“Yeah, I figured when she started to come to, I’d take her to an off-the-grid bar and leave her there. She’ll look inebriated going in, and once the drug wears off, well, the drunks will be at her mercy.”

“That works for me.”

“Then I’ll get to it before she comes around.” Jackson clapped him on the shoulder again. “Tell Priss I said goodbye.” Grinning, he got in the car and circled the lot before driving away.

From the shadows at the back of the hotel, Trace kept watch until Jackson was out of sight. Without it being said, he knew Jackson would go into the bar disguised so no one would ever be able to trace Helene back to him. She could tell any story she wanted to, but she’d have no proof. And anything she said would only incriminate her more once Murray found out what she’d done.

For a few minutes more, Trace waited outside. There were no out-of-place shadows or noises, no suspicious people or vehicles.

Now he could see about getting Priss moved elsewhere, and he could be alone with her.

Finally, he could have her.

He didn’t need a drug in his bloodstream to get him excited over that prospect.

TWO HOURS LATER, WITH ONLY a few phone calls, Trace had everything arranged. He’d heard from Jackson that Helene was no longer a problem, and he had them settled safely into a different hotel on the outskirts of the town. This hotel was upscale, and they’d checked in as a married couple.

Trace seemed right at home, and although Priss felt very out of place, she was still content.

Sure, the circumstances were horribly skewed, and before long there would be grave consequence for the events of the night. But Trace had been so attentive that she didn’t have any regrets.

Well, maybe except for Jackson seeing her naked. That would leave her red-faced for a good long time.

But other than that, she’d come through it all unscathed, and so had Trace. If anything, she’d forged a special closeness with him now.

Rain battered the bedroom windows of the suite, and storm clouds left the night black as pitch. “I know he said things were resolved, but what did Jackson do with Helene?”

Trace glanced up as he unloaded his variety of weapons on the nightstand. “Other than the jolting you gave her, she’ll be all right. Don’t worry about it.”

Still not trusting her. She sighed, but accepted the evasion. The more she learned of Trace, the more she understood his need for confidentiality. “I’m sort of glad that…you know…you guys didn’t kill her.”

He went still for a moment before continuing. “There was no reason. Killing her would have only complicated things with Murray.” He pulled off his wet shirt and tossed it over a chair, then sat on the bed to remove his shoes.

That jittery, hungry rush hit her again. Trace was the most appealing man she’d ever seen. That he was also strong and heroic was enough to melt her bones.

“No reason to complicate things more.” Priss noticed that his hands were shaking again. No doubt the effects of the drug, which seemed to come in waves.

He looked up at her. “If killing her becomes necessary, it’ll happen, Priss. You do understand that?”

“Yes.” And she wouldn’t lose any sleep over it, either. But for now, tonight, given what she hoped and assumed would happen, it was a relief that no one had died.

Trace stripped off his socks. “Your shirt is wet, Priss.” He watched her with cool control. “Take it off.”

Her breath catching, Priss stared at him. He looked enigmatic as he stood to turn back the bed. Wearing only open slacks again, he looked incredible.

And she wanted him.

Without the necessary urgency of earlier, nervousness took over. Not nervousness from fear or even uncertainty. She trusted Trace and she wanted him. But this was all so new. To even feel like this was an aberration for her.

Leaving her shirt on for the moment, she sat in a chair and removed her sandals. “Did Helene say what she gave you?”

“Just that it’s something she developed for the victims.” He kept his back to her, but his hands tightened. “To make them easier to deal with.”

Foul bitch. Maybe they should have killed her after all. “She’s as evil as Murray, isn’t she?”

“Yes she is. Sick and evil.” He twisted to face her. “Thank God Jackson got to you before she did.”

“You should have let me keep jolting her.” Rather than think about how Jackson had found her, Priss stood and, determined not to balk, pulled off her top. “She deserved it.”

“True.” Trace walked over to her and caught her hands when she started to open her jeans. “But you didn’t deserve to be a part of that.”

Priss decided she’d argue that point with him later. Helene had openly insulted her mother, so she deserved a lot.

When Trace simply held her hands out to her sides and looked at her, Priss asked, “Are we going to have sex now?”

His mouth twitched, and his gaze warmed, but he sounded dead serious when he said, “Yeah, I think we are.” He lifted his attention from her stomach to her face. “Is that okay with you?”

“Yes.” More than okay. She licked her lips. “Will you kiss me?”

“Absolutely.”

Before he could do that, which would surely distract her, Priss asked in a rush, “Do you want me mostly because of the drugs?”

With far too much concentration, he moved long ropes of wet hair off her shoulders. “Is that what you think? That drugs are what make you appealing?”