“Come on.” Still holding her wrist, he led her from the room, down a hall and into another, even larger room framed by floor-to-ceiling windows on two walls.

Already feeling exposed, Priss wrapped her arms around herself. “I’m expected to change in here?”

Trace looked harsh, furious and determined. “You’re expected to do whatever Murray tells you to.”

“Yeah, I know. But…” She bit her lip, and nodded. “You said something about a drink?”

His left eye twitched before he turned away and went to a built-in bar. From under the bar he produced a Coke. He tossed ice in a glass and poured. “Have you eaten?”

“Not much.”

That seemed to anger him more. “I can’t leave you to get real food, so your choices are peanuts, pretzels or cheese crackers.”

He treated her like a stranger, and even though she knew it was a precaution in case Murray listened in, it still hurt. She wanted to tell him that she’d be okay, that she did have a plan, but talking about it would be too risky.

Pulling out a padded chair at the long conference table, she seated herself. “Cheese crackers, thank you.” She lifted free the long chain around her neck and toyed with it.

Trace didn’t appear to notice.

He hadn’t gone through her purse this time, either. He might do that yet, but would he recognize the heart-shaped key chain? Once she removed the cover off the heart, it was a sharp-edged weapon. And what about her pink cell phone? It looked innocent enough, but it was actually a 950,000-volt stun gun in disguise. Trace would probably know she didn’t really have a cell phone, but would he recognize it for the protection it offered her?

One way or another she would choke Murray’s fat neck with the necklace, or cut it with the key chain, or she’d fry him with the stun gun. But she would do him harm—the same way he’d harmed her mother, and by association, her.

Trace set down the soda and a bowl of crackers in front of her. He stared down at her for a moment, but when she began to eat he strode to the window to look out. Priss noticed that he had one hand in his pocket.

Sending a code to Jackson?

She hoped so. They could probably use all the help they could get.

Being a nervous eater, Priss had just finished off the crackers when Alice came in carrying a bag of clothes. Trace met her halfway across the room, but Priss stepped around him.

“Alice?”

She paused, her demeanor reserved, worried.

Priss reached out to take her hand. “Thank you.”

Expression pained, Alice swallowed and nodded. “You’re welcome.” She made a hasty retreat from the room, closing the door quietly behind her.

It bothered Priss, how downtrodden Alice was. “She’s more skittish than usual.”

“She must have more sense than you.”

Priss glared at Trace, but he didn’t give up his belligerent attitude. Fine. Let him stew.

“Where can I change?”

He lifted a hand to indicate the entirety of the large, open room. “Anywhere you want, but I’ll be watching you.”

It was her turn to scowl. Sure, he’d seen her naked. But this was…different. “That’s ridiculous.”

“You heard what Murray said.” His hazel eyes all but glowed with an eerie, angry light.

When she tried facing off with him, hoping he’d back down, he shook his head. “You’re only making it harder on yourself.”

Priss flattened her mouth. “I don’t like you very much right now.”

“You say that like I should give a damn.”

Ohhh. Jerk! Okay, so she knew he had to play his role, but did he have to look so sincere and sound so convincing doing it?

She upended the bag of clothing on the table. A dress, minuscule panties and torturous heels. Great. Just freaking great. Changing was something she hadn’t counted on.

Holding up the black tank dress to examine it, Priss saw that it was a size too small—meaning it’d be really tight. And it had lace insets all along the sides—meaning much of her skin would be visible. And it was short—so she wasn’t going to be able to move without flashing the panties.

“Nice,” Trace told her, deliberately provoking.

Priss ignored him as she looked at the panties next. She wanted to groan. Flesh colored, barely there and bound to be uncomfortable.

“None of this is appropriate for a meeting with my father.”

“Quit stalling.” He touched her arm. “I want you done before Murray shows up.”

Oh, hell. What if she was in midchange when he walked in? If he were listening to them now, would he show up at the worst time on purpose?

Possibly.

Hastily, her back to Trace, Priss skimmed off her shirt and bra and, as stealthily as she could, pulled the dress on. She glanced at Trace, and saw him smiling at her ingenuity.

“Take the jeans off, too.”

“I am.” She wiggled and squirmed without showing too much by tugging the dress down as she pulled off her jeans and underwear.

He reached around her, the panties hanging off his pinkie. “Here you go, Priscilla.”

Snatching them away from him, Priss started to bend down to step in, but she could feel Trace right behind her. So close. If she bent, she would surely bump into him.

Uncertain of his purpose, she said, “You’re crowding me.”

“Thought you’d be used to that by now.”

Was that for Murray’s benefit, or not? She just didn’t know. “You’re a bully.”