hell licked her lips and leaned toward him. “I have a special elixir just for you, Trace.”

Revulsion hardened his expression even more and he put space between them. “What special elixir?”

After flexing her hand to bring circulation back to her arm, Hell braced both hands behind her. The pose was innocent, unthreatening. “Murray wanted a concoction, an aphrodisiac, that’d make the women more pliable, more…agreeable to the sexual side of things.”

“Because a comatose woman can’t argue?”

“She can’t. But Murray wanted the women awake and anxious to meet their fates. Titillating, don’t you think?”

“I think you’re overselling.” His narrowed gaze sharpened. “Something like that doesn’t exist.”

“It most definitely does—now.” It wasn’t often that she got to brag on her skills. “My serum makes the blood sing and sets the body on fire. And almost by accident, I’ve found that it works particularly well on men.” She moved up against him. “One dose and you’ll be so hard, so throbbing, you’ll be begging me for relief. So how about we go inside and get started?”

“Not happening.” He pushed away from her as if she were a vile thing. “Go home. Go to Murray.”

“I can’t.” Truthfully, she preferred his resistance. If he conceded to her wishes, if he gave in, he wouldn’t be nearly as desirable. She’d been chased, and she’d been dominated. Sometimes, though, she preferred the chasing—or dominating. “I want
you,
Trace.”

“I’d say I’m sorry, but I’m not. Stay the fuck away from me.” Clearly repulsed, he turned to his door.

Quick as she could, Hell freed the needle and in one motion swung her arm up and around, stabbing it hard into his muscled backside.

As much from reflex, as outrage, Trace backhanded her. The blow sent her sprawling to the floor, her legs in inelegant display and her face stinging. She tasted blood on her lip, and that, too, inflamed her.

Trace didn’t realize it yet, but it was too late for him.

Appalled, outraged, he stared at her in incomprehension. “What did you do?”

She licked her bloody lip. “I sealed your fate.”

He jerked the needle free, staring at it until it slipped out of his hand. Voice already slurring, he asked, “What the hell did you do?”

Helene forced herself back up to her feet. She straightened her skirt, smoothed her blouse.

She’d been struck before, of course, but never quite like that; Murray had never wanted to bruise her face.

Trace was the most powerful man she’d ever encountered. She worked her jaw and winced. It wasn’t broken, but she’d have one hell of a bruise come morning, and probably a fat lip, too. It’d be tough explaining to Murray, but she’d figure out something.

And as soon as possible, she’d make Trace pay for the inconvenience.

She smiled. “Come on, big boy. Inside, before you drop here in the hallway and someone calls the police. None of us wants that to happen.”

Because his thoughts were already muddling, he didn’t fight her as she led him into the room, but he ground out, “I’ll kill you for this.”

Cooing to him, Helene said, “I know you’ll try.” She closed and locked the door. “But not before I’ve had my way with every inch of your delicious body.”

He slumped back to the wall and slowly slid down to the carpeted floor.

“Don’t worry, baby.” Watching him, Helene peeled off her jacket and dropped it over a chair. “You’re going to be wide-awake and very aware of everything I do to you, every kiss and touch, every lick and suck,
everything.
It’s only for a half hour or so that you’re going to be helpless and I need that time to get you all secured and situated.” She stepped over him.

Trace made one last feeble attempt to retrieve his cell phone from his pocket.

She laughed. “Now who do you think to call?”

More succinctly than she’d expected, he said, “No one.”

And he closed the phone.

Smiling, feeling indulgent with his continued refusal to accept his fate—the fate she’d give him—Helene took the phone and put it out of his reach. “Oh, Trace.” She touched his jaw. “This is going to be so much fun. For me.”

T
HE HORROR OF WHAT
they’d just overheard left Jackson and Priss staring at each other. It was Priss who reacted first.

“Why are you standing there?” She shoved Jackson hard. “You heard everything. That bitch is going to molest him!”

Looking a little sick, Jackson whispered, “Yeah.” He looked away. “Or worse.”

Her stomach cramped and her eyes burned. She covered her mouth. “God only knows what she’s capable of.”

