“You and I will both keep the windows covered and, whenever we’re out of the rooms, the connecting door has to be locked.”

“Prying eyes?”

“Anything is possible. My guess is that Murray still has me under surveillance, which is why we were followed. It stands to reason that with you now in the mix, the scrutiny will be amplified.”

True, all of it, but given the impact of Trace shirtless, being mellow and kind, even threats to her person didn’t help her to concentrate. “I thought of a more interesting topic than weather and menace.”

He saluted her with his cup. “Go for it.”

In anticipation of his reply, Priss licked her lips. “How many women have you slept with?”

Trace missed a single beat, but only one, before saying, “A very odd question over morning coffee, and none of your business.”

Priss made a habit of being brutally honest with herself, so she had to admit that she wanted it to be her business. And how would it hurt, as long as Murray didn’t find them out? If her plans went as expected, she wouldn’t be around long enough to get entangled in Trace’s life. Why not find a little enjoyment while the prospect existed?

Who knew when she might ever meet another man who made her feel warm and soft, excited and safe? In twenty-four years, Trace was the first. He could be the last.

And if her plans for Murray went awry? Well, she could end up dead.

Somehow, dying a virgin seemed the ultimate insult. But then, maybe that was just her morbid sense of humor trying to help her keep her fear at bay.

Resting a forearm on the table, Priss leaned a little closer to Trace. “Too many to count, huh? So…were any of them virgins?”

With his coffee cup almost to his mouth, Trace paused. His gaze sharpened, and his shoulders suddenly tensed. “Why are you asking?”

A tinge of heat went up Priss’s neck. Her private life was hers and hers alone—at least until Trace agreed to a little side activity. If he did agree…well, then he’d already have the answer he wanted. “That’s cheating to answer a question with a question.”

Trace sat back, his expression frosted. “No.” He shook his head, disbelieving, even a little pissed. “No way in hell are you trying to claim—”

The buzzing of his cell phone cut him off. He was practically incandescent with smoldering frustration.

Oh, yeah, the cell phone. She needed to grab that when the opportunity presented itself. Odds were she could access his email and delete the photo from his messages, and the phone’s memory. Unmoved by his attitude, Priss sipped at her coffee. “Think 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 f**king 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.