answers—he kept constant surveillance of the area.
When they were on the main road again, he stuck with back streets rather than return to the highway.
“Mom had a stroke.”
“So what you told Murray was the truth?”
She nodded.
Trace drove with one hand and, with the other, he reached over for her knee. “I’m sorry.”
Priss badly wanted to cover his hand with her own, but before she could really think about it, he withdrew again. “You haven’t exactly been nice to me, Trace, so why should I believe you care?”
He shrugged. “We’re each stuck in our role, and you know it.” He glanced at her, then away again. “I lost my parents, both of them, long ago. Regardless of everything else we have going on, I know how it is to go through that.”
Priss accepted his explanation. “Thanks.”
“It was rough?”
“Yeah.” Such an understatement. “Mom suffered for a long time before she died. She was…incapacitated. Unable to care for herself. Little by little, she wasted away, and in the end, her death was a mercy.”
Putting his hand back on her knee, Trace squeezed in a show of comfort. “You cared for her yourself?”
“The best I could.” Her chest hurt, remembering how inadequate she’d been. “There wasn’t anyone else. But I still had to work, and we’d laid low for so long—”
“Staying out of Murray’s radar?”
“Why else? Not that mom thought Murray would have any real interest in me, not as a father anyway. She didn’t trust him, with good reason. And yes, that’s why we had a sex shop. Mom said Murray never would have thought to look for us there.”
“He’d have assumed she went back to her middle-class upbringing?”
Priss nodded. “So she hid where she knew he wouldn’t look for her. But because of our lifestyle, we never had much insurance, or much cash put away.”
They rode in silence for a while, and Priss—thinking Trace’s nosiness had been appeased—closed her eyes. It had been a long, very tumultuous day. And it wasn’t over yet.
After ten minutes or so, Trace asked, “You asleep?”
“No.” It had been so long since she’d had any real sleep, she’d forgotten what it was like.
“Who’s running the shop for you while you’re here?”
“My partner, Gary Deaton.” Priss hated to think about that, because no way would Gary keep up things the way she wanted.
“Partner, as is business, or personal?”
“Personal? Eewwww. Hardly.” Such a repugnant thought made her shudder. “Business only, thank you very much. And actually, he’s not really a partner. More like an employee. I just call him a partner because he works as many hours as me, sometimes more. Right now, while I’m here, definitely more.”
“Anyone else in the picture?”
“No, and what do you care anyway?”
“Just wondering if anyone else is involved in this harebrained plan of yours.” He turned another corner, and they ended up on a road familiar to her. “Or if you have someone back home who’ll start looking for you soon if you don’t check in.”
Priss wasn’t really worried, but she wouldn’t take Trace lightly, either. “Thinking about killing me again?”
He gave a short laugh. “Killing you, no.”
So what was he thinking of doing with her? She didn’t dare ask. Keeping Trace Miller, or whatever his real name might be, at arm’s length was a dire necessity. “Life on the lam doesn’t lend itself to romantic entanglements.”
His thumb rubbed over her knee, and Priss wondered if he was aware of doing it, if he did it on purpose to turn her on, or if it was an extension of the thoughts she saw flickering across his face.
“Trace…”
“It occurs to me that I didn’t see a single freckle on you. Not on your face.” He gave her a quick, level look. “And not on your body.”
“Yeah, so?”
“That’s kind of curious, don’t you think, given the color of your hair?”
Priss lifted his hand and dropped it over next to him. “Okay,
When they were on the main road again, he stuck with back streets rather than return to the highway.
“Mom had a stroke.”
“So what you told Murray was the truth?”
She nodded.
Trace drove with one hand and, with the other, he reached over for her knee. “I’m sorry.”
Priss badly wanted to cover his hand with her own, but before she could really think about it, he withdrew again. “You haven’t exactly been nice to me, Trace, so why should I believe you care?”
He shrugged. “We’re each stuck in our role, and you know it.” He glanced at her, then away again. “I lost my parents, both of them, long ago. Regardless of everything else we have going on, I know how it is to go through that.”
Priss accepted his explanation. “Thanks.”
“It was rough?”
“Yeah.” Such an understatement. “Mom suffered for a long time before she died. She was…incapacitated. Unable to care for herself. Little by little, she wasted away, and in the end, her death was a mercy.”
Putting his hand back on her knee, Trace squeezed in a show of comfort. “You cared for her yourself?”
“The best I could.” Her chest hurt, remembering how inadequate she’d been. “There wasn’t anyone else. But I still had to work, and we’d laid low for so long—”
“Staying out of Murray’s radar?”
“Why else? Not that mom thought Murray would have any real interest in me, not as a father anyway. She didn’t trust him, with good reason. And yes, that’s why we had a sex shop. Mom said Murray never would have thought to look for us there.”
“He’d have assumed she went back to her middle-class upbringing?”
Priss nodded. “So she hid where she knew he wouldn’t look for her. But because of our lifestyle, we never had much insurance, or much cash put away.”
They rode in silence for a while, and Priss—thinking Trace’s nosiness had been appeased—closed her eyes. It had been a long, very tumultuous day. And it wasn’t over yet.
After ten minutes or so, Trace asked, “You asleep?”
“No.” It had been so long since she’d had any real sleep, she’d forgotten what it was like.
“Who’s running the shop for you while you’re here?”
“My partner, Gary Deaton.” Priss hated to think about that, because no way would Gary keep up things the way she wanted.
“Partner, as is business, or personal?”
“Personal? Eewwww. Hardly.” Such a repugnant thought made her shudder. “Business only, thank you very much. And actually, he’s not really a partner. More like an employee. I just call him a partner because he works as many hours as me, sometimes more. Right now, while I’m here, definitely more.”
“Anyone else in the picture?”
“No, and what do you care anyway?”
“Just wondering if anyone else is involved in this harebrained plan of yours.” He turned another corner, and they ended up on a road familiar to her. “Or if you have someone back home who’ll start looking for you soon if you don’t check in.”
Priss wasn’t really worried, but she wouldn’t take Trace lightly, either. “Thinking about killing me again?”
He gave a short laugh. “Killing you, no.”
So what was he thinking of doing with her? She didn’t dare ask. Keeping Trace Miller, or whatever his real name might be, at arm’s length was a dire necessity. “Life on the lam doesn’t lend itself to romantic entanglements.”
His thumb rubbed over her knee, and Priss wondered if he was aware of doing it, if he did it on purpose to turn her on, or if it was an extension of the thoughts she saw flickering across his face.
“Trace…”
“It occurs to me that I didn’t see a single freckle on you. Not on your face.” He gave her a quick, level look. “And not on your body.”
“Yeah, so?”
“That’s kind of curious, don’t you think, given the color of your hair?”
Priss lifted his hand and dropped it over next to him. “Okay,
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