“I shouldn’t have said that.” Jackson closed the now-dead phone and knotted his fingers in his hair. “And I shouldn’t have put him on speaker phone.”

“I wouldn’t have given the phone back to you otherwise!” Trace had called with instructions for Jackson to do a check on an old factory. He wanted a blueprint to the building, and he wanted to know how long it had been out of operation and who owned it now. From what she’d heard, Jackson would leave much of that research to Dare, who would likely leave it to Chris. Little by little, she was learning the chain of command, and how they worked together as a minimal unit to accomplish so much.

After the business discussion, Trace had also asked about her, and when he found out she was fine and dandy— Jackson didn’t mention his cavalier treatment of the shower incident—he’d wanted to speak with her.

Priss was hoping that he’d come to her, that they could continue what he’d started. But before much was said, someone joined him. The conversation was muffled, but when Priss realized he was talking to Helene she’d known something was wrong. She’d asked Jackson how to put the cell phone on speaker so he could hear, too.

Jackson looked almost comically lost, so Priss shoved him again. “You have to go help him.”

Shaking his head in the negative, Jackson said, “If he’d wanted help, he’d have said so.”

“He couldn’t!”

“Baloney. Trace is cagey. He’d have gotten a message through, but instead he ended the call. You heard him, Priss. She asked him who he was calling, and he said no one. And that was the message.”

“You don’t know that!”

“I know that he wants me to stay right on top of you.”

“Idiot!” She wasn’t the one currently in trouble.

He frowned at her. “You know what I mean. In the figurative sense. If Trace had wanted me there, he could have said something…but he didn’t.”

He wasn’t going to go help Trace?
“Are you out of your mind?”

“He
didn’t,
Priss.” Jackson paced away, looking almost as tortured as she felt. “Jesus. I know Trace. He’s slick. If he thought he couldn’t handle it—”

Handle Helene raping him? Oh, sure, he could maybe handle that.

But
she
couldn’t. And besides, who knew where Helene would draw the line? She could disfigure Trace with her warped idea of lust. And thinking that almost made her scream.

Unwilling to wait for Jackson to come to his senses,
Priss spun around on her heel and headed for the door. “I’m going to him.”

“What? No, wait.” He caught her before she’d taken two full steps. “You don’t have a car.”

“I can grab a cab.”

Harassed, he shook her. “You don’t have any money.”

“So give me some money!”

He squeezed his eyes shut. “Helene.” Shuddering in real reaction, he whispered, “I wouldn’t wish that fate on any guy. Well, you know, some guys are into that perverse shit, but Trace…no way. He’ll puke. He’ll wash his skin in bleach. He’ll—”

Priss slapped him.

Jackson’s head snapped around with the strength of the blow, but came back slowly, his eyes narrowed and mean. “Damn it, woman—”

She grabbed a fistful of chest hair and yanked his face down close to hers.

“Oeowww!”

Priss had no sympathy for him. “Let’s. Go.”

Through clenched teeth, with the first real anger she’d seen from Jackson, he ordered, “Turn me loose. Right
now!
”

Nerves twitching, Priss opened her fingers and Jackson stepped back, rubbing his chest. He glared at her.

“Be reasonable,” she said, trying for a more cajoling tone. “He needs us.”

“All right. I suppose I should— Wait…what did you say? You want to go
with
me?”

He made it sound like it was the most absurd thing ever. Priss tried to be very clear. “I will not stay here. If you don’t go, I will. If you try to go without me, I’ll find a way to get there on my own.”

As he strode into his bedroom, he said, “You’re asking the impossible.”

“Not asking. Stating as fact.” He returned, pulling a T-shirt on over his head. “I am going. With you or without you. Now what’s it to be?”

He glared at her. “Okay.”

“Really?” She was surprised at his quick turnaround.

“But only if you promise me that you’ll lay low and do exactly as I say, no questions asked and no arguments.”

She wouldn’t promise him anything. “We’re wasting time.”

“Promise me, or I swear I’ll hold you here and neither of us will go.”

