“Not sure.” That’s why he had to wait. What if he took Priss now—against a damned door, with his knuckles bruised and adrenaline pumping—and then Murray caught onto him and killed him? Hell, maybe Murray was already onto him and that’s why he’d sent the goons. With Murray, nothing was ever certain or clear-cut—except Trace’s hatred of the man.

Organizing his thoughts, he took a cautious step closer to Priss. It’d help a lot if she’d cover her chest and maybe stop looking so sexually ravenous, so innocently open to him.

It’d help if she wasn’t the most appealing woman he’d ever met. “In case shit goes sideways tonight—”

“No! Don’t say that.” Taking him off guard, Priss launched away from the door and threw herself against him. Her arms locked around his neck, her body squeezing into his.

At least her shirt dropped down to cover her br**sts.

Against his shoulder, she said, “I…I don’t want to scare you, Trace.”

He tried to pry her away, but she held on. “Scare me?”

“I mean, I don’t want to scare you off.” She huddled closer. “I figure nothing much actually scares you. Not with how you fight, but—”

“Priss.” Holding her shoulders—safer ground there—he levered her back. “What is it?”

Uncertainty held her silent for a heartbeat of time before she blurted, “I like you. A lot.”

He was a coldhearted bastard, a killer when necessary. And still he softened.

“Don’t you dare smile!” Knotting her hands in the front of his shirt, she tried to rattle him. “I like you more than I ever thought I’d like anyone. I’m not asking for anything. Well, not for much. Sex. And I guess protection. And if you wanted to help me kill Murray that’d be—”

Ice shot through his veins, obliterating his smile. “You’re not doing anything with Murray, damn it!”

She hesitated, and Trace saw the moment she decided to placate him. “Sex and protection, then?”

A thousand curses rushed through his beleaguered brain. No one could be that transparent. She had to have an endgame, but damn it, he didn’t know what it might be. “No way in hell are you serious.”

“You bet I am.” Showing her own annoyance, Priss went on tiptoes. “Until today, I’d never danced with anyone.”

What did dancing have to do with anything? He shook his head. “I don’t understand you.” And that was an aberration, too, because he always figured out motives and personalities. More often than not, he understood others better than they understood themselves.

“It’s easy enough. You see, things like dances are out when you don’t attend public school, when for all intents and purposes you don’t even exist.”

He felt a little sick. “Priss…”

She poked a finger into his chest. “Interaction with other kids, especially boys, was a huge no-no.” Taking a step back, she looked beyond him. Her voice lowered, turned pensive. “Can’t draw attention from anyone, can’t be noticed in anyway. Hide. All the time hiding.”

The way she folded her arms around herself made her look very small and alone.

“Everything was about caution and fear, about avoiding other people because no one could be trusted, and everything was a risk. Even when my mom felt forced to take a chance, strictly for survival reasons, she didn’t let me.”

“She kept you locked away?”

Priss closed her eyes for a moment. “The silliest things were so noticeable.”

“Like what?” Trace wanted to hear it all. Every awful detail. Gently he encouraged her. “Tell me.”

“Like…fresh breezes.” Bleak, so sad, she looked at him. “Wherever we lived, the doors and windows stayed locked. I played inside. By myself.”

That was no way to raise a child, and Trace hurt for her. “You got out sometimes?”

She shrugged. “We shopped, but always in silence. We even drove in silence because Mom was always on the lookout, always waiting for the boogeyman to appear. Normal jobs, like…I don’t know, a cashier or a waitress, left her too exposed. It’s what Murray would have expected, she said. And so she had the  p**n  shop, a place Murray would never look for her, and—and—”

His throat closed as she choked up. He reached for her, but she slapped his hands away.

“No, don’t you offer me comfort like it’s going to matter. It won’t. Nothing will matter as long as Murray is free to do as he pleases, free to ruin more lives.” Her fist thumped against her chest. “He ruined my life, damn you.”

“No.” Trace had to deny that, because believing it hurt too much. “A woman ruined wouldn’t be so foolishly brave, so funny, or so smart.”

“Brave?” That made Priss laugh, but the sound held no humor. She turned somber, too serious. “You can help me to stop him.”

So many emotions ran rampant, taking off in a surge, that Trace barely recognized himself. Thunder roared in his ears, his heart raced.

Grabbing her shoulders, he shook her. “Goddamn it, you will not do anything with Murray! Do you understand me? You will avoid him when you can, and when you can’t, you will allow me to handle things!”

Priss shoved him back. “Fine. It’s plain how you feel about this.” Looking mulish, she took a stand. “So forget the…protection.”