that’s Murray?”
The phone buzzed twice more before Trace gathered himself. “More than likely, so don’t say a word.”
After she more or less agreed with a shrug, Trace went to the phone and opened it.
Knowing it’d be Murray, Trace said in the cold, aloof way that impressed his current boss, “Miller.”
“Good morning.” Murray’s jovial voice blasted into his ear. “I trust you’re up and on the clock?”
Well, hell. Something had Murray in a good mood, and Trace had already come to realize that boded ill for those around him. Murray was happiest when tormenting the hell out of others. “Absolutely.” Trace sent a warning glare at Priss. She silently mouthed back at him, mocking him, pricking him further.
“I stewed all night on my darling daughter.” At that Murray snickered. “I don’t trust her.”
“Me, either.” Trace knew damn good and well that Priss was up to her pretty neck in revenge. Somehow, he had to keep the game going, and still keep her from doing anything too stupid.
Like attempting to kill Murray.
If she did try it, she’d end up not only dead, but sorely used and abused first. Just thinking about it made Trace icy cold inside.
No way in hell could she be a virgin.
“You get her clothed?” Murray wanted to know.
“For the most part, yeah. Twyla did a great job. You’ll like her choices.”
“So she’s a looker?”
“Decked out right, yeah, she is.” Trace checked the clock on the nightstand. “I have to stop by there again to pick up a few more things that Twyla was putting together for her. She’ll have enough for a week, including a night out.”
“Good. Take Priscilla with you when you go. From here on out, I want you to stick close to her, see what she’s up to, keep an eye on her.”
“I can do that.” In fact, that worked fine for Trace. If he kept Priss close, he could ensure her safety. Anytime she was out of his sight, he’d have Jackson tail her. If need be, they’d all blow their covers to keep an innocent alive—but it’d piss him off royally if Priss ruined his large-scheme plans by putting herself in such a dangerous position.
He wanted Murray, but he wanted Murray’s contacts, too. He wanted the whole damn rodeo, every fucking one of the corrupt bastards, from the lowest minion to the top dog himself. Anyone who had sold, traded, advertised, transported or handled captive women was on Trace’s radar.
He’d have them, too—one way or another.
A silky tone to his voice, Murray said, “I’m glad you find her attractive, Trace, because it occurs to me that the best way to gauge the truth of her fresh-faced innocence is to take her for a ride.”
Trace froze. He had the simultaneous reaction of rage and … carnal interest. He zeroed in on Priss. She glanced up, caught his expression, and judging by the way her eyes widened, picked up on his conflict.
“A ride?” Trace repeated …”
“That’s the easiest way to see how experienced, or inexperienced, she really is. And since Helene isn’t keen on me doing the riding …”
Drily, his stomach churning at the level of Murray’s sickness, Trace said, “Because she’s your daughter.” He prayed that was the reason, but he had his doubts.
His doubts were confirmed.
“No, no.” Murray gave a deep chuckle. “Helene doesn’t buy the relationship, and even if she did, I doubt that familial connections would factor into her prejudice. One of Helene’s more appealing qualities is her complete lack of respect for societal taboos.”
Yeah, he’d noticed. Trace concentrated on not squeezing the cell phone hard enough to shatter it. “I see.”
“Do you? Then let’s just say it’ll be simpler if you do the honors.” Murray paused before saying with a hint of menace, “You don’t object to that plan, do you?”
Shooting for world-weariness, Trace asked, “Are we talking seduction, coercion or rape?” Priss perked up even more at that. Her green eyes steeled with indignation—directed at him.
But Trace also saw a hint of fear that washed some of the color from her face. Not much had shaken her so far, so what had done it this time?
The idea of being forced?
With his guts burning, he wondered if Priss had firsthand knowledge of such a thing.
He wanted to hold her, to reassure her … but hell if he would. A little fear was just what Priss needed to drive home the jeopardy and wake her up to the foolishness of her plan.
Murray laughed at Trace’s question. “Since I’m making it your job, do you have a preference?”
Closing his eyes against Priss’s expression, Trace shrugged. “I’m not a natural-born rapist, but it’s your show, your call.”
His deference delighted Murray. “I like your attitude, Trace, I really do. You have great conviction to the duty of your post. I’m glad I hired you.” His laughter faded. “Let’s go with seduction first. After all, Helene assures me that for you, seduction should be a piece of cake.”
Trace snorted. “Is she trying to get me killed, then?” What the fuck was Hell doing discussing him like that with Murray?
Murray laughed again. “Now Trace, you know I’m not the jealous sort. I have no reason to be, right?”
“No reason at all.”
“I like to indulge Helene whenever possible.”
Which meant … what? That Helene could have him?
With the game wearing on him, Trace rubbed the bridge of his nose. “You’re generous with her.”
“I don’t mind her admiring eye. It’s often valuable to me. Just remember that my generosity has a limit.”
“Always.”
“So … I may assume that this new assignment won’t cause you any trouble, whether little Priscilla is truly an innocent or not.”
“No trouble at all.”
“Excellent.” Murray’s words reeked of arrogance. “Keep me informed.”
“Of course.” Even as Trace closed the phone, he heard Murray’s humorless laughter, and it left him on edge.
The sick bastard was up to something—but what? And how much damage would it do to Priss?
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