Her mouth fell open. “What do you mean, you’ll hold me here?”

“You’re not dumb, Priss. You know what I mean.” Leaning close, nose to nose, he enunciated, “By force. Hell, woman, I’ll sit on you if I have to.” Only half under his breath, he murmured, “I’ve kinda wanted to do that anyway.”

She drew back, but he caught her fist. “Promise right now that you’ll behave.”

She’d behave, all right. She’d behave any damn way she pleased. “Sure. I promise.”

Disgust showed on his handsome face. “That’s about the most insincere promise I’ve ever heard.” He rearranged his hold on her to take her hand in his. “Come on. Let’s go.”

She was still barefoot and hardly dressed appropriately, but this time, Priss didn’t give a single thought to their audience. She cared only about reaching Trace.

For his part, Jackson was as cautious as ever, and even knowing it was necessary, it drove her nuts because it slowed them down. In her mind she kept imagining what Hell might be doing to Trace, and how Trace might react.

Jackson was right; he wouldn’t like it. That much she knew.

But if Helene truly had a drug that’d make him more agreeable… No, she wouldn’t think about that right now. She couldn’t.

Not that long ago she’d left her home, entrusting her business to nasty old Gary Deaton so she could pursue her need for revenge. She’d expected to come up against danger, rejection, abuse.

But never, not once, had she considered anything that had transpired so far.

She definitely hadn’t considered falling in love at light speed with a man opposed to all her plans.

Yet…she had.

She’d fallen hook, line and sinker, irrevocably, head over heels, madly, impossibly in love.

“Drive faster,” she ordered Jackson, and then ignored his grumbling reply.

The question was, now that she’d accepted the truth, what should she do about it?

Or would she get a chance to do anything at all?

T
IED UP WITH HIS ARMS
behind his back, his pants below his knees, his legs parted, Trace finally regained use of his limbs. Unfortunately, Hell had secured him tightly to keep him in that exact position.

Propped upright against a heating unit on the wall, Hell used an exposed pipe to secure his wrists. It kept him in an awkward sitting position. He tried moving his arms, but realized she’d fastened them together with handcuffs.

Using the same nylon restraints he favored, maybe taken from his own stash, she’d bound each of his ankles to heavy bedroom furniture, one to the bed, one to a
nightstand that was screwed to the wall. When he tried to twist, he realized he had a raging hard-on.

Trace looked down at himself, then dropped his head back in loathing. God, he hurt. A deep, sexual hurt.

As if he’d indulged in hours of foreplay, his entire body throbbed with the need to ejaculate.

Helene stepped over him, one stiletto-clad foot at the outside of each of his knees. She’d unbuttoned her blouse to expose her breasts, and had hiked up her skirt to the top of her thighs.

The bawdy stance showed her lack of panties and her long bare legs. “Finally regained your wits, I see. I figured a guy in your superb shape would recover quicker, and you did.”

Trace stared at her, his hatred palpable. “What the
hell
do you think you’re doing?” He gasped as she leaned down and teased one finger along his rigid shaft. His back bowed, his breath hissing in.

“Nice. Very, very nice.” Positioning herself on her knees between his thighs, Helene licked her lips and bent to brush her cheek along his dick.

“Stop it!” Trace tried to rebel, to reject her, but he couldn’t move more than a few inches either way. “You sicken me, Helene.”

“And yet—” she held him in her soft, hot hand “—you’re so hard for me.”

“Hard from whatever you had in that needle. Not for you. Never for you.”

She smiled and, still holding him in one hand, stroked her nails over his bare chest. “I have a thing for hairy chests. How did you know?”

“Stop this.” He hoped he sounded calmer than he felt. Even though she only held him, her hand still, her fingers not too tight, he felt on the verge of exploding. “Helene, listen to me…”

“I can’t wait to taste you, Trace. All of you. I want you to come in my mouth. What do you think about that?”

Succinct, to the point, Trace said, “I’ll kill you.”

Smiling, Hell stroked her fingernails along the inside of his knee. “Murray won’t like that.”

“He won’t like you sucking my cock, either.”

