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studied Trace. He spoke so kindly to Alice, in a tone he hadn’t used on Hell, or on her. He actually sounded…gentle. Kind.
    So, did old Trace have something going on with the mousy secretary? Priss considered it—and shook her head. No, not likely.
    Alice peered up at Trace with big brown eyes. “He’s free tomorrow for a few hours.”
    No, no, no. She wasn’t ready yet.
    Trace frowned, and to Priss’s relief, he said, “That’s not enough time for me to prep her.”
    Alice glanced at Priss with new sympathy. “Oh. I see.”
    Oh, what? What did she see? Priss wondered. Put out that Trace so thoroughly ignored her, she started over to a leather chair to sit, but without looking away from Alice, Trace caught her wrist and kept her ensnared beside him.
    “Early next week he has three hours free. That’d give you through the weekend to…finish.”
    “That’ll work. Pick a swanky place and set the reservation. Wherever Murray likes best, okay? I’ll get the details from you later.”
    Priss tapped her foot in impatience. She couldn’t cross her arms, not with the way Trace kept her trapped in his hold, so foot tapping was the only way to express her annoyance.
    But then Trace’s big foot came down over hers, not hard, but with a clear message. He didn’t even look at her while he gave the silent order for her to be still. The jerk.
    “Got it,” Alice said.
    “Thanks, honey.” He straightened again and, after removing his foot, turned his dangerous stare on Priss. “Let’s go.”
    Without a word of complaint, she followed him to the elevator. She was more than ready to breathe in some fresh air untainted by corruption and evil.
    This time the elevator took them all the way to the basement and into a private parking garage.
    “I parked out—”
    Trace jerked her closer, making it almost look as if she’d tripped, when she hadn’t. As he helped her straighten, he breathed near her ear, “Monitored.”
    “Ah.” She knew better than to start looking around, but the idea of surveillance made her skin crawl.
    Was Murray watching her even now? She fought off a shiver of dread.
    When Trace stopped at a spiffy, shiny-clean, black Mercedes with darkened windows, Priss lifted her brows. “Wow.”
    He opened the passenger door, and she more than willingly got in.
    “Buckle up.” He shut her door, circled the hood and folded his big body in behind the wheel. With both doors closed, he took several deep breaths, then braced his hands on the steering wheel, squeezing and working until his knuckles turned white and the muscles in his forearms bulged.
    Impressive. Knowing no one could see her through the dark windows, Priss lifted her brows. “Is it safe in here?”
    By way of answer, he whipped his head around to pin her in place with white-hot rage. “I should save myself a lot of trouble and just kill you now, before Murray has me do it.”
    Oh, shit. Priss reached for the door handle, but the locks clicked into place, and she knew she wouldn’t be going anywhere, not unless Trace wanted her to.
    Possibilities and probable scenarios winged through her mind. Should she fight right now, or wait until they were out on the street? How should she attack? Face first, or the more susceptible crotch?
    She peeked over at Trace, and knew no matter what she tried, he’d be ready. Well, hell.

CHAPTER THREE
    A WARE OF P RISCILLA seething beside him, Trace put the car in gear and headed for the exit ramp. “What does your car look like and where did you park?”
    “Umm…”
    He sensed her tensing beside him, probably waiting for sunlight to hit the car before she launched herself at him. Such a foolish, but brave, consideration.
    He shook his head. “I never hit a woman.” He glanced at Priss. “First.”
    Confusion softened her hostile edge. “What?”
    “I don’t suggest you try me, Priscilla. I’m seriously pissed enough right now to give you that paddling you so very much deserve.”
    Understanding that