“So maybe we won’t tell him about that.” She leaned down and licked the inside of his thigh.

At the touch of her hot, moist tongue, Trace almost lost it. He squeezed his eyes shut, clenched his teeth and thought about Priss.

Helene ended the lick just short of his testicles. “You know, if Murray found out about any of this, he would take it out on both of us.” Using her thumb, she teased the head of his cock.

It was maddening, and Trace knew if she didn’t stop, he’d come. And then he heard a sound, faint but distinct.

Someone had just entered the connecting room.

Damn, damn, damn.

Had Jackson left Priss alone? Was that exactly what Helene had wanted? Maybe she’d had someone follow Jackson after all and knew that Priss would be vulnerable—

Helene lifted her head. “Did you hear something?”

Trace was relieved to see her looking genuinely surprised by the possible intrusion. “Yeah, I did. It was me complaining.” He spoke loud enough to cover up any more telltale noise from the other room. “Stop and think, Helene. If you do this, Murray will find out—”

“Shhh.” Putting a finger to his lips, she cocked her head to listen. “Be quiet.” She stood and went to the table for his gun.

No.
“First you think to rape me, and now you plan to shoot someone?” Attention divided by his bodily needs
and his compulsion to keep others safe, Trace’s voice sounded more raw than usual. “You said it yourself that we don’t want the police involved. But if you fire that gun, no way in hell will you keep them away.”

“True.” She turned thoughtful, and then lifted his stun baton instead, hefting it in her hand, testing the weight of it.

Trace cursed low. It wasn’t easy to focus with blood burning through his veins, his skin on fire and his cock twitchy, but he tried.

“That’s not much better, Helene. You could still kill with that, and if you leave behind a victim—”

“You mean other than you?”

Hard-jawed, Trace nodded. “Yes, other than me. Murray won’t easily accept a mess of yours that he has to clean up.

“Perhaps.” She came back to crouch over him.

Though the nearness of that baton left his nerves jumping, he didn’t look at it. He wouldn’t give her the satisfaction of knowing his unease. “I’ll tell him about this myself.”

“I doubt that.” Her thumb on the button as a tacit threat, she stroked the baton over his body. “The connecting room did seem strange to me. Who’s over there, Trace?”

“How the fuck should I know?”

“Oh, I think you know.” She moved the baton between his legs. “You’re too cautious to be in a connecting room next to someone without doing a full background check.”

True, but he wouldn’t tell her shit.

She cuddled his balls a second, then sighed and stood. “Make a sound, and I’ll switch to the gun and to hell with the consequences.”

Picking up more restraints, she moved to the connecting door and stood to the side.

Seconds ticked by, and then a full minute.

At least Jackson was being smart, Trace thought. He was taking his time, not rushing things or charging in like a white knight. Of course, he expected no less of him. If Jackson had been the reckless type, he and Dare never would have brought him on board.

Unfortunately, Helene showed incredible patience. She kept her gaze off his body so she wouldn’t be distracted, giving Trace an opportunity to seek ways of escape.

He didn’t find many. The handcuffs were so tight that his arms were going numb.

But she had left his watch on his wrist, and he wiggled around until he was able to get hold of it. It wasn’t easy from this angle, bound as he was, but he managed to remove the tiny pin hidden in the band. He went to work picking the lock on the handcuffs. If he could get his hands free…

He saw his knife on the table with his gun. The knife was all he needed. But could he reach it with his legs still hobbled?

His gaze jerked back to the door when the knob, ever so slowly, started to turn. It had barely opened two inches when Helene jammed the baton through and pressed the trigger button.

The sound of arching electricity mixed with Jackson’s groans. When Helene finally let up, his body fell into the room. Lightning fast, Helene was on him, straddling the small of his back to secure his wrists behind him.

When Jackson stirred enough to react, she zapped him again.

“Helene, stop it!”

“All right.” She smiled, and stroked a hand over Jackson’s ass.

Jesus, why was Jackson even here? Trace hadn’t asked him to come. He’d even closed the damn phone.

Hadn’